Page 53 of Penny For Your Thoughts
While I talked, Diem remained far away, lost in a slow exploration of my body. Every freckle. Every whorl of hair below my belly. Every protruding bone and crease of skin. The hills and valleys, and the rise of goose bumps when he hit an especially sensitive spot. He studied me like I was a test he was determined to pass.
Like an artist admiring a sculpture.
My words fell away as he inched my undershirt higher, the pads of his fingers tickling my ribs and ghosting my nipples. They pebbled instantly into hard nubs. He circled one with his thumb before brushing it again.
The skin tightened and tingled.
My breath caught.
Diem shifted, ducking his head so he could skim his parted lips over the concave of my stomach. His hot exhale warmed my blood.
I closed my eyes and basked in the sensation as he left a trail of tender kisses over my lower abdomen. Diem moved, straddled mythighs. With his hands under my armpits, he heaved me upright and relieved me of my shirts before encouraging me to lie down again.
He adjusted the ring and chain so it lay in the slight indent between my pecs. He handled it like it was made of glass and might shatter at any moment. Satisfied, he resumed his earlier attentions, kissing, touching, and loving every inch of me.
That time with his mouth.
He buried his face in my armpit, inhaling. He dragged his tongue down my arm and tasted the inside of my elbow, softly grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh. His scruff scratched pleasantly, blazing a path as he peppered me with tender kisses.
The inferno he stoked in my core threatened to incinerate me from the inside out.
Diem didn’t rush. He was a man who made love with the focus of a detective, mentally recording every meticulous detail and committing every second to memory. No moment was too small or insignificant. No reaction when unnoticed. For him, it wasn’t about the climactic ending. It was the journey, the discovery, the impression that remained long after it was over.
For someone who claimed he didn’t know what he was doing half the time, Diem was more capable of showing love than any man I knew. It was a quiet love. A tender love. One we kept to ourselves. One we shared on a molecular level. Others may not see it, but it wasn’t theirs to see.
The delicate way Diem explored made me shiver with anticipation. I yearned for the connection of our bodies. To feel him inside me. To become part of him.
Diem removed my trousers, socks, and underwear as he took a meandering trip down my body. He kissed the inside of my thighs, massaged the arches of my feet, and caressed the swells of my calves.
He nestled his nose in the crease at the top of my leg and inhaled before skating his teasing lips over my erection, leaving a ghosting impression of heat behind, and a thrum of need. He didn’t take me into his mouth. Not then. Not yet.
I could whine and plead and beg, but Diem would not be swayed to rush.
He journeyed back up my body, inch by inch, one kiss at a time, until our foreheads connected and we breathed the same pocket of air. Diem didn’t open his eyes. The faint tremors I’d noticed earlier still rippled through him, but they were different now, born from lust and desire and need.
I hooked my hands around his neck, keeping him in place. Keeping him stable. “I love you,” I whispered.
His face crumpled momentarily before he regained control, and the worry lines smoothed out once again. “I love you.”
“You’re still dressed.”
“I’m getting there.”
“Let me help.”
I freed him of his clothes and rolled him to his back. He protested at first, and I imagined after the day he’d had, he wanted to be in control, but his objection was weak, and he soon caved to my demands.
On his back, at my mercy, I returned the love he’d shown me, mapping every scar and tattoo with my lips, reading every page of Diem’s history as it was written on his skin. With a brush of my fingertips, I calmed his jumping nerves, and his muscles finally relaxed.
The world was dark outside the window. Pools of shadows filled the room. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a yellow ambience over the bed. It was enough illumination to pick out the ribbons of red in Diem’s sclera. Ever-present storms haunted the horizons of his gray eyes.
He seemed to struggle to keep his hands still, fisting and balling and squeezing the sheets. The arrested movements pulled at my heartstrings.
“Are you okay?” I whispered by his ear.
He nodded, but it was a lie.
I continued my journey, exploring the worst of his story, the parts that shamed him above all others. Age-old cuts hid beneath the protective lion and compass inked on his thighs. The marks of a troubled youth. A point in history when he couldn’t keep the pain inside any longer, and he’d tried to extract it through any means possible.
