“Lovely?” I ask her, unable to conceal my crooked smile.
“What? Is that silly?”
“No, no, it’s just not the word I was expecting.”
“Well, the wordgentledoesn’t feel right, and I don’treallyknowhow I’ll like it, right? I, I just want to feel, well, I want it to feel like you and I, I don’t know, like we do, or wecould—”
I cut her rapidly spiraling words off with a delicate kiss, my chest squeezing upon her last word too tightly to allow her to go on. “Lovely,” I repeat. “Easy,” I whisper before kissing her again. “So easy.”
We kiss until we lose ourselves once more, then, I reach toward the nightstand for the unopened box of condoms she’s had out for a few weeks now. I open the package, take out a purple foil wrapper, and open it with my teeth before turning onto my back and rolling it on. Prue watches me, clearly fascinated, with a hand in her hair and her elbow against the mattress propping her up.
“You can do it next time,” I tell her. “If you want to try.”
She nods eagerly, reaching out toward my hip. I notice her press her fingertip onto the tattoo there, the one in her writing, as she has a few times now. I want to ask why she keeps looking at it as if she’s afraid the ink will somehow fade away. I want to tell her that I plan on adding her initials underneath it as soon as I can. But I do neither.
Instead, I turn my head to face her, the tips of our noses nearly brushing once she lowers herself onto the same pillow. We stare into each other’s eyes for what is probably seconds, but feels more like minutes. “Are you ready?” I ask her.
“Ready,” she assures me, resting her palm on my cheek. “Are you?”
No,something deep within me cries out.No, because I’m already deeply, hauntingly, in love with you and I’m afraid. I’m afraid of you…What you could choose to do or not do with this exposed, inexperienced heart of mine.“Yes,” I answer anyway.
Twenty-three
Prue
Milo strokes himselftwice as he sits on bent knees between my legs. Then, he reaches onto my bedside table once more for the small bottle of lube I bought at the pharmacy alongside the condoms. He pours it out onto his fingers, closes the bottle, then tosses it aside. He then strokes himself once more, coating the condom with the lubricant. Quickly after that, he uses it on me, making sure he warms it in his hands before pressing it to my entrance. I like the sensation of it, the slight cool of it against my already sore, heated flesh.
Then he lowers himself over me and kisses me once more.
I get lost in our kiss, as I always seem to. My hands dig into his hair while my teeth ache to be let loose on his lips. My tongue glides with his like a well-choreographed, memorized dance. Milo’s kisses are the kind of thing poems are written about. And I intend to write some of my own.
Eventually, Milo adjusts his hold to spread my legs wider. I hook my knees around him, the heels of my feet pressing into the backs of his thighs. Then, he presses his forehead against mine, reminds me to breathe, and positions himself against my entrance.
I take a deep breath, as told, but my heart begins pounding inmy chest just the same. I feel myself tense all over, the awareness of which only makes me do it more.
“Hey,” Milo says, pressing a kiss to my nose. “Open your eyes for me,” he whispers tenderly.
I do, only to realize I’d had them shut so tightly my eyelids had started to tremble.
“You’re safe.” He reminds me of what I already know, his dark eyes finding mine. “Stay here with me.” I look into his eyes, now so familiar and yet still breathtaking, and nod. “We’re going to do thistogether,” he says solemnly.
“I’m ready,” I say, hoping my body hears the words and relaxes some.
“It might hurt a little at first, that’s normal. If it hurts too much, let me know and we will stop right away. I willneverhurt you, Prue.”
“Ireallywant this,” I reassure him. “And I do trust you.”
“I know, beautiful. It’s okay. You’re doing everything right.”
“Thank you,” I whisper shyly as I nod, my lips parting on a soft gasp as he begins to press the tip of his erection inside of my entrance.
“I should be thankingyou,” he says, smirking. The smirk, his usual carefree, teasing expression, sets me at ease some more. “I am the luckiest man alive to be here with you,” he says, gliding himself farther in by the smallest amount. “This time with you has been”—his voice cuts when he slides in some more, and his eyes roll back ever so slightly—“incredible.” He finishes his words with a sigh.
I force a deep breath, feeling my lungs contract from his words and the pinching, stretching sensation between my legs.
“You are…” Milo adjusts his weight over me, then wraps one of his arms under my shoulders, his hand moving to grasp the topof my arm. “The most beautiful,” he says as he slides deeper, “generous,” deeper still, “kindhearted,” deeper still, “funny,” deeper still, “talented,”almost there,“person I’ve ever met.” His voice trembles as he brings our bodies as close as they physically can be.
“Oh…” I shudder, tilting my head back as he lowers his face toward mine. His forehead falls against my jaw, and he breathes into my neck as we both seem to adjust to the feeling of being so wholly connected. I can feel himdeepinside of me, my lower stomach clenched and heavy as my muscles quiver and flutter around him.
