I know he will, instantly, should I say the word.Shoot, if I even hint that I want him to stop, I know he will.
I bite my lip and furrow my brow and fight for breath past the lump in my throat, the pounding of my heart.
I shake my head."No."
With his head tipped up to gaze at me, he hooks two fingers through the belt loops at each of my hips, pauses, watching me closely, and then slowly tugs my jeans down and off, inside out.
I'm shaking all over, trembling like a leaf.Aching and shaking.Needing and fearing.Confused and desperate.A wild mess of contradictions.
His lips touch my belly again, making my heart flutter and my gut flip-flop.Another kiss, lower, his lips skating over skin just above the elastic of my thong.
His hands help my feet tug free of the tight cuffs of my jeans—which are more of a jegging than a true jean—and then cup my Achilles, drift slowly, slowly, slowly upward over my calves, the backs of my knees—a strangely tender and almost erogenous place—and then my thighs.He halts the upward path of his hands just below the swell off my buttocks.
That's another area of insecurity.I'm a skinny girl.Always have been.I was "coltish and gangly" as a tween and young teenager.I kept my body toned and tight, being an athlete and an elite one, to boot.But now, years of a busy life and neglect for my body has left me out of shape, comparatively-speaking.
What I'm trying to say is that despite being slender and lean my whole life, the last few years have been a losing battle against the constant growth of my ass to what now feels like a disproportionate size to the rest of me.
So, as good as it feels to have his hands carve hot and greedy over my backside, I also cannot help the squirm of discomfort, the flutter of fear as I wait for the criticism my psyche so unhelpfully expects.
"Hey," I hear—Noah's voice, soft and concerned in my right ear."Hey, now.You're okay.You're okay."
I realize I'm hyperventilating, and tears are flowing down my face and my arms are barred across my chest and my hands are clenched into white-knuckled, shaking fists.
"C-c-can't—" I rasp, stuttering."Can't…b-br—breathe."
Glass skids cold down my spine as I slump slowly toward the floor, my legs giving way.
And then brawny arms scoop me up and I'm cradled against his chest.His skin is warm and his pec is firm against my cheek.Movement.Settling.A blanket drifts and drapes over me.
A heavy hand smooths over my brow and over my hair, brushing it away from my face, tucking wayward locks behind my ear.
His heart is a slow, steady thudding under my ear; his breathing is soft and easy and even.
"Can you hear my heart, Morgan?"
I nod.
"Count the beats."
I close my eyes.Focus.BUM-bum…BUM-bum…BUM-bum…
1…2…3…
"I'm sorry," I whisper."I'm sorry, Noah."
"Hush, now.I've got you.You're okay.You're safe.It's okay.I've got you."
Got me?
He's got me.
For a few more moments, I'm still drowning in panic, but his calming energy and soothing heat and comforting strength saps the viciousness of the panic and then the weight of the world and consciousness are too much for me, and darkness swallows me.
