I kissed him as if he was the air in my lungs. As if he was the blood in my veins. As if I needed him to live. And then I trailed a bunch of kisses down his neck, my hands all over his shoulders, falling to his abs and then lower.
He moved slightly giving me room and I gazed into his eyes, loving the way his pupils dilated when my fingers found the hard length of him.
“Shit, Georgia.” His voice was hoarse, the veins on the side of his neck stood bulging as I slowly stroked every inch of him from the base to the top.
“I can’t,” he said roughly. “I won’t last.”
When he rolled away and grabbed a condom, I felt lost. I wanted him on me. Against me.
In me.
Sweat beaded along his forehead and I pushed away his rain dampened hair as he moved over me, his large body hot and hard. He cradled my face between his hands and as his mouth reached for me, as his tongue danced with mine, he eased inside me.
Our eyes were open. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t utter one single sound.
It was as if this perfect moment was suspended in time and I would always remember what it felt like this first time. We weren’t fucking. We were making love.
His eyes were hooded as he began to move and he groaned into me. “I knew you would feel like this. So hot, and tight, and fucking perfect.”
I still couldn’t speak, but ran my hands along his shoulders as my hips met him thrust for thrust. We were perfect together. We fit in a way I had never experienced. Call it corny or stupid or whatever, but this guy was made for me.
He hiked my leg higher and our rhythm increased as we strained against each other, into each other, long slow strokes that gradually increased. He murmured all kinds of things in my ear but I couldn’t tell you what they were.
His mouth was everywhere, licking and sucking, driving me crazy. On my breasts, against my mouth. There beneath my ear.
And when I felt that pressure build and expand I grabbed him and dragged his mouth back to mine. I kissed him, throwing everything I was feeling into that moment.
I came just before he did and our worlds shattered together.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
How in hell did you top something like this?
For the longest time, Ben held himself over me, this weight on his elbows as he pulsed inside me. As our connection solidified. I felt his heart against my palms, his warmth along my skin and I never wanted him to leave.
“That was…” God, I couldn’t vocalize what was in my head.
Ben leaned forward and kissed my cheek so tenderly it brought tears to my eyes.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It was.”
I woke up to a dark room, a hard body pressed into my back and one arm slung over my waist. I could tell by the way he was breathing that Ben was asleep, and for a few moments I laid there, not wanting to be anywhere else, tucked into his body as if I belonged.
I rested my head against him and listened to the rain that still fell outside as I gazed up through the glass ceiling above his bed. It was awesome lying here with Ben, underneath a dark rain-soaked sky.
I didn’t want it to end. Ever.
My throat tightened at the thought and I had to mentally smack myself down. How in hell could I be thinking of forever when A) we’d just met a few weeks ago and B) I was messed up.
Why would Ben want to get involved with someone as fucked up as me? A girl who had no idea if she would be healthy next week, let alone next month? As soon as he found out about the ‘before’ me, he’d either run or worse, he’d try to fix me. And there was no way he could do that.
Mental illness wasn’t something you could fix. It was something to be managed. Something my mother had failed at, so why the hell did I think I was going to be any better at it?
‘You need to learn to manage your illness before you can give yourself to someone. And you need to be honest with that someone.’ Seamus’ words, not mine, and he should know.
We’d chatted about Ben at our last session and he’d told me point blank that it was a bad idea to get involved with someone right now. He’d said that I was still feeling my way through the darkness and that I needed to stand on my own before I could even consider being with someone, especially someone who had no idea that I was fucked. (His words had been more gentle but I knew what he meant.)