“No. Ineedyou. Right now.”
Something in his brain must click, because his eyes flick up to mine, then he pushes himself up, so he is hovering before me. The feeling of him resting himself there alone almost undoes me. His eyes gaze into mine and my chest thrums with a potential energy that is borderline primal. His sharp inhales of breath tell me he is feeling the exact same way.
“Are you sure?” he asks, using his hips to drag himself against me. Teasing. Plotting.
“I have never been more sure.”
The smile lifts the corner of his mouth before he slowly centers himself.
“Fuck, Hannah,” he grunts as he slowly pushes forward.
I gasp as my body arches to meet his. To accommodate his.
“My God.” This time when he comes back, he comes back deeper. And harder.
My name, a red lettered declaration, drips off his tongue and it tangles with the taste of his name on my lips. The sensation that is pulsing through my body is unlike anything I have ever felt before. Never has my skin felt this close to catching on fire.
I could tell myself it’s because maybe he’s more experienced, or maybe because I’m not. But really, it’s just because it’s him. It’s Tanner. It’s us. He’s mine and I am utterly, devastatingly his.
My body rocks against his as I drag my nails across his back like it will get him closer, deeper. His silver chain necklace sways in my face as he grunts my name and curses interchangeably. I lift my hand from his back and like a woman possessed I use the silver chain to pull him down to me to kiss me again. The kiss is sloppy and messy and entirely sacralizing.
The sound of the breaking tension fills the air as the knots inside me unfurl around him just as he does the same.
In the quiet moments after, with him still inside and his eyes fluttering shut, I wonder how I could ever live without this.
Eventually, he stands and I prepare myself for him to make an excuse to leave. Having to go get some work wrapped up only to fall asleep in the guest room or come back in long after I’m asleep.
But this man isn’t my ex-husband. This isn’t that story anymore. In this story, this man stands, pulls back the covers, and motions for me to get under.
“I’ll get us water,” he says.
He pulls the blankets back up, watching me like I’m something precious. Something worth protecting. Something worth tucking into bed and getting water for.
He brings back a glass and sips from it before handing it to me.
“Do you want me to go?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. “I would rather you stay. In fact, I would prefer it.”
The smile on his face tells me that was exactly what he wanted to hear. I open the covers, and he slips in next to me. Our bodies finding their place against each other’s, like the final letters in a crossword, waiting for the right time. For everything else to fall in line first.
“I love you, Hannah,” Tanner whispers into my hair. “I should have said that sooner, but it’s true. I am totally in love with you, I have been. I have been fighting myself from saying it for months now because I didn’t want to scare you, but,” he presses his lips against my head, “I love you more than I thought was possible.”
Those words change everything. As I lay here, tracing the ridges of his fingers on my chest in the dark, I realize that since I met Tanner Auclair, a million little things have shifted, moved,budged and now here he is. The person I look for at every party, the person who saves me a seat at every table. The person I call when I have a great day and the one I call on a boring day. I have spent over a year trying to translate this feeling. The feeling I have when I catch him watching me from across the room, or when he feels the fabric of my dress or when he laughs with Winnie. Turns out itfeelsthis simple because itisthis simple.
“I love you too,” I tell him, meaning it more than he even knows. “I love you more than I thought was possible too.”
32
Iwake up far too early considering how little sleep we got last night. Tanner and I are still intertwined and neither of us makes any effort to untangle ourselves from the sheets or each other. My body aches in all the right places and glows under his hand that rests against my skin.
We told each other we loved each other last night and part of me worried that maybe it had been the high of the moment that made him say it. He had told me a few weeks ago that he loved Winnie and I, but last night those words felt different. They were different. Love and being in love are different. You can have the first, but I really think maybe we have both.
“Good morning,” he grumbles against my skin and pulls my leg across his hip.
My hips rock against him as he finds his place back within me. We make lazy love as he tells me he loves me again. And again, and again.
“I’m out of coffee,” I admit to him later, when we wake up again almost an hour later.
