When I glanced upward, he looked down.
He kissed my forehead. “Me too.” He picked up the remote, found Netflix, and signed in. “Did you watch any more?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t wanted to watch without him. It had been better with his company. Tonight, we watched four episodes of Buffy: Amends, Gingerbread, Helpless, and a hilarious episode, called The Zeppo, which was told from a unique character’s point of view and had a quirky soundtrack.
At its conclusion, we took turns getting ready for bed. I was nervous and uncomfortable with restless energy. I hadn’t brought pajamas for sleeping because at home I slept wearing nothing. Tonight, I wore a T-shirt and underwear. Christopher stripped down to his boxers, ones with red hearts. I raised an eyebrow.
“Brandon’s idea of a Valentine gift,” he said, looking down. “Not a woman.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”I looked away as my face warmed. They left little to my imagination.
“Yes, you are,” he said, “But it’s cute.”
He moved his pillows and settled in, and I tried to do the same. We left as much space as possible between us on the bed, an uncrossable chasm.
I didn’t fall asleep at first, and from his breathing, neither did he. After an hour of silence, I faked falling asleep, making my breathing slow and even. I drifted off, Christopher awake beside me. Within arm’s reach, but far away.
. . .
When I woke sometime later, I wasn’t sure why. Most nights, once asleep, I was a deep sleeper. Once as a child, a migration of red ants had marched in a swath a couple of feet wide through the house, covering surfaces as they went, creating an orb of glowing red as they crossed the globe of my basketball-sized night light. In the morning, I’d thought it a dream until I found scattered miniature corpses, scorched by the heat.
This feeling of unease was similar. The brain’s primary job is to keep us alive, and it remains aware, even when we sleep. I woke, because something was wrong. It took me a minute to realize what. Christopher must have felt me awaken and was pretending to sleep, but he was crying. My heart went out to him. Somehow it seemed worse when a man cried, though it shouldn’t. Crying was private, and he probably didn’t want me to know. Perhaps he didn’t want me to think less of him, though of course tears couldn’t affect my opinion of him. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I considered what I’d want if it was me, crying alone in the night.
With our phones away, I couldn’t communicate. Dim light from the clock radio and from under the door in the hall made the room gray instead of pitch black. As an experiment, I reached across no-man’s-land, finding Christopher’s smooth, warm skin.
He stiffened at my touch, then apologized, his voice a rough whisper that shredded me.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry to be a bother.”
“You aren’t a bother,”I said in my head, hoping he heard. I sensed his pain when I concentrated. He was distraught. I didn’t know how that happened—perhaps it related to his abilities. I slid closer and wrapped my arms around him. I wasn’t a hugger, but he needed one.
“Tell me.”When I didn’t receive an answer, I put my mouth near his ear and whispered in my softest voice, a sound only for him. They were the first words I’d chosen to say to another person in over two years. “Tell me.”
“I’m scared.” His voice cracked. “Scared to be alone. My mother and father—the Winters—moved to Florida, and now Brandon could be gone. I’m an adult and shouldn’t care, but I’m alone.”
I hated his birth parents for scarring a little boy, for leaving him and making him believe he wasn’t worthy of love. “I won’t leave you.” Once more a whisper just for him.
“I can’t have you.” His voice was quiet, but thick with emotion. “Brandon means too much. I can’t risk it. I just can’t.”
I rested my hands on either side of his face and kissed him. The softest kiss I could, not sexual, but filled with love. He was a kind man and a wonderful brother. He deserved more.
“I promise not to leave you,” I whispered on his lips as I had once before. “I’ll make you a deal. Until Brandon is awake, I am yours. I’ll never be his, but he’ll never know it’s you I want.” It would play with fire, but I wanted us to have the happiness we could.
When Christopher’s lips claimed mine, it wasn’t gentle. He left me breathless and rocked me to my toes. My skin tingled everywhere.
“Deal.” He rolled on top of me, pinning me to the mattress with his solid weight. “I need you.” He ground his hips against me and I ached for him.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’m yours.”
I expected more hard kisses, our mutual attraction taking over an inferno of our heat, but his fingers were tender as he caressed my face, his lips soft as we kissed, his tongue gentle as it met mine. His hand slipped under my T-shirt, sending shivers throughout my body, warmth at my core. My body arched toward him, his hands leaving a trail of fire. He removed my shirt and traced circles on the sensitive skin of my breasts. I wanted to claw him apart, satisfy myself at once. Instead, I followed his lead. Everything was slow, patient, and thorough. I became drenched and whimpered. My body craved his and I couldn’t hold still.
Our underwear did nothing to prevent me from feeling his arousal. His kisses were slow, but deep, and caused flashes of heat throughout my body, desire igniting my passion. I couldn’t feel anything but him and time passed without me being aware. I wanted to do this forever.
“I can’t wait longer. I ache for you. I’ve thought about this a million times.” His voice brought me back to an awareness of more than his touch.
There was a ripping sound I hadn’t expected. A surge of victory washed through me. He’d brought condoms. He hadn’t been so sure he could resist me after all. He growled and slid off my underwear and flipped me onto my stomach with a gentle swat at my naughty thoughts. When he touched me from behind, I gasped as his fingers slid into my swollen wetness. First one, then two, sliding in to the hilt. It was electric.
“Still delicious,” he said, sliding his fingers inside again.
