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“A pattern that ended eight years ago,” I reminded him. “A pattern that you broke by learning and growing closer to God. I’m not trying to coerce you. God, I hate that it even has the same whisper of coercion, and I’m so grateful you’re so careful not to hurt me, but don’t you think you may have broken the pattern by now? You’re not a kid with an unchecked prefrontal cortex anymore. You’re a man. A good man. You wouldn’t hurt me.”
His eyes flared with obvious desire. He didn’t try to hide it. His slight smile told me that much.
Then I knew.
The way he was making me wild was intentional, calculated. He was doing it for me, so I’d know it wasn’t about his lack of wanting to, but his own emotional readiness for it.
And breaking an eight-year streak would require alotof emotional readiness.
Eight years. Shit. I finally understood why he’d beenso apprehensive.
But it made me want him all the more. My pelvic floor muscles clenched with wanting him. My vulva grew heavier. I could feel the emptiness of my vagina and imagined the way his cock would fill it. God, it would feel so perfect to finally wrap my legs around his waist and feel him fill me up.
He looked at the floor lazily, casually, as he took one step closer. Then another. And another. Closing the distance between us.
My back was against the wall and still he moved closer. The toe of his sneaker was snug against the side of my left foot. Slowly, he reached up. His fingers closing around the side of my neck one by one, skating over the stickiness of my overheated skin. Our gifted fragrances mingled. Amber with cedar. Smoke with frankincense.
My knees softened when he pressed his hand more firmly into my throat, pressing against my blood vessels. He used his grip to support me. The full weight of his arm was resting on the heel of his hand against my collarbone. His thumb at my jaw, pushing my chin up to look into his face as he just looked and looked, searching my face with a craving in his eyes.
Blood roared through my body, carrying desire in the cells of my blood, alerting my attention to all the places I wanted him to touch. My thighs, the insides of my elbows, the undersides of my breasts. As long as he kept that one possessive hand at my throat. God, I loved that.
I writhed against the wall. The cotton of my t-shirt scraped against my bare nipples and sent an electric shock straight to my clit. Gus’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned away, watching my legs clamp tighter and my toes curl on the hardwoods. My hands clawed into his forearms.
I’d never felt like this before. My craving for him was a life-sustaining force. Like a zombie, I was controlled by this hunger. Raw and desperate, my body shivered. I heard rather than felt my hardbreathing. I moaned.Could I come like this?I could come. Just from the fleeting sensation on my nipples. If it was just a little more…just a little harder. His arm draped casually down my chest, making it scrape harder as I moved. From the way he looked at me, amused and bewildered and afraid, I couldn’t stop my body from eking out some kind of pleasure from him.
How did this man have such power over me? He studied me with fascination, like I was a dead moth mounted on a spreading board. My body artificially relaxed into position. My wings pliant and open. Pinned only by his hand at my neck.
This wasn’t me. I wasn’t like this. Feral and wild. “Gus, please,” I moaned. I didn’t care who I was anymore. My desperation had driven me insane. I’d sloughed off all consciousness until I was nothing but breath and blood and bone.
And nerves. Definitely nerves.
Gus finally stopped watching. His watching would have been infuriating if I’d had any shame, but I was beyond that now. Slowly, he bent his head lower. His eyes flickered closed when I whimpered, as if the sound was torture for him.
His lips parted. They brushed over mine as his thumb dug into my jaw, lifting me higher to him.
It was a caress more than a kiss, the slow movement of his lips against mine. Information input. The warmth of my lips against his. The size and shape and how we fit together.
His eyes were still open. He watched my body freeze, all the better the opportunity for him to explore.
It wasn’t our first kiss. It wasn’t even our first good kiss. This was different, though. All the buildup. The writhing. His lips against mine made it all go still. It was intensely satisfying, just exchanging breaths with him.
Then he opened his lips, deepening the kiss. It was slow,agonizing,the way he kissed me. When his tongue slid against mine, the sharp bitterness of his beer somehow still present, he groaned.
He’d shifted his hand so slightly around the back of my skull, I hadn’t even noticed he’d moved closer to press his body against mine. His chest pushed me further into the wall with a delightful pressure, his knee between my legs, his hard cock pressing into my belly.
Feeling all of him flooded me with a profound gratitude. I let out an involuntary sob from the intensity of it.
When he noticed the slip of his hand, he brought it back to the front. He drew back slightly and inhaled sharply, looking away. That was why. It wasn’t a possessive thing, or a weird throat fetish. It allowed him to touch me in an intimate place that wasn’t strictly a sexual organ, but his arm kept his body distanced from mine.
If he leaned closer, he’d be done for, and that couldn’t happen. In Gus’s head, a moment of pleasure wouldn’t be worth how much he’d hurt me after.
Gus
The house was tooquiet.
A pot of what smelled like my favorite cauliflower and potato curry was keeping warm over a low flame on the stove, so I knew she was home. But there was no trashy TV blaring to keep her company, no Siouxsie Sioux floating down from upstairs. Not even the clicks of her nails on her laptop keyboard let me know where she was.
“Decca?” I dropped my keys on the kitchen table, turned off the flame, and gave the curry a stir. Ginger and cumin mingled with the perpetual scent of Decca’s hideous perfume and a hint of that pleasantly mildewed smell of an old house. I hadn’t eaten since a bowl of dry cereal this morning, neither of us having remembered to go to the market for milk. I’d been going nonstop since, ordering candles and incense, counseling a catechumen in the sacraments, and celebrating the matins service. Then I visited Dad, and cooked tacos for him and Mom. Tacos I couldn’t eat because it was a fasting day—no meat.
