One corner of his mouth lifts, just the slightest. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
I take his hand, his fingers thread through, and his eyes meet mine, and there’s a flicker there. Pain. Fear.
I pull him into my embrace, and he slumps, clumsy spaghetti-arms around my waist, the sleeve of my shirt growing damp.
In the bluish light of evening, I see the white of his thighs gripping my hips.
I rest my hands there, the muscles tight. He doesn’t open his eyes until I’m all the way inside him — the tight, slick heat of him. It takes every ounce of control I can muster not to grab onto him and take over. But this isn’t for me.
After a moment or so, his legs stop shaking. Then his hands glide up my chest, leaning over, careful and more carefully, to kiss me. And then he moves, awkwardly and unsure, in an unfamiliar position. His eyes flutter closed, mouth opening in a gasp.
I suppose he’s searching for something. Whatever it is, it’s behind his eyelids. I gaze up into his face and see wet dark lashes fanned over fair skin. Whatever he’s searching for, and what I can give him. I don’t know if they’re the same.
He responds to a kiss like it’s the very first and the very last.
I feel like it’s burning inside me like torch. Consuming me. Consuming him. He would have to know. I choke on my own breath as it attempts to escape.
And all I can think is that I want to keep him safe. Keep him. Protect him. From all things vicious and cruel. From punches and drunks and hurt. The world and all its infinite coldness. I can be his shield.
He raises up and sinks down. He does it again. Again. Again.
Again.
I love it.
I can’t stand it.
With a deep groan, I grab him and turn us, place him on his back, his knees pushed up. I can’t control myself. I can’t help myself. I say his name, repeatedly, like a vow, a promise. He breathes through bitten-red lips. He gazes at me through half-lidded eyes. His head pushes back, presenting his neck for me to kiss, his name written there with my lips.
And I know that it means something. That as deep as my body is into him, he’s deep inside me too. In other ways. Better.
He comes with me thrusting hard, his heat pooling between us.
I would have savored it longer, let myself be given over to it easier, if it wasn’t for my last thought right before I came inside him.
I can protect him from everyone else.
But who’s going to protect him from me?
Paul pushes up from beside me, squints at the streetlight.
“You have to go?” I hope I don’t sound pathetic.
He scratches his arm, lies back down. “I said I’d be back late. I think.”
The covers are bunched between his knees. I run a hand from the base of his neck to the top of his thatch of dark hairs. I shouldn’t dare think that this is all mine. I shouldn’t dare. Not even a bit.
He’s not looking at me directly. I can see the two imprints of his glasses on either side of his nose. I haven’t even cut on the lamp yet. I lay a heavy arm across his chest and then he looks in my eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He blinks. “I don’t think it will be like last time.” He lays his arm over mine, a suggestive grin. “Maybe we could later.”
“If you’re okay.”
His eyes flash. Brilliant. “I like it.”
I pull him close to me. Closer.
