Page 49 of Left of Forever

“Yes. Yes, that’s the idea.”

“No, but, I just—ah—you said no sex. I’m not breaking that on night one.”

“What?!” I’m sure I should feel some sort of embarrassmentfor how appalled I sound. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and cups my jaw in one hand.

“No… sex. Not this first night. Going to do this right.”

“God, I don’t care. I just need—” A knot that matches the one in my core tangles in my throat, and I’m at once inexplicably confused and desperate and aching.

“I know, baby, shh.” He kisses the corners of my eyes, the high planes of my cheekbones, the tip of my chin. “I know. I need, too. I needyou. Let’s… let’s just slow down one notch.”

I will my breathing to even out, let him wind me down with slow, drugging kisses while he sways us side to side. I tremble harder the more tender he is, emotion refusing to abate.

“Are we stupid to do this? Is this a bad idea?” I whisper. Am I stupid to want to risk this so quickly again? Are we doing this right? Where’d we go wrong before?

“No, I don’t think so,” he whispers back. “We’re just us.”

For a second, I think he’s just confirmed our stupidity. Weareus. Two small-town nobodies that got knocked up at seventeen and eighteen. It certainly wasn’t the smartest thing anyone’s ever done. But then I realize he’s just right. We’re what we are and what we’ve always been to each other. The alchemy of our bodies and the way my skin still remembers his is a part of that. He said it himself before: he’s altered my very DNA.

“You’re shaking,” he says, heartbreakingly gentle. He cradles my head to his shoulder while one palm pets me from my nape to the base of my spine. I idly recall the same way he comforts Bud and wonder if he’ll pat me on the rump, too. “Are you okay? It’s just me, Wren.” That’s exactly it, though. It’s Ellis. It’s been five years. It’s been too many other men’s arms and not a fraction of this even if you compiled them all together. It’s been disappointmentafter disappointment and feeling emptier and emptier, wondering if there was somethingwrongwith me. If something broke inside me. Every step I take with him gets me further away from those lofty ideas of comfort I had and closer tothis. This overwhelming, gutting, soul-rendering feeling is so dangerous. And I’m watching myself dive for it with so little caution.

“Let me kiss you some more,” he says against my temple. Like he needs it just as much. “Let me take care of you. Please.”

I nod against him, and his stubble scrapes my cheek. He rewards me with more kisses along the line of my jaw, under my ear and down my neck while he walks me backward, until I’m softly pressed to the wall. His tongue dips into the hollow of my throat, and he blows cool air there before he continues across the shelf of my collarbone. When he reaches my shoulder, he swirls his tongue against my skin before he delicately slips the strap of my dress away, inch by painstaking inch. He lets it hang at the top of my breast for a beat, and I hear him swallow, like he’s preparing himself to reveal that part of me. I lift my shoulder and let it fall away before he has the chance.

“Fuck,” he whispers before he runs his lips back and forth across my nipple. “Fuck, I missed you.” The pure emotion in his voice sears through me.

He slides the other strap down, lifts both of my breasts and molds them together, wetly kissing each of them before blowing cold air on them and watching them tighten more. He rubs his whole face across their surfaces, his nose and lips and even his brow, like he’s lost in the sensation. Like he’s utterly fascinated by them, like they’re his every lurid dream come to life. My arms are still trapped against my sides by my straps, and my lower half is still pinned to the wall by his. My hips tilt, searching for something, and he’s there like he knows, pressing his thighbetween my legs and lifting me up the wall, perfectly applying pressure where I need it most. I rock slowly at first, until I can feel the edge of what I’m chasing. And then I torque and squirm and grind and gasp and slur helpless, beseeching words when he tugs at my nipples with his teeth. He builds it, stokes it in me until I feel like I’m aflame, desperately and clumsily circling. All while he goes on sucking and flicking me with his tongue.

“You gonna come like this?” he rasps, awed. “Can you get there with just my knee? Fuck, I bet you’re wet. If I touch you, I’m done. I’ll come in my pants like I’m sixteen again.” He’s amused at how needy we both are. Moaning at my whimpering and chuckling at my breathy, high sputter of a laugh. I let out an agonized, teeth-chattering sound when he abandons my chest and grasps at my hips to rock me against him harder. “Yeah, you’re gonna come like this,” he murmurs resolutely. I feel my underwear slip to the side and I’m bare against his jeans. I mutter some nonsense about his pants even as I ride him harder. “Yes. Make a fucking mess,” he says.

He sinks his teeth into my shoulder and works at me, lifting, tilting, dragging me until every sensation coalesces into one blistering, incandescently long release. He takes me through every last pulse, whispering praises into my neck, kissing my breastbone before he deftly plucks my arms out of my dress straps and wraps them around his neck to carry me to the bed.

He lays me down carefully and cups me again, twisting languid kisses into my skin and sending little aftershocks shimmering through me. I let my fingers roam along his scalp and touch his serene face. His eyelashes fan out against his cheeks while he goes on enjoying himself.

“I missed you, too,” I say, chest still rising and falling and sweat cooling on my skin. His eyes open and meet mine. “Somuch.” When I toy with the top button of his shirt, his hand envelops mine and holds it still. He slides up the bed to kiss my mouth. “Can I touch you?” I ask.

“I’m a feather stroke away from coming already, Wren. I just wanted to—oof—what are you—shit.” His eyes roll back when I palm him through his jeans, and he grabs my wrist again. “No, honey. I’m serious. First time I get to be with you again, I would really like to make it last.”

“How do you think putting this off until tomorrow is gonna help?” I muse.

He exhales a laugh and rolls one of my nipples playfully with his palm. “Because I’m going to go back to my room now where I plan to masturbate furiously,” he informs me.

“Can I at least watch?” I say.

His eyes stutter closed. “Jesus Christ, you’re trying to kill me,” he groans weakly.

When he extricates himself from my limbs and bolts to his feet, I lean up onto my elbows and pin him with a coquettish look, my dress still tangled down around my waist. His hands bracket his hips before he roughly adjusts himself in a way that makes my mouth go dry. His fingers thread over the back of his head while he stares down at me, visibly enduring a battle within himself, biceps bunching and flexing. I lazily slide a thumb over a nipple, and his plea is downright grief-stricken.

“No,” he abruptly says—yells—and I jump a little. Which makes him cycle through a half-worded apology that melts into another mewl when my tits bounce bawdily. “I’m doing this right. We’re taking it slow. I’ll… I’ll see you in the morning. Checkout is at eleven, but we both know we’ll be up before dawn, so just text me when you want to get breakfast. Or comeby. Or send a homing pigeon. Tap Morse code against my door.” He bends himself in half to plant a firm kiss to my mouth. “I—”

His eyes widen and his lips pale. Mine do the same when I realize he was about to sayI love you. I quickly stretch up to kiss him again and pretend I didn’t notice.

“I’ll talk to you in the morning,” I say, forcing a smile.

Emotions drift over his face like a time lapse of a storm. He leans in for one last kiss. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

I try to push it out of my mind when he leaves. I shower, go through an entire skin-care routine, brush my teeth, and admire all the marks he left in places. I tell myself it was an easy slipup. Just because he fell back in time on one routine phrase doesn’t mean we’re doomed to fall back into our darkest time altogether. For the most part, it works. I have genuine butterflies when I finally lie down to go to sleep.