I want to savour every moment. Store it up in a memory bank so I can relive this forever.
That’s the last thought I have before I fall back to sleep.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
LILAC
I wakeduring the night and stay conscious long enough to go to the bathroom. Far too late, probably, but better now than never. If the blood and come coating my thighs weren’t enough of a reminder, the burn when I pee and wipe is. My skin feels hot and one size too small as my memory treats me to a replay of everything that happened earlier.
I slip under the covers, trying not to disturb Zach, but he reaches out in his sleep to draw me back against him. With his warmth all around, sleep captures me again easily, something I’m not used to. The middle of the night is usually when I do my most zealous overthinking.
When I wake for real in the morning, I stay quiet and spend long minutes watching Zach sleep, like a full-blown creeper. His face is calmer, the deep lines that usually crease his forehead in a frown relaxed into smooth skin that makes my chest ache.
Despite wanting to touch him, I enjoy this close examination so much that I refrain, hoping he’ll stay asleep long enough for my eyes to drink their fill.
Then his nose wrinkles and his eyes flicker open. Hard to get disappointed with that given how much they warm when they catch sight of me.
“Hey,” I say, feeling stupid for not having anything better prepared.
Zach doesn’t answer, just loops his arm around my waist to drag me closer. Given the hard rod now between us, something else woke up at the same time.
My hand acts of its own accord, darting down to encircle his girth; or as much as my fingers can manage because he’s so big they don’t touch against my thumb.
“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to control myself,” he warns me. Except it’s not a warning, more like a promise. I roll him onto his back, giving me a clear view of his erect penis.
His hips buck twice, then he pulls my hand away, tucking it up against his chest instead. “Nope. Not gonna happen. I need a shower and a full stomach before I can even think of performing again.”
“What?” I poke a finger into his biceps, scowling. “Where’s your youthful stamina?”
“Hidden under a layer of dirt. I don’t want to touch you when I feel so unclean.”
“You don’t feel unclean to me,” I whisper, a tacit acknowledgement that he feels dirty, but it’s not the same thing. Not the same thing at all.
“This is what happens when you insist on holding onto your virginity long past the moment you should’ve let it go. You’ve turned into a rampant sex-pest.”
“And what moment should I have let it go?” I demand, play-acting strident to cover a sudden bout of insecurity. Is that why he doesn’t want to touch me? Did I disappoint him? Is it nothing to do with cleanliness at all?
“The first night I stopped by,” he says with a comfortable grin. “Or at any other moment between then and now.”
The relief turns me into such a giggling mess that I need to relinquish my feminist card at the first opportunity. Part of me is curious how many girls he’s slept with while another couldn’t care less; or could but wants to insist it couldn’t because sometimes the truth can hurt.
Didn’t he mention having multiple girlfriends? I try to bite back another wave of insecurity, but I guess it’s just my morning to let my self-esteem hit the floor.
“What is it?” He runs his knuckles down the side of my cheek, tracing the same path a tear would. “You’re thinking too hard for this time of the morning.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sure. That’s why your face is all like…” He wrinkled his nose, frowned, and flared his nostrils until I laughed. “Tell me.”
I bit my thumbnail, feeling like I’d woken with my nerve endings on the wrong side of my skin. “You said you broke up with Em.”
Zach nods, waiting for more.
“What about your other girls?”
“Jealous already?” He rubs a thumb over my bottom lip, then pulls it down. “Shouldn’t you wait until we’ve at least been on a date or something?” Just as I’m about to die of embarrassment, he whispers, “There isn’t anyone else. Wanna get married?”
I slap his chest before hiding my face against it. “Sorry. I’m not sure what’s going on.”
