To smile.
To laugh.
To slow down and marvel at the way I can expertly use my hands to create something beautiful.
How do I ever return that belief to him?
And how do I do it, knowing that he’s going to leave?
Selfishly, I want to tell him to stay, that his father will be okay. There is no need to run back to England. How can I not tell him that the thought of him leaving makes me feel physically ill, that the idea of not having him around, cheering me on, brings such devastation that my eyes start to sting?
How do I set aside my wishes, in the hope of trying to help him?
“I need to go,” he says, getting up from the grass.
Quickly, I stand as well and stop him before he heads back into the house. “Theo, wait.” I press my hand to his chest and stare up at this handsome man who has truly changed me over the last few weeks. “What can I do to help?” When he doesn’t answer, or even look at me, I cup his cheek and bring his eyes to mine. “Theo, what can I do to help?”
His eyes are weary, tired, unsure, but after a few seconds, he melts into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his head into my shoulder.
“I…I don’t want to fucking go,” he whispers. “I want to stay here with you.”
I rub my hand up and down his back, fear prickling at the back of my eyes, prompting a set of emotions I was not prepared to feel to come to the forefront of my mind.
I don’t want you to go either.
I want you to stay here with me.
Then, to my surprise, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist before he brings us both back in the house, leaving his phone in the grass.
He makes his way through the house and then takes a seat on the couch, me sitting on top of him.
His hands move to the hem of my shirt and then gently tug on it, waiting for me to protest, but I don’t, because I need this just as much as he does. So instead, I lift my arms over my head, inviting him. He smooths his hands up my sides, dragging the shirt with him until he pulls it up and over, leaving me in just my shorts. He sighs, taking in my bare chest before he leans forward and presses kisses to my neck, his arms looping around me and keeping me close.
“I don’t want to leave,” he whispers. His lips are sucking on a spot between my neck and shoulder, his teeth nibbling as well. “I want to stay here with you.”
“I don’t want you to leave either,” I say, my hand threading through his hair, keeping his head in place, wanting to feel him mark me.
Brand me.
Make me his.
His hands float up to my breasts and he cups them gently, his thumbs playing with my nipples, lighting me up inside as he continues to mark me with his mouth, not letting up, but sucking and sucking, letting me know that I will, without a doubt, be able to see him in my reflection.
I rock over him, finding his erection between my legs and creating a friction that heats up the both of us.
“Fuck,” he whispers as he releases my neck and moves to my mouth. His tongue dives between my lips, finding mine in a feral need. I part my lips and allow him to continue to claim me, his tongue swiping and tangling. His desire ramped up. His need consuming.
I reach between us and play with the waistline of his shorts, slipping my fingers past, wanting us both naked as I tug on them.
He releases me for a moment and that’s when I stand and slip out of my shorts, leaving me naked, only to tug on his shortsand spring him free as well. With his erection straining up his stomach, I kneel between his legs and move my hands to grip him, but he stops me.
“No, love. I want to be inside you. I need it.”
Seeing the desperation in his eyes, I straddle his legs and bring my center right to his hard, thick length.
He positions himself and I sit up, press him to my entrance, and then lower down on him.
“Fuck,” he drags out, his head falling back to the couch as I take him all the way down until he bottoms out, filling me in a way only he can.
