comprehend his words. It was too filled with the feeling of his skin against mine, the pulses that still ran through me, the way my body tingled from his touches.
The thin sheet grated against my tender nipples, and every time I moved, my sex throbbed, the slight pain a reminder of him inside me, the tingle that spread low in my belly when I clenched, my sex reminding me of how empty I was without him, how I wanted him inside me again.
But those feelings, the need that he had awakened, were almost muted by the other, much more potent feelings that lying next to him, cocooned in the strength and warmth of his arms, evoked. Here, in the darkness of this room, I was safe, at peace, something I could hardly recall being before.
That it was with him, the dark markings on his arms, barely visible in the room but undoubtedly there, making it impossible for me to forget who he was, what he stood for, should have extinguished my ardor, should have kept me away from him in the first place.
But my will and my body were out of sync, and instead of moving away, I burrowed even closer.
“I should go,” he said in his deep, raspy voice, the faint lilt of his accent like honey against my ears, so much so that I missed what he said.
When I finally grasped the words, I broke away and sat up quickly, taking the sheet with me.
“I’m sorry… I…” I stopped, wondering what to say, knowing that the truth, that I was busy pretending that this was real, that him holding me, kissing me, meant something. I knew that it did—as much as it couldn’t, as much as I didn’t want it to, it had, even if only for these few hours. But I couldn’t say that to him, could hardly admit it to myself. I finally settled on, “Thank you.”
He clamped a hand around my neck and pulled me to him and kissed me, so deeply, so thoroughly, I forgot how embarrassed I’d been moments ago. When he broke the kiss, I was panting.
“That’s a better good-bye,” he said.
I blinked. Blinked again. “Um, Anton, I don’t want you to think… I mean, I’m not…”
He released a short little laugh and then smiled, his eyes soft. “I’ve never seen my Lily tongue-tied.”
His Lily.
The thought of it, of being his, was better than I wanted to admit.
“I just…I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you or that you owe me anything. That this meant something it didn’t,” I finally said.
His smile dropped and his eyes clouded, but he soon regained his usual, somewhat placid expression and kissed me again, this time sweetly. “We’ll decide what this meant and what it didn’t later, okay? But for now, I must go.”
I nodded, but he didn’t move, kept his gaze glued to mine.
“What is it, Lily?” he asked, his patient, soothing tone making me feel all the more a fool. A fool who couldn’t resist speaking her thoughts.
“You’re not leaving because of me… I mean, this”—I gestured at the pillows—“was okay?” I said, wishing I could drop through the floor from embarrassment, but needing to know what he thought, what, if anything, he had felt.
He cupped my cheek, worked his thumb against the bone, the motion drawing my gaze to the spots of ink on his wrist until he tilted my head until I met his gaze again. “You know why I’m leaving?” he asked.
I went with my first thought. “Because I’m clinging?”
“No,” he said, moving his thumb a little faster. “Because I want to take you again. And again. But you’re not ready. So I’ll go and not risk the temptation.”
“Oh,” I said, warmth suffusing me as I processed what he’d said, that warmth becoming full, bone-deep happiness when I finally did. “I think I could. Take you again, I mean.”
In a blink, his patient gaze turned hot with desire. “You tempt me, Lily. But no. I’ll leave. Come, make sure the door is locked behind me,” he said.
I watched him dress and then stood on shaky legs, not bothering to dress when I saw the way he looked
The thin sheet grated against my tender nipples, and every time I moved, my sex throbbed, the slight pain a reminder of him inside me, the tingle that spread low in my belly when I clenched, my sex reminding me of how empty I was without him, how I wanted him inside me again.
But those feelings, the need that he had awakened, were almost muted by the other, much more potent feelings that lying next to him, cocooned in the strength and warmth of his arms, evoked. Here, in the darkness of this room, I was safe, at peace, something I could hardly recall being before.
That it was with him, the dark markings on his arms, barely visible in the room but undoubtedly there, making it impossible for me to forget who he was, what he stood for, should have extinguished my ardor, should have kept me away from him in the first place.
But my will and my body were out of sync, and instead of moving away, I burrowed even closer.
“I should go,” he said in his deep, raspy voice, the faint lilt of his accent like honey against my ears, so much so that I missed what he said.
When I finally grasped the words, I broke away and sat up quickly, taking the sheet with me.
“I’m sorry… I…” I stopped, wondering what to say, knowing that the truth, that I was busy pretending that this was real, that him holding me, kissing me, meant something. I knew that it did—as much as it couldn’t, as much as I didn’t want it to, it had, even if only for these few hours. But I couldn’t say that to him, could hardly admit it to myself. I finally settled on, “Thank you.”
He clamped a hand around my neck and pulled me to him and kissed me, so deeply, so thoroughly, I forgot how embarrassed I’d been moments ago. When he broke the kiss, I was panting.
“That’s a better good-bye,” he said.
I blinked. Blinked again. “Um, Anton, I don’t want you to think… I mean, I’m not…”
He released a short little laugh and then smiled, his eyes soft. “I’ve never seen my Lily tongue-tied.”
His Lily.
The thought of it, of being his, was better than I wanted to admit.
“I just…I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you or that you owe me anything. That this meant something it didn’t,” I finally said.
His smile dropped and his eyes clouded, but he soon regained his usual, somewhat placid expression and kissed me again, this time sweetly. “We’ll decide what this meant and what it didn’t later, okay? But for now, I must go.”
I nodded, but he didn’t move, kept his gaze glued to mine.
“What is it, Lily?” he asked, his patient, soothing tone making me feel all the more a fool. A fool who couldn’t resist speaking her thoughts.
“You’re not leaving because of me… I mean, this”—I gestured at the pillows—“was okay?” I said, wishing I could drop through the floor from embarrassment, but needing to know what he thought, what, if anything, he had felt.
He cupped my cheek, worked his thumb against the bone, the motion drawing my gaze to the spots of ink on his wrist until he tilted my head until I met his gaze again. “You know why I’m leaving?” he asked.
I went with my first thought. “Because I’m clinging?”
“No,” he said, moving his thumb a little faster. “Because I want to take you again. And again. But you’re not ready. So I’ll go and not risk the temptation.”
“Oh,” I said, warmth suffusing me as I processed what he’d said, that warmth becoming full, bone-deep happiness when I finally did. “I think I could. Take you again, I mean.”
In a blink, his patient gaze turned hot with desire. “You tempt me, Lily. But no. I’ll leave. Come, make sure the door is locked behind me,” he said.
I watched him dress and then stood on shaky legs, not bothering to dress when I saw the way he looked
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