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I dig my nails into his hair and try to drag him up my stomach, but all that seems to do is further the torture, as his long tousled fringe fluffs up and rubs over me.
“One more minute, baby,” he mutters gently. “You’re doing so well.”
My thighs lift slightly, brushing each side of his soft brown hair, and he makes a low noise as he pushes in from a deeper angle. He raises his other arm up and uses it to hold down my stomach, restraining my bucking hips against the mattress as he gorges.
Suddenly he stands, lifting my legs by my ankles so that he can slip my underwear up and over my legs without me having to move an inch. He keeps the cotton clenched in his hand as he shucks off his pants and boxers.
“I’m keeping these,” he says as the last of his clothes gets kicked aside.
I sit up on one elbow as he reaches for the lamp on the floor and switches on the low warm-tone bulb before getting back onto the bed. “Then do I get to keep yours?” I ask back.
He settles himself between my legs, biceps crowding up on either side of my head. He gently brushes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “What do you want to do with them?” he replies, half-bemused, half-surprised.
I raise my eyebrow and his cheeks flush.
He gently places my underwear on the dresser and presses a kiss to my throat as he leans down to pick up the box of condoms. “Only if you show me,” he whispers, and now it’s my turn to blush.
Tate sits back on his haunches, softly knocking my knees wider as he tears the cellophane off the box. His eyes stay locked on mine. It’s like a staring competition, only we’re both about to win. He digs his fingers into the cardboard to pierce the opening, but his shoulder ripples when the soft backs of my thighs rub up to caress his knees and the whole side rips open, half of the box of condoms splattering down on my stomach.
“Ohfuck,” he curses hoarsely, before biting into his forearm, spinning his torso away from me, and squeezing his eyes shut.
My eyes flick between the packets spilled across my tummy and Tate’s death-grip on his erection. He isn’t moving it, he’s more… restraining it. I quickly wipe the packets off of me and stuff them back into the broken box. Then I pick one back out and rest it just below my belly button.
When he turns back around his brow is pinched in agony, and when he sees the one foil packet he looks like he’s about to cry. He picks it up and lowers his body back over me, his eyes meeting mine with a concerned, protecting look.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes shimmering with worry.
I readjust my glasses and give him a little ready smile. I feel like I’ve just opened a test paper and the question at the top is exactly what I prepared for. “Yes,” I say. Then I add, “Are you?”
The look in his eyes as he catches the foil edge in his mouth, rips the packet open, and then spits it out next to us answers my question before he does.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, eyes glinting as he rolls the condom down his length.
Hmm, I have an inkling.
He drops his forehead to mine and moves himself between us, brushing me tentatively, and I have to bite back a little Chihuahua yelp.
Wow, I’m scared. What a time for it. Does this happen to everyone or is it only for people with PTSD?
Tate can sense it. I’ve stilled so completely that I can make out the fresh pattering of rain that has been unleashed from the inky black sky, and is now battering the window pane.
“Hey,” he says in a gentle hushed voice. I blink back to him and I feel suddenly embarrassed – like, where did my clothes go? How did we get here?Why am I letting him-
When he slowly pulls back I realise why. Because this is Tate, the boy from across the street. It isn’t someone else. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He never wanted to hurt me.
I press my hands into his shoulder blades and give him an apologetic smile. My stomach rolls a bit. “Sorry,” I say, wincing. “Did I just kill the mood?”
His eyes widen. “River, no. Please never apologise to me. What do you have to be sorry for? You’re perfect – I’m pinching myself that you even let me in here.” My heart throbs and I run my hands upwards, so that I can grip around the meaty muscles at the top of his back. He rolls into my touch and every part of him presses into me. “Do you still want to?” he asks quietly, his eyes searching my face for any hints of reluctance.
I nod and he leans down to kiss me long and slow.
Before I understand what’s happening, Tate lightly lifts up my head and I feel him slip something over us and down my hair. When he releases me I feel a fine sensation around my clavicle and I look down between us. My eyes widen as I look at the cross that is now resting at the base of my neck. He frees my hair from the inside of the chain and watches me with wary eyes. “I didn’t want it knocking you when I…” He trails off, swallowing hard and trying to gauge whether I’m going to recoil from it. Or maybe he’s testing to see if I’ll burst into flames. I’m fairly certain that Tate would baptise me himself if I would let him, and right now I don’t think that I would even mind. I touch the pendant carefully as I look up at him. He’s all twinkly with hope and it’s so endearing that I lean up to give him a little kiss.
Tate carefully positions himself against me and I allow my body to sink further into the thick quilt and pillows.Histhick quilt and pillows. I am entirely encompassed by him and I am truly happy about it. He uses one hand to push my thigh a little wider and I hum in nervous anticipation.
The bulging arm braced above my head is more rigid than steel and his voice is strained. “Should I… would you like me to…?” His breathing is erratic and his body is emitting heat like a volcano.
I pull one of my arms back to meet his hand situated tensely above me on the pillow. I gently unclench his fist and slide my fingers between his. “Yes and yes,” I say. His eyes search mine for certainty and I give him a tiny smile.
