down there?” he asks softly, puzzled.
I shrug. You’re clean. I’m not , I sign.
Slowly, carefully, he edges his way down the bed until his head lies against the mattress inches from mine.
“Do you really think I give a fuck?”
He reaches out his good arm to turn my face toward him and looks at me searchingly with his warm brown eyes.
He knows what the problem is. He always knows.
With trembling fingers he traces the curve of my cheekbones, the hollow dip either side of my nose, this slow exploration made so much more intimate in the bright hospital light.
“You know what really hurt when I was lying in that caravan?” he says gently, drawing me closer with every touch. “It hurt that if I died there you would never have known. It’s stupid, but out of everything, I just couldn’t bear you not knowing. It didn’t seem right somehow that the one person who was everything to me wouldn’t know that I’d gone.”
We’re so close now; I feel such an incredible tender rush of desire to stop his tears with my lips, to feel the salty skin of his cheek beneath my tongue. I’ve come to realize it’s possible to take away pain with such actions, to show you love someone without saying a word.
He lowers his eyelashes, and I close my eyes. We’re so hesitant and shy with one another, the anticipation is painful and… wonderful.
“And I knew if I ever saw you again….” The words are just delicious whispers of breath. “I would….”
He inhales sharply at the first touch of our lips, and I jerk back, afraid that I’ve caused him pain.
I’m so very scared of hurting him.
His eyes are half lidded, dark, confused.
I don’t want to hurt you , I sign rapidly.
He groans shakily. “ Please, Remee. ” And his voice is full of a different sort of pain.
I want him so badly I’m aching for contact. And this time, when our lips meet, I open my mouth against his and gasp as his tongue touches mine and sweeps inside. He twists his head against the bed to deepen the kiss, and his moan vibrates inside me when I lean over and kiss him back just as deep.
I clench and unclench my hands in his hair, against the bed sheets, trying to be gentle but losing coherent thought completely. I’m panting and gasping and still barely breathing, high on all the little sounds he makes, his body pleading with mine to be closer, closer . I’ve never kissed anyone like this, lost in some fierce, wild longing that seems impossible to satisfy.
We know each other so well, and we know nothing.
It becomes messy and desperate very quickly, and I pull back to touch our cheeks gently together.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, still clutching me, breathing heavily against my ear.
I can’t respond. I can’t fucking breathe. That was too nice. I don’t want to come like that. I want to come with my body pressed up against him, wrapped up in him, holding me as I fly apart. I don’t want to lose control kneeling on the floor next to his hospital bed, the possibility of a nurse or doctor walking in on us.
“Remee?” He turns my face toward his.
His skin is flushed around his neck and the top of his chest, just visible above his gown, and I remember that time in the squat when I thought he was embarrassed after I got carried away. How fucking wrong I was.
Not here , I sign, self-conscious that I am so easy.
He smiles (and even though his face is distorted by bruising, it still makes me melt inside) and then blushes ever so slightly as he catches my gaze wandering down the raised bedclothes and resting with surprise on his evident erection.
Thank God we didn’t get any further , I think, as abruptly the curtains are drawn aside and a nurse walks in with a pile of prescriptions and Julian’s discharge papers.
T HESE O RDINARY G HOSTS
T HERE ’ S AN indoor phone booth near the accident and emergency reception. I hand Julian my last coin out of the pocket of my filthy jeans and lean against the wall in an attempt
I shrug. You’re clean. I’m not , I sign.
Slowly, carefully, he edges his way down the bed until his head lies against the mattress inches from mine.
“Do you really think I give a fuck?”
He reaches out his good arm to turn my face toward him and looks at me searchingly with his warm brown eyes.
He knows what the problem is. He always knows.
With trembling fingers he traces the curve of my cheekbones, the hollow dip either side of my nose, this slow exploration made so much more intimate in the bright hospital light.
“You know what really hurt when I was lying in that caravan?” he says gently, drawing me closer with every touch. “It hurt that if I died there you would never have known. It’s stupid, but out of everything, I just couldn’t bear you not knowing. It didn’t seem right somehow that the one person who was everything to me wouldn’t know that I’d gone.”
We’re so close now; I feel such an incredible tender rush of desire to stop his tears with my lips, to feel the salty skin of his cheek beneath my tongue. I’ve come to realize it’s possible to take away pain with such actions, to show you love someone without saying a word.
He lowers his eyelashes, and I close my eyes. We’re so hesitant and shy with one another, the anticipation is painful and… wonderful.
“And I knew if I ever saw you again….” The words are just delicious whispers of breath. “I would….”
He inhales sharply at the first touch of our lips, and I jerk back, afraid that I’ve caused him pain.
I’m so very scared of hurting him.
His eyes are half lidded, dark, confused.
I don’t want to hurt you , I sign rapidly.
He groans shakily. “ Please, Remee. ” And his voice is full of a different sort of pain.
I want him so badly I’m aching for contact. And this time, when our lips meet, I open my mouth against his and gasp as his tongue touches mine and sweeps inside. He twists his head against the bed to deepen the kiss, and his moan vibrates inside me when I lean over and kiss him back just as deep.
I clench and unclench my hands in his hair, against the bed sheets, trying to be gentle but losing coherent thought completely. I’m panting and gasping and still barely breathing, high on all the little sounds he makes, his body pleading with mine to be closer, closer . I’ve never kissed anyone like this, lost in some fierce, wild longing that seems impossible to satisfy.
We know each other so well, and we know nothing.
It becomes messy and desperate very quickly, and I pull back to touch our cheeks gently together.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, still clutching me, breathing heavily against my ear.
I can’t respond. I can’t fucking breathe. That was too nice. I don’t want to come like that. I want to come with my body pressed up against him, wrapped up in him, holding me as I fly apart. I don’t want to lose control kneeling on the floor next to his hospital bed, the possibility of a nurse or doctor walking in on us.
“Remee?” He turns my face toward his.
His skin is flushed around his neck and the top of his chest, just visible above his gown, and I remember that time in the squat when I thought he was embarrassed after I got carried away. How fucking wrong I was.
Not here , I sign, self-conscious that I am so easy.
He smiles (and even though his face is distorted by bruising, it still makes me melt inside) and then blushes ever so slightly as he catches my gaze wandering down the raised bedclothes and resting with surprise on his evident erection.
Thank God we didn’t get any further , I think, as abruptly the curtains are drawn aside and a nurse walks in with a pile of prescriptions and Julian’s discharge papers.
T HESE O RDINARY G HOSTS
T HERE ’ S AN indoor phone booth near the accident and emergency reception. I hand Julian my last coin out of the pocket of my filthy jeans and lean against the wall in an attempt
Similar Books
