Page 167 of Impulse Control
“Come here,” she said.
Not commanding.
Not seductive.
Just… offering.
I crossed the space between us.
She didn’t rush me.
Didn’t fill the silence.
Just rested her forehead against mine, hands light on my arms, like she was giving me permission to just be there while she held me.
I exhaled.
For the first time all day, nothing inside me was screaming.
We didn’t talk much after that. There was no big decision. There was just her hand sliding from my arm down to my wrist, her fingers lacing through mine, and the gentle, insistent pull toward her bedroom.
It was a small room, lit by a single warm lamp on a nightstand, and the sheets were soft and rumpled, like she’dbeen reading in bed before I’d texted. The scent of this room was her, the tease of her perfume that haunted me at the last shoot.
She turned to me, her expression open and without question. Her hands came up to frame my face, her thumbs stroking my cheekbones. I leaned into the touch, a silent plea for more. For something to anchor me.
She kissed me.
It wasn't like the frantic, desperate kisses I was used to. It was slow, soft, a gentle exploration. Her lips were full and warm, and they moved against mine with a tender curiosity that made my chest ache. She tasted like peppermint toothpaste, and the hint of something chocolate.
I felt a tremor run through me, a release of tension so profound I hadn’t even been aware I was holding it. My hands found her waist, gripping the soft fabric of her shirt, and I kissed her back, letting myself sink into the feeling, into the quiet connection that was already forming between us.
The kiss deepened, a slow, languid dance. Her tongue traced my lower lip, a question I answered by parting my lips for her. The first touch of her tongue against mine was a revelation. It was gentle, sure, and it sent a jolt of pure desire straight through me. The stroke of her tongue on mine a decadence I’d forgotten how to savor.
This was what I’d been denying. This was the connection I’d feared to name.
Her hands moved from my face, sliding down my neck, over my shoulders. Her fingers found the hem of my jacket, and she paused, giving me a chance to pull away. I didn’t. I shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. Her hands smoothed down my arms, her touch a balm against my skin.
She broke the kiss to pull my shirt over my head. The cool air of the room made me shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in her eyes as she looked at me. Her gaze wasn’t predatoryor possessive; it was appreciative, like she was seeing something beautiful and rare.
My own insecurities, quiet for a moment, began to surface. I thought of my legs, the stubble I hadn’t bothered with, the small imperfections I usually tried to hide. It was a fleeting, stupid thought, because in the next second, her hands were on my waist, her thumbs stroking the soft skin of my stomach, and she was kissing me again, erasing every doubt.
Her touch grew more confident, more demanding. Her hands moved around to my back, deftly unhooking my bra. She slid the straps from my shoulders, her lips following the path down my arm, her breath warm against my skin. My bra joined the growing pile of our clothes on the floor.
And then her hands were on my breasts, and I forgot everything else. I had a thing for breasts, for the soft weight and feel of them, and hers were perfect. I slid my hands up to hers, shaping my palm over them. They weren’t heavy, but they were firm and yet her satiny skin made me want to bury my face there.
In return, she cupped mine, her thumbs brushing over my nipples, which hardened instantly at her touch. I gasped into her mouth, my body arching into hers, seeking more contact. She sucked my lower lip out a moment. The scrape of her teeth sent another jolt through me and I met her gaze.
“Be here,” she ordered me. “Here.”
Unwilling to delay anything, I just nodded. She was telling me what to do and fuck it, I latched onto that command like the life preserver it was. “I’m here,” I promised and let her draw me in.
She guided me toward the bed, and we sank onto the soft mattress. Somehow, I was naked and so was she. Belatedly, I almost cried as her skin slid against mine, the connection electric. Soft and firm and perfect everywhere, she had a body my hands longed to caress and pet.
She hovered over me, her hair falling around our faces, creating a small, intimate world. She kissed me again, her mouth hungry now, her hands exploring my body with a newfound urgency. It was like my emotional floundering had ignited something in her, a fierce need to pull me out of my own head and into my body.
Her mouth left mine, trailing a path of fire down my neck, my collarbone, my sternum. I was panting now, my hands tangled in her hair, urging her on. She took her time, worshiping my body with her lips and tongue, her touch both tender and possessive.
Anytime I started to drift, she would nip me almost painfully. Then I would jerk my eyes open and she would stare up at me until she was certain I was still there, with her.
