Page 82 of All That Remains
"Looks like."
"Good, babe."
A catharsis washed over me when he finally said it.Babe. Why didn't he hold back this time? It had been casually intimate. Unreserved. What a relief.
"You gonna be a massive movie star or somethin'?" he snickered, sitting up to look me in the eye.
"We'll see how it goes," I shrugged. "I might be shit."
"No, I doubt it. You're really good."
"You don't know that."
"But I do."
"D’you reckon?"
"You're really goodwith things."
"With things?"
"Yeah,with tings. Always were. Whatever you, like, set your mind to. I've seen it."
He relaxed against me, becoming heavier and more trusting by the moment.
"I appreciate that."
He watched my lips. I licked them self-consciously.
"You tired?" he murmured.
"Yeah. Kind of..."
"Then let's get comfortable." He rose, but before I could follow, told me to give him a second.
***
When he returned, he was unspeaking. He held out a hand and I accepted, my insides leaping as his palm enclosed my fingers. It was happening.Somethingwas happening. No morepretense. No more begging to be kissed. He was taking me to his room.Theirroom, I corrected myself. But then another part of me shot it down and repeated,hisroom.
He wanted me there. He had invited me and wasnow leadingme there, hand in hand. My knees grew weak halfway down the hall, registering the familiar paintings and the collage of Polaroids from my first visit. Registering the perpetual chill of the polished concrete at my feet. Feeling him stroke my fingers. Inhaling his bodywash. I nearly collapsed, but knew I had to be strong. There were only a few more feet and I would be safe in his bed,with him.
Upon entering, it felt like 2016 again,Valentine's Day. He had changed the sheets and shut the drapes and lit several candles around the floor of the room. It was his signature move to lend these moments a sense of occasion, and it got me every time.
Now he brought me bedside and removed the few rings I wore, bunching my fingers together in his palm and kissing them repeatedly. I panicked. He swept my damp hair behind either shoulder, then reached around and removed my cross necklace—his cheek brushing mine in the process. I kissed his temple before he retreated, making him smirk.
There was a bottle of whisky on the nightstand and a single tumbler. I sat on the edge of the bed as directed, and watched him pour a bit of the amber liquid neat, then toss it back with a grimace. He then poured me a bit, and I downed it right away, hissing through the afterburn. I drank it quickly because I was afraid to miss his next instruction.
Once I handed him the glass, he poured himself another shot and downed it just as quickly. I couldn’t stop watching his big, pretty fingers. I had a second as well, feeling it singe a path to my stomach, trickling down my esophagus like battery acid. On his third, he kissed me and slowly spilled some into my mouth.
I grabbed the back of his head, gulping every drop, wiping my chin before reclaiming his lips. His liquor-soaked tongue tasted cool and fiery, and I lapped it up, yanking his hair with both hands. He drank a bit more—straight from the bottle—and again I drank it from his mouth. As I finished, he ran a thumb along my bottom lip. Surprising us both, I drew his finger into my mouth. The whites of his eyes appeared as he savored the lapping of my warm tongue. I struggled not to bite down on him in my intoxication.
"Rome..." I objected when he pulled away.
He laid me down across the center of the bed, his fingers scratching at my waistband. He snatched my sweats down my hips, exposing the boner I'd been hiding. His lids fluttered drunkenly, and he expelled a slow, tortured breath. Relishing the sight of me before delving in.
All our blithe conversation and endless reminiscing had come to this—him staring down my cock like the barrel of a gun. His eyes fluttered again. He seemed reluctant to make a definitive move. I nearly exploded after being relieved from the sweats, and now throbbed in an achy anticipation,watching him watch it.Fuck’s sake, they must've been getting reacquainted. Far be it from me to stand in the way.
Now his lips sought the heat of inner thighs. They pecked unhurriedly, dragging a pillowy trail along either leg, purposefully evading my engorged flesh. I whimpered, realizing how much I’d missed the tease of his light beard on my skin. It was a unique sensation I’d only ever experienced with him. Never the girls, of course. And none of them were able to deep-throat, penetrate, or dominate me the way I desired. It was always expected of me to lead. To be the initiator, the pursuer. Somehow he knew exactly what I needed, even after all this time, and was administering it in powerful doses.
