Present
It’sthe most brazen thing a man has ever said to me, yet I don’t balk. I stand with my arms in the air, my bare chest exposed because DiAngelo told me to, and I want to know what he’ll do next.
Your body belongs to me.
How can I argue when my body responds to him in ways I don’t understand?
I don’t understand any of this, if I’m honest. Fear and excitement play a vicious game of tug-o-war deep in my gut. I don’t like how much I want his touch, yet the craving is undeniable.
“Is this the way you feel when he touches you?” DiAngelo’s hands take a possessive sweep up my sides, his touch claiming and sure.
I shake my head.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“No.”
“Mmm … that’s right,” he almost purrs.
Pride unfurls in my chest, and I have no idea why. I’ve done nothing beyond answering a simple question. Yet bringing him the smallest of pleasure sends me soaring.
He trails his thumb along my jaw to my mouth. My lips part, sparking a fire in his eyes. The thrill of his approval cascades in a waterfall of tingles down my spine.
“Who’s the only one who makes you feel like this?” He lowers one hand to graze a thumb across my nipple.
A whimper slips past my lips before I answer. “You.”
It’s the truth, too. I haven’t felt lust like this … ever. It’s all-encompassing. And while I’m not sure where it’s coming from, I can’t deny it either. Something about his manner is speaking to my body on a molecular level. His presence shuts out the world.
When his attention is trained on me, there is only him.
No regrets or guilt.
No duty or expectation.
DiAngelo fills every nook and cranny of my awareness until there is no room for anything else. There’s only one other way I’ve experienced this sort of peace…
No. You arenotgoing there right now.
I slam the door on those thoughts before they can ruin the moment. I’m so sick of the past haunting me. And if giving myself to DiAngelo gives me a reprieve from the shame, would that be so bad?
It would just be this once. D isn’t the relationship type. Like Isa said, it would only be scratching an itch. This doesn’t have to change anything.
The internal debate flashes through my mind in a millisecond. Hardly enough time to truly consider the ramifications, but that may have been intentional. I want this too much to talk myself out of it.
When the thumb of his other hand grazes my mouth again, I circle my lips around the tip of his thumb in invitation.
“Fuck.” His exhale is a benediction and a curse rolled into one. “Spread your legs.” His voice unravels with each passing second, and I love hearing the effect I have on him, though a sliver of worry snares my enjoyment.
I can’t get naked. Please don’t ask me to get naked.
I step my feet out, opening my legs to him and praying this doesn’t backfire. To my relief, he slides his hand down my yoga pants rather than undressing me.
My heart beats so erratically, a doctor would probably whisk me away to a hospital. There’s nothing wrong, though. Only right.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.”
I’m relieved to lower them but don’t have time to think about it because the second my hands take hold of his muscled frame, his fingers find my entrance.
