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After a moment she said, “Okay,” and she raised her eyes. And she touched my lips underneath her fingertips. “I want you to touch me with your hands.”
I sighed, stared off at the wall.
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Thais, it does.”
She paused.
“I want to know what…you feel like.”
I became acutely aware of my own suspicious mind suddenly. I explored it for a moment, searching underneath heavy, relentless layers of passion and desire for her that made it incredibly difficult to think clearly of anything else.
“Why are you afraid to touch me?”
I broke away from my thoughts.
“I’m not afraid to touch you,” I said, combing my fingers through the top of her hair. “I’m afraid of not being able to stop. I’m afraid of turning you into something you’re not.”
“What am I not, Atticus?”
I didn’t answer at first; I knew the answers, all of them, but I didn’t know which to start with.
Finally, summing them all up into one, I said, “Everything that this world is.”
Thais sighed then and rested her hand on my bare chest.
“What if I told you I wanted you to touch me and not stop?”
I lifted from the mattress, but she stopped me.
“Atticus, please—stay here with me. I won’t ask anything else of you. All I want is for you to touch me. That’s all. I swear it.”
Staring intently at the shadows of branches cast against the far wall, I tried to calm my breathing; I loosened my tightly clenched fists; I let my rigid jaw settle behind my cheeks. And when I felt the tenderness of her fingers touch my arm, move upward and slide across my chest, every ounce of anger and discomfort left me in a breath. “Please…” I heard her voice whisper in the darkness, felt the warmth of her breath on my bare shoulder. “It’s all I ask,” she said.
Slowly, I laid back down; she drew her leg over my waist.
I turned to face her; her mouth was so close, but I restrained myself from kissing it. I kissed her forehead instead and whispered, “And that’s all you give me permission to do?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “All I give you permission to do is touch me with your hands.”
Without looking away from her eyes, I slid my hand over her waist, her hip, taking my time before putting it between her thighs underneath her dress.
THAIS
Atticus slid his fingers behind the elastic of my panties and pulled them down my thighs, over my knees, off my feet and away from me. Slowly, and carefully, as if afraid he’d break me, he parted my legs with his hand. I was reluctant at first, the fear of the act still dancing in my belly, but I gave in to his movements, his guidance.
I gasped a little at the parting of my legs, just thinking about what he would do next, touch next. That part of me, the deepest most sacred part of my body, knew what would happen next before my mind did. The tugging between my thighs I could now feel in my stomach. I gently bit my lip. I never looked away from his eyes; they captured me, pinned me down next to him, made me absolutely submissive to him.
I shivered from the back of my head down into my knees when Atticus pulled my dress up and rest it on my belly, exposing me. The warm summer night air touched me, every part of me, and my heart skipped two beats in my chest.
I fell into his blue eyes as he drank me up with them. I thought I might drown in them, but I wanted to. I wanted to…
My gasp was sharp when I felt his fingers move through my tuft of soft hair and between the cleft of my body’s center, and I knew that Atticus’ touch would crumble the very walls of my foundation, that I would collapse absolutely and would need to be rebuilt again.
My lips parted and my mouth filled with air and the insides of my thighs came alive with shivers when I felt one of his fingers dip inside of me. My breasts heaved, my hands clenched the sheet beneath me, my eyes threatened to close.
