It’s relaxing and calm, but it’s worlds away from what I’d hoped we’d be doing.
The first time Locke asked me to come to bed with him, I had the same thought, but as an assumption. I assumed myroommate was asking me into his sheets so I could undress myself, then be wrapped up in his linens.
I can’t remember a time when a boy took me to his bedroom without the intention of stripping me down.
When I thought Locke was inviting me to do just that, it didn’t feel like a chore, or an obligation of our relationship. I was excited. I wanted to show him every curve of my body and dip of my flesh.
Vulnerability shared is vulnerability cherished, and I want him to cherish me.
Our clothes are still on. Aside from pulling me into his arms, he hasn’t made any move to touch me. When he does look down at me and speaks, it’s to show me a video he thinks is funny. Or to ask about my plans. Never what I’m wearing under my sweater and if I want to turn the lights off.
The same man who opened his heart to me and showed me a version of himself no one else has seen, wants to do nothing more than enjoy my company.
Before Locke, I don’t think I’ve ever felt real intimacy.
“We’re having a watch party on Halloween, right?”
He says it while I’m trying to keep my mind off my real desires for tonight. Seeing him walk in from the rain with a damp sheen covering his skin set my mind on fire. Knowing he wants me for my mind and heart—and not just my body—makes him ten times more intoxicating.
I stare up at him. “How’d you know I wanted to watch scary movies?”
“Because I know you.”
A smirk twists its way onto my face. I tell myself it’s solely because of his kindness, and not at all because of what that kindness does to me.
“Almost sounds like you’re saying yes, even though you’re terrified of them.”
“Pft.” The scoff is hilariously fake. “I’m notterrified.”
“You hate them.”
“It’s not my favorite genre.”
He tightens his arm around my shoulders, and I giggle. “There’s nothing wrong with hating scary movies. We can do something else for Halloween.”
He mumbles, “We’ll think on it.”
We don’t say anything else for another thirteen minutes. I count them. My attention is half on the clock at the top corner of my phone screen, and half on the plains of his chest beneath his Spider-man t-shirt.
Locke made it abundantly clear he doesn’t expect anything sexual from me. That makes me want him desperately. I try to ignore it. I don’t want to pressure him into anything he’s not comfortable with.
My thighs rub together for a fourth time before I decide to drop a hint. Or two. Just a few, to show him if he wants this—me—then he’s welcome to take it.
The slight shift of my thigh running lightly over the top of his leg, knee inching closer to whatIwant isn’t supposed to be subtle. I hang onto every piece of a reaction he gives me. His thumb stopping mid-swipe. The lump bobbing in his throat.
He glances at me for only a few seconds before faking a cough and going back to what he was doing.
It was one movement. It shouldn’t have much of an effect on him, I don’t think. But there’s a sudden firmness pressing against my knee, and a burst of heat spreads across my body.
Got him.
“Locke.” I say in a sing-song voice. He hums right before I toss my phone somewhere at the edge of the bed and let my hand run across the hem of his shirt instead.
My elbow comes under me so I can shift my weight. I can’t hear his heart beating anymore, but the rapid lifting anddropping of his chest tells me enough. When I slip my fingertips under the black fabric and trail the skin above his pajama pants, he gasps.
“Are you… teasing me?” His words sound strained through his gritted teeth.
The red flush of his face and the growing bulge against my knee has me pulsing in all the right places.
