Chapter Forty

Chapter 40 Playlist


Here to Fall's Tumblr

Chapter Forty

TPOV

What a difference half a year makes…  

That was my first thought when I woke up.  Well, honestly it was the second thought.  

Allison was next to me, sleeping on her back; her face towards me, but her head only half on the pillow, one leg thrown over mine, one hand flopped on my chest, warm and solid.  I felt… I wasn’t sure I could even classify it.  Giddy wasn’t even in on this planet today.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever been this excited about anything.  

And, I mean, I knew why of course, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t like we didn’t have sex all the time.  It wasn’t like we hadn’t had sex last night.  In any other relationship, this wouldn’t have been a big step.  Or maybe that was exactly the thing—in any other relationship, I never really made this step.  I never had a reason to.  I never really cared enough.  It was pretty huge.  But it also seemed completely natural.  And I wanted it.  

I felt wired, restless, almost to the point of agitation.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I wanted to wait; I wanted this to be special.  I didn’t want to rush it.  But I had to do something about the complete and total hyperactivity going on everywhere in my fucking body.  I couldn’t calm anything down, least of all my mind.  

I thought about the first time I saw her, looking bored and annoyed in the bar with her unidentifiable hair color, and jittery, strange, non-existent conversational skills; all assumption and completely amazing green eyes.  Getting arrested and the surreal breakfast we had; the morning ending with her Super Gluing my head.  When she didn’t trust me at all; when sleeping next to me in the same bed was a stretch, much less anything remotely sexual.  

I eased out from under her, and seriously considered just starting sex, but there was just something not totally right about that.  That definitely wasn’t the way to make this special.  And I didn’t want it to be quick this morning, either.  But I had to do something with all of the restless energy, and I could at least get her off before I had to get ready for work.  

I started spreading her legs gently, not wanting her to wake up until I was really started, and smiled at the way she just totally let her legs fall open for me.  It was completely obvious the humongous change that was from her confusion over me just wanting to get her off that first day in my apartment.  She used to be so guarded about everything and now, now there was a level of trust that even at her most vulnerable, she completely yielded to me, even in sleep.  I couldn’t explain the pride that swelled knowing I gained that level of trust.  

I took a minute as I moved closer, resisting the urge to run my fingers all over her skin—that would have woken her up—to just appreciate…everything.  She was perfect; her legs that went on and on, and wrapped around me in just the right place.  Her hipbones defined but filled out and curvy; my thumbs fit just right in the little indent there.  Her stomach, smooth and soft, and her round breasts that fit my hands exactly, pushed up more by the positioning of her arms—both up and bent at the elbows, the one that had been flung across me now on the pillow, the other her fingers all curled in.  Her hair was in a messy fan under her head, her mouth open just the smallest amount, her lips just begging to be kissed and sucked.  Our kissing had been so, so tentative in the beginning; I was so afraid of sending her running.  I wanted to kiss her now.  I wanted to kiss her all over, but I could do that after.  

I thought about the first time she grabbed my hand when we left the theater and how that had seemed like such a fucking huge step.  And now look where we were.  

She was so responsive from the very first time my fingers were in her, and every time after; that hadn’t changed.  I licked her slowly, thinking about the first time I’d gone down on her after our first separation of three whole days.  It seemed like such a long time ago.  She shifted sleepily as I started pushing my tongue inside her, her body keeping up with me—her pussy getting wet even though she wasn’t fully awake yet.  She let out a low moan while she stretched, her legs going all taut with the same stretch, and the moan deepened when I sucked over her opening before doing the same thing to her clit, loving the shudder that went through her.  

It was the knowledge.  The fact that her body, and her subconscious knew that I’d get her there and there was nothing to be wary of—that was just indescribable.  Her eyes opened sleepily while she stretched again, and a lazy smile broke out when she fixed on me.  She wasn’t surprised.  And I loved that.  I loved that this was normal enough now that she didn’t even question or wonder or anything.  The sense of affection and intimacy—that we weren’t having any one-sided conversations anymore—she could see everything she needed to in my eyes.  

She lifted her hips and pressed back against me, and I just let my tongue sink in her farther, moving my hands up to hold onto her before starting to rub over her clit.  Her hands landed in my hair the second I concentrated my mouth on her clit and pushed two fingers inside her instead.  

I’m not sure why some guys don’t dig eating girls out.  Everything about it was win.  Guys were completely oral, so spending any amount of time running your entire tongue over something that made your girl moan out your name and come apart under you should have been welcome.  I’d do it for hours just to watch her.  

Her sounds were enough to do me in every fucking time because she never stuck with just one thing.  The moans turned into whines and pants and the sexiest fucking low guttural noises when she was coming.  Watching her come now was just as amazing as it’d been the first time.  And finding out what she liked and still trying other shit was half the fucking fun.  

I eased my fingers out of her, licking her off while her breathing started slowing.  The first time I’d done this to her, she latched onto me, trembling completely, tears starting.  She was so comfortable with me now.  

So perfect.  

God, I wanted to fuck her.  Take her right now, right here, no waiting.  She would let me, too.  

“Fuck me,” she said, like she could read my mind (not that I wasn’t completely transparent here).  

She was sent to test my willpower; I’m certain of it.  

I know I moaned myself.  I was so hard and she was so wet and pliant and ready, and eager and still drowsy and all I had to do was just push myself inside.  I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to do anything more.  

Instead I tried to take a deep breath, and failed miserably, shaking my head slowly.  

“We don’t have to wait anymore,” she told me, as if I didn’t know what day today was.

“I know.”

She whined.  “Then come on.  Fuck me.”  She further tried to explain by shimming down so all I had to do was literally just ease inside her.  “Now.  I don’t want to wait anymore.  We’ve waited this long already.”

I could just do it.  It wouldn’t really… What difference would a few hours make?

“Please?”

Ah, fuck.  Not the please.  I couldn’t deny her shit with the please.

“Tyler?”

I sighed heavily as she started to reach for me, tugging me and already lining me up.  

This just wasn’t how I saw it going at all.  I didn’t want it to be quick before I had to go to work.  I didn’t want it to just be a quick fuck and then run off.  I wanted to take my time.  This was a huger deal than she was making it out to be.  It wasn’t just about doing it the second we could.  

I pulled back a little, looking down at her.  “No, later.  I don’t… I don’t want to just do this right now before I have to leave for work.  I don’t…”  She looked sort of…not hurt exactly, just…unsure.  Like I was rejecting her for some reason.  “I don’t want to leave you after.  Ok?  I just... Tonight.  I want to wait until tonight.  So I can do this right.”

The uncertainty dropped abruptly.  “What the fuck are we waiting for?  Waiting sucks, Tyler.”

I chuckled.  “I know.  But it makes things that much more meaningful later.  I want it to be special.”

“Why can’t this be special?”

“Because it just won’t be.”

“Ugh.”

“I know it sucks.  You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea, thanks.”  She whined, and I bent to kiss her.  She let me, but she totally bit me the second time I went in, and tugged on my cock again.  “C’mon.”

I breathed out slowly, moving her hand away.  “Later.  We can last another few hours.  Just a few hours, baby.  I’ll be back before you know it.  I just don’t want to run out after.”

“Then fucking call in sick or something!”

Fuck.  I totally should have.  I seriously considered it.  And she knew she was winning.  She started kissing along my jaw, licking her way back to my neck.  Fuck, if she got to my neck, I’d never leave.  No.  Special.  Like, dinner, flowers or something kind of special.  I didn’t have any of that ready now.  I kissed her twice quickly, starting to back away.  “Few hours.”

“Ugh.”  Her arms flopped back dramatically on the bed.  “You are such a fucking asshole.”

I chuckled, tossing some clothes on.  “I know.  There I go again, being a fucking asshole wanting things to be special for you.”

She flipped me off and there may have been a shoe that hit the door when I closed it.  

~ooOoo~

APOV

I’m not a patient person; never have been.  Waiting fucking sucks.  They call it instant gratification because that’s exactly what it is—you fucking get really happy, right-the-fuck-now.  Being fucked on command was way better than waiting for it.  He was nuts.  And he’d just totally gone down on me and left me all unsatisfied in the dick department.  

I didn’t care that he wanted it to be special.  I wanted it now.  I wanted it then.  I just fucking wanted it.  Special.  What the fuck did that even mean?  How could he make it more special?  Wasn’t it special enough?  What difference did it make if we did it at eight in the morning or later at night?

And now I was gonna be fucking horny.  All. fucking. day.  

He was so getting bitchy texts.  All. fucking. day.

I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of his boxers and trudged out to see if the asshole had at least made coffee before he left for work.  

Instead of coffee there was a plate on the table, toast with what looked like strawberry jam and a glass of juice.  He had a scribbled note next to the plate that said: I poured your own juice.  Probably the best or only breakfast I’ve ever made for anyone.  I’ll call you later.  

It took me a second, but then I started laughing.  The first night he ever stayed at my apartment, when he’d shown up and rambled through his apology and basically passed out on our couch, he made me toast that next morning.  Even buttered the toast and spread the jam.  And we hadn’t had any juice, but he told me he would have poured some for me if we had it.  

He was such a fucking…sentimental dork.  And he forgot nothing.  God, that was annoying and attractive all at the same time.  

And I suppose…the boy did eat pussy like a fat kid ate cake.  

I hadn’t even asked him if he wanted me to blow him or jerk him off, and he still made me breakfast.  Sort of put an end to my whole bitchy texts thing.  

I grabbed one of the pieces of toast and went to grab my phone, sending:

so i guess you’re pretty awesome for a fucking asshole.  thanks for the toast.  and the wakeup call.  even if you did leave me dickless.

A second later, I got back: Well, if it’s any consolation, my balls are in revolt.  They really fucking hate me.  

I laughed and send back: they should.  they’re on my side.  team fuck me now.

Team fuck me now will be glad she waited later.

Hmm.  why is that?  is there some plan i should know about?

He didn’t answer right away.  I figured he had work shit he was doing.  My phone rang instead of a text this time.  “Team fuck-me-now, ready and waiting.”

He chuckled.  “I guess that makes me Team waiting-is-better.”

“Your Team sucks, just saying.”

He sighed.  “Yeah, the boys calmed down now.  So they’ll survive.  They can make it.”

“Did they just shrivel up in protest?”

He blew out a laugh, and I could tell he was smoking.  He must have been outside.  “No I jerked off in the same closet you blew me in.  It was unsurprisingly quick.”

“So you have something planned that I should know about?”

“Um, well, not specifically.  Did you want to do something?  Dinner or something?”

“Yeah, I guess we could do dinner.  Pretty much I’m going to want to jump you the minute you walk through the door, though.  We might not make it.”

He kind of ignored that part.  “Is there someplace you’ve always wanted to go but never have?  We can go wherever you want.”

Aww.  

Just talking to him again, I started really thinking about how he wanted this to be special.  Maybe I wasn’t making special enough.  Maybe it was supposed to be a bigger deal.  Or maybe when he said he wanted it to be special, I should have been thinking more about how it should be special for him, too.  I was being kinda selfish with all my fuck-me-now shit.  This was just as huge for him as it was for me.  Maybe I needed to be the one that did something like he usually did.  Something out of the ordinary that would make it more special than just another Friday.  The only other time I’d really done anything special for him was his birthday.  I mean, we did little things for each other, but he was usually the one with the plan.  

“Allison?”

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking… Why don’t I make dinner?”

He was quiet for a second, and then, “Um.  Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.  I’ll make dinner.”

“That’s not really… I mean, I didn’t…”

“Really.  I’d rather stay in.”

“Is this a ploy to get to sex faster?”

I chuckled.  “No.  Really, I’ll make dinner.  I want to make dinner.  K?”

“Yeah, ok.  If that’s what you want.”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go somewhere?”

“I’m sure.  What time will you be home so I know when to have it ready?”

“Probably about six.”

“Good deal.”  That gave me enough time to figure out what to have and hopefully what else I could do.  “See you later then.  Hope your day goes by fast.”

“Thanks.  Yours, too.  Bye.”

“Bye.”

I didn’t really know what I was making yet, but at least I had the dinner idea under control.  I could figure out the actual meal once I got to the store.  

I left the apartment with the intention of making the grocery run, but was trying to think of something else I could do to make it special for him, too.  And I sort of had the next idea smack me in the face when I walked past a store window that literally was overflowing with lingerie.  

It hadn’t really ever occurred to me to buy lingerie—for Tyler, that is.  But I kinda thought he might like that.  

And then I was pretty much in the store before I even really realized.  

Lingerie was a clusterfuck, just fyi—there are way too many choices and most of them make you look like a whore, even if that wasn’t what you intended to begin with.  As I didn’t think looking like a whore would be the thing that made this special, anything whorish-looking was definitely out for tonight.  

I wanted something simple.  Something that didn’t make me think about stripping, because that’d probably make him think about it, too.  So it needed to be something that fit me.  I never picked out anything that was supposed to fit the real me before.  I always picked shit that was designed to be taken off, or designed to show something, or designed to show just enough or hell, too much sometimes.  

Slutty.  Most of it was pretty fucking slutty.  I didn’t want slutty for Tyler tonight.  

Garters, corsets, fishnets, bustiers, pasties, teddies; those were all out.  And, Jesus, there were a lot of completely tasteless pieces of lingerie; and coming from me, that said something.  I didn’t want a fucking costume.  I just wanted to be myself.  

I decided pretty much on the first rack I looked at that red was out.  Red was hot; it was sexy, but it also screamed whore in a lot of styles, and I just didn’t want something so cliché and overused.  Black was always sexy, and could be really tasteful, but it just wasn’t…right.

I settled on purple.  It was different, and the one I found was actually really… I felt like myself in it.  I felt like I could wear it not be really embarrassed—which again, you’d think I’d be used to wearing ridiculous lingerie, but I just didn’t want to be ridiculous for Tyler tonight.  I felt comfortable, confident, capable.  

I thought it was very tasteful.  And I thought he’d really like it.  

I left the store pretty fucking pleased with myself.  

~ooOoo~

TPOV

I wasn’t sure I really wanted her to make dinner on a night like tonight.  I mean, I didn’t really have a huge plan or anything, but I wanted it to be different from our average Friday night.  I didn’t really relish the idea of her spending a significant portion of her day cooking something and not that the entire night had to be this extravagant event, but just… I wanted it to be set apart from other nights.  

I had serious thoughts about booking a really nice hotel room and taking her there, doing the whole room service thing, and fooling around in the pool before being cozy in the hot tub, but one, I didn’t know if that was overdoing it, and two, I didn’t know if that would be… I didn’t want to bring any bad memories or spark some sort of catatonic state because prostitutes had a tendency to see the inside of a lot of hotel rooms.  There was no other sure-fire way to kill the entire fucking mood by flipping the switch and making her remember something I had spent months trying to replace with better memories.  I suppose it was kinda cliché, too.  Too Pretty Woman, or some bullshit like that.  

I just wasn’t sure that the bed we fucked in the night before screamed special to me.  And I wasn’t there to do anything environmentally to make it special.  

How exactly was I going to make this all happen when I wasn’t even in the apartment, or when she was already there and making it happen would mean that she couldn’t be there?  

Fuck.  This was falling apart and I hadn’t really even started yet.  I shouldn’t have been at work.  I couldn’t concentrate on anything anyway.  I should have forced her out of the apartment and spent the whole day just…doing whatever to make it special.  And now she was cooking, too!?  What the fuck was I thinking?  I should have insisted we go out somewhere instead of just being all, Sure, go ahead and make yourself the really awesome special dinner I should be taking you out for instead.  

I should have changed the sheets.  

I should have cleaned the room.

Fuck, I should have gotten a gift.  Or several.  

I couldn’t even remember if I told Aidan he had to get lost tonight.  Wouldn’t that just make the evening?  Aidan walking in drunk with some bimbo and start fucking on the couch.  

Here I’d spent the entire morning insisting we had to wait and make it special and when I was ready to go home, I wasn’t even going to have anything in place to make that happen.  She was going to be waiting for a big fat bowl of nothing special.  

I was a horrible boyfriend.  

She probably thought I had some elaborate evening all planned out, and instead I was hyperventilating in the biography section of The Strand.  That was why when I asked if there was someplace special she wanted to go, she’d taken so long to answer.  She assumed I had this shit all buttoned up already.  Why didn’t I have this shit all buttoned up?  This was huge.  It was so fucking huge.  I should. have. had. this. shit. all. buttoned. up.  That’s why she offered to make dinner!  Because I was a complete failure at special!  I should have known already where her favorite place to go that she’d never been was.  Boyfriends should know these things!  

I had to get off of this fucking ladder before I fell off from lack of oxygen.  Air.  Yes, air was good.  I needed to get out of this store and find air.  Air was outside.  

Smoking was probably not a good thing to do when you were near hyperventilation, but I needed something else to concentrate on, and killing my lungs was better than nothing.  I finished one and immediately lit another, savoring the calm that something simple and mechanical offered.  

Ok, Hawkins, get your shit together.  

There were facts that I just had to come to terms with.  I wasn’t at the apartment, so anything I might have wanted to prepare there was not going to happen.  I just had to accept that part.  I could call Aidan and make sure I told him to get lost.  That was an easy fix if I missed that part.  Pretty much the only other thing under my control was a gift.  Flowers and a gift.  I could totally do that.  I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure if this was a gift-giving event, but…it seemed celebratory.  And I had to do something.  

So, one celebratory, epic gift—that’s all I had to come up with.  Not like I had any fucking clue what that might be.  Cool.  She was already giving me the best gift I could ask for, so exactly how does one quantify that in a materialistic way?  What would be the perfect gift to give someone who was already giving you every last microscopic part of herself?  

Well, that was obvious… I mean, I had no fucking clue.

I sighed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it more angrily than was necessary, all the leftover tobacco all pulverized into the sidewalk.  I checked the time.  That was the only good thing; it was still early enough that if I got the fuck out of here, I might be able to find something.  I told my boss I wasn’t feeling well, and really, I mean, I’d been half hyperventilated and breaking out into cold sweats just minutes before.  He really didn’t give me any shit about it, so that was good.  

When I got back outside, I sort of stood there for a good few minutes just trying to decide where in the great, huge city of New York I needed to go to find this epic gift.  I finally just picked a direction and basically spent the better part of the entire afternoon wandering aimlessly.  And could pretty much chalk this up to another failure for today, because nothing I came across seemed right, or if it was right, I found something wrong with it that just didn’t say what I wanted it to.  I didn’t even know what it should say exactly.  I admitted defeat in enough time that I could still get the flowers and make it back to the apartment for six.

Or at least I thought I did.  Of course when I was looking at all the flowers, I had the same fucking problem.  I was over-thinking everything.  I knew this.  But I couldn’t make it stop, and just wanting it to be the right thing was completely consuming pretty much my entire being.  Were red roses too cliché?  I mean, they were like the quintessential love flower.  It’s what everyone got.  But did I want what everyone got?  She really liked the lilies from the last bouquet I got her; maybe I should go all lilies.  The poor lady at the flower shop was about as frustrated with me as I was with myself.  And I think she was kind of joking when she mentioned these other roses—like a last ditch effort just to break the mounting tension I was creating because nothing was correct.  Except the second after she suggested them, they were actually kind of perfect.  Unusual, and striking, and not unlike the person I was buying them for.  Colorful.  So I was pretty happy with the choice, or as happy as I was going to get while still analyzing and questioning.  

That pretty much left the instant I opened the door to the apartment.  The smell was wonderful enough, but then there she was, fluttering around the kitchen in a fucking dress.  Not like a long dress, but a… I couldn’t even think beyond the fact that she was standing in my kitchen, cooking dinner in any fucking dress.  A sundress, I think.  Little spaghetti straps and short, way above the knee—her legs in the dress were luscious in their own right.  The dress was white, with green and orange brush-mark looking stripes and it totally made her eyes seem even greener than they were.  I couldn’t remember her ever wearing a dress before.  And I sort of couldn’t speak.  

So it was good that she turned around and noticed me standing there like the drooling idiot I probably looked like.  “Hey, honey.”

“Hi,” I managed, shaking my head once to clear it enough to actually have a conversation.  Except all I wanted to do was kiss her.  So I didn’t even give her the flowers; I just totally dropped them on the table and stepped right into her and she just followed right along with me, her arms going around my neck and pretty much I just wanted to stay there.  

She was smiling widely at me when she finally pulled back.  “Miss me?”  

I nodded slowly.  “You look amazing.”  

She ducked her head kind of shyly, and I sort of loved that I could still make her do that.  “Thank you.”  

“These are for you.”  I grabbed for the bouquet and her eyes lit up even more.  

“Oh, Tyler.”  She said it in this quiet, hushed, surprised voice and it was pretty much the best thing next to her in the dress.   

“This time I don’t think the lady at the flower shop liked me at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to get for you.”

“I’ve never seen roses like this before.  They’re incredible.”

“They’re called Rainbow roses.”  

“How do they get them to be all the colors?”

“I think they dye them.  She probably told me, but I was sort of preoccupied.”

“I love them.  They’re so beautiful.”  She kissed me quickly once more and then turned to the sink to put them in water.  

“You look amazing,” I said again, appreciating the view while she arranged them.  “Did I mention that?  Really, really amazing.”  

She chuckled over her shoulder at me.  “Yeah, you might have said something.”  

“I think I’m underdressed.  Maybe I should change.”

“No!” She said; hands up to stop me from going to the bedroom.  “You’re dressed fine.”  Her hands landed on my chest.  “I like you in these.”

“T-shirts?”  I hadn’t exactly dressed up for work.  I grabbed pretty much the first things I found on the floor which happened to be a white V-neck and khaki shorts.  

“The white ones,” she said quietly, nodding, fingers flexing.  

The dress was so soft under my fingers, lightweight, and I loved back; it had a little part cut-out that was just where my fingertips came to rest.  I liked that I could feel both the dress and her skin all at once.  

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Good.”

I looked at the table finally, and I don’t think it had ever seen this level of class, or elegance, or dining, at all, ever.  The table was set (which never happened), there was actual food in dishes—no cardboard or Styrofoam.  Two taper candles were lit in the middle of the table, and most of the rest of the lights were off.  She even had music that I hadn’t noticed while being completely focused on her and the dress.  

“God, you really went all out.”  

“You like it?”

“It’s great.  I just feel bad that I didn’t take you out somewhere.  I didn’t want you to spend the afternoon cooking.”

She shook her head.  “It really didn’t take that long.  And I wanted to.  I wanted to make dinner for us.  For you.”

For me?  “Oh.”  Well, that was one thing that hadn’t occurred to me.  

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the chair.  “I even got wine.  I have no idea if it’s good or not, but some lady in the liquor department told me it was her favorite and it went with fish, so that’s what I got.”

She was talking to ladies in the liquor department about what wine went with fish.  My Allison was discussing wine choices with ladies in the liquor department.  

She poured the wine and then her eyes jerked to me suddenly.  “You like fish, right?  I didn’t even think to ask you really.”

“Yeah, I like fish.”

She breathed out a sigh.  “Oh, good.  Otherwise that could have been very bad.”

I chuckled.  “I don’t think there’s any bad here.  Everything looks amazing.”  I grabbed her wrist when she put something else on the table.  “Thank you.”  

She cupped my cheek for a second.  “You’re welcome.  Thank you for the flowers.”  

“Yeah, of course.”  

She sat and nodded to the food.  “Eat.”

I really never needed to be told twice.  

Salad and fish and bread and green beans and fruit salad—one thing was for sure, I would never go hungry with Allison around.  The meal was huge but light enough that I didn’t feel uncomfortably full after, despite her repeated attempts to have me eat more.  

I pulled her over to sit on my lap after she cleared most of the leftovers and dishes away.  “Thanks for making dinner.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”  

“I did.”  She was sitting sideways across my lap, leaning into me, which just gave me uninhibited access to her shoulder and her neck.  I pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder and then rested my chin there.  “I really did.  It was way better than going out.”  

She turned her head, leaning her forehead against mine.  “I like to cook for you.”  She tipped her head to quickly kiss the end of my nose and that pretty much just did it for me.  Because she was sitting on my lap in this delicious-looking thin dress, after having made me this astoundingly good meal, and she was mine and I could kiss her whenever I damn well pleased.  It wasn’t like she protested or anything.  I started moving down her neck and made it back to her shoulder, peeling the tiny strap down because any material was material too much.  And I was quite thoroughly enjoying myself until she abruptly was gone from my lap.

“What…”

“Just… Wait here a second.”

And then she was gone.  I chuckled when the bedroom door opened and half-slammed shut again, wondering what she was doing now.  I blew out the candles on the table, figuring we were probably done with those at this point, and sort of marveled for a few minutes over the way this night had completely flipped on me. 

The door clicked open again, but when I leaned back, it was only open a crack.  And I didn’t know if that was an invitation or I was still supposed to wait. 

“Tyyyyyyler…”

I chuckled at the way she drew out the y, and started down the hall.  I could tell the lights were off, because there was only a tiny bit of yellowish light spilling out into the hallway, but it looked darker in there than it should have been. 

I pushed the door open slowly, and it was kind of like every inch revealed just added to a mounting point of sensory overload.  Because first I got the flicker of candles, and from there it just pretty much stopped with her.  She was lighting the last candle; just a few that were scattered around the room, and she looked…flawless. 

Everything else just faded out.  We could have been anywhere, any room.  It wouldn’t have mattered right now if we’d been standing in the middle of Times Square.  All I could see was her. 

She was wearing… I have no idea what the fuck it was even called, but I couldn’t think beyond how amazing she looked for a good… I don’t know how long.  Long enough that I was basically drooling, and she turned and was rocking the shit out the smirk she had on her face.  Probably because I only met her eyes once when I first got in the room, and the rest of the time I spent looking over everything else. 

It was purple.  Not a lilac purple or a royal/plum kind of purple, but something in between.  Lacey, two piece—a fucking g-string and strappy bra-thing that showed… I mean, it showed enough through the lacey-sheer that if I had to think about anything but her breasts right now, it wasn’t going to be happening.  It parted in the middle, tied with just one little bow and the sides flared out showing off her stomach and pretty much just drew more attention to the little purple triangle of lace that was covering her pussy. 

I was still standing in the fucking doorway, and I think I managed some sort of stuttering noise. 

My fingers were itching to untie it.  She played with the strings while she sauntered over to the bed, and it was like my mouth had gone completely dry. 

It was so feminine.  Not that she wasn’t feminine all the time but it showed every fucking amazing curve that made her the sexy, complicated, interesting, beautiful, sexy woman she was.  First the dress, and now this.  It sort of set up an internal conflict about whether ravaging her was the course of action or wrapping her up and protecting all those things forever was the far better choice. 

I could do both.

It was lacy and delicate, and really…so was she.  I could do both.

Just one little tie. 

She sat down on the bed and jerked her head, holding out her hand.  “C’mere.”

Instructions were good.  Good for guys who were sapped on a surplus of intelligence at the moment.  Or general function at all.  Things filtered in once I got to the bed, like how it had new sheets, and it was made.  Christ, it was never made.  Ever.  The shades were pulled and it was surprisingly cooler in my room than the rest of the apartment, and cooler than it would normally be for a day this hot.  She must have done that before the blazing heat of the day set in. 

She thought of everything.  Everything I should have if I’d done this right.  

She touched my face.  “You ok?”

“I… You look so amazing.  I didn’t think it got better than the dress.  I was wrong.”  I gestured to the lingerie.  Jesus fucking Christ she bought lingerie for me.  “I can’t even… You’re so beautiful.”

I almost didn’t want to touch her right now.  If I started, I didn’t think I was going to be able to stop.  So if we were going to have any other kind of conversation, it had to be now.  And I wanted her to know that I appreciated everything she did. 

When had this turned into her making it special for me?  That was supposed to be my job.  I loved it.  I loved that she wanted to do this for me.  I felt so fucking lucky, but I felt like I’d somehow diverted the attention from where it was supposed to be.  This wasn’t supposed to be about me. 

“What?” she asked quietly. 

“It’s nothing, I just… I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”

“What do you mean?  With what?”

“I had this whole idea in the beginning that I was going to make this incredibly epic for you and I feel like you’re doing it for me instead.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Well it’s bad if all you remember having to make me dinner and shit.  I mean, I didn’t do anything here.  You bought a dress.  You bought this—” It was better if I wasn’t looking right at the lacey lingerie straight outta one of my fantasies, “completely, absolutely, fucking sexy piece of lingerie, and I mean, I had trouble picking flowers.  I wanted to get you something else.  I ditched work early to get you something else, and I couldn’t come up with anything that felt meaningful enough.  It just all fell flat.”  I sighed.  “I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Why isn’t it?”

I sighed.  “You are.  My part here was not.  At all.  All day.”

She pulled my chin up so I was looking at her.  “You’re epic, ok?  Just that you want to.  That you want to be with me.  I don’t need other shit, Tyler.  The flowers are gorgeous, but I don’t need them.  I just need you.  That’s all.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough sometimes.”

“You’re enough.  You’re always enough.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed with her completely.  I wasn’t sure that just me was really enough, but something about the way she said it, and the way her hand was cupping my cheek—she believed it completely.  The concept of ‘enough’ in any other situation was usually coupled with the word ‘not.’  I felt extremely fortunate that she felt that way; that she accepted me, just me—she was probably the first person other than immediate family that didn’t need me to be anything else but myself.  She didn’t need to be anything else for me, either.  Odd how important I realized that was since I’d known her.  Maybe that was all a relationship really needed.  That and honesty.  I’d never been this honest in any relationship before.  I didn’t want to hide anything from her.  Love deserved truth.  I remembered hearing once that to love completely was to do so without complete understanding.  

I could love her enough.  I knew that much.  

“You’re always enough for me, too.  Always,” I said back.  Just the idea that she could even tell me that much was pretty spectacular.  

I ducked to kiss her, nudging her nose with mine before our lips barely touched.  I eased us back to keep kissing her, not in any hurry, and for once, she didn’t seem to be either.  She’d been so bent on this being fast, but she seemed fine with slow now.  And that was exactly what I wanted for her.  

~ooOoo~

APOV

I was pretty fucking proud of myself.  

Sometimes I think I’d sort of been born with guys staring at me.  You just get to feel that way when your life tends to be spent on a stage.  You get incredibly used to men looking, watching, observing—like your life has become nothing but a voyeur show.  And still, it’s a completely disconnected experience, because the ones watching don’t give a fuck about you at all.  There are no emotions involved.  They don’t really see me at all.  

From the first moment I locked eyes with Tyler, I think I knew that was different.  There was more there.  If there was no other explanation, more just had to cover it.  

I think I truly surprised him with the dress.  I couldn’t remember ever wearing one for him really, and it was those little things that sort of made everything great.  If the dress reaction was surprise, then the lingerie was on a completely different level.  And it was made even greater by the fact that he really didn’t ever expect anything.  

His eyes lit up when he caught the first glimpse of me in the bedroom.  Surprise, but such a fucking happy surprise—and real wanting.  

I didn’t really know anything about desire—not in the sense of the word that ‘normal’ people do.  I know about the darker side.  Seeing Tyler’s eyes when he took in the sight of me in the lingerie was pure desire.  

I felt sexy—in a way I never really felt before.  I was never nervous going on stage because that wasn’t really me.  And while I was confident wearing the lingerie, I had been a little nervous about his reaction.  I didn’t want him to think I’d gone over the top; I hadn’t wanted him to think that I was trying to say something I wasn’t… I dunno, I just wanted it to be nice for him.  I wanted to look nice, and have him see me in something nice.  

I couldn’t have asked for a better reaction honestly.  

He had no words, followed by some stuttering; his breathing changed immediately.  His eyes never left me, like the entire rest of the room didn’t exist at all.  I was amused by the way his eyes didn’t stay on mine, but instead roamed my body, but never in a… Not in a vulgar way—appreciative and greedy, but only because it was already his.  Beneath everything, there was a kindness in Tyler’s eyes, always.  

I felt wanted in the way I wanted him.  I felt needed.  I never had that before, either.  I liked being needed.  

His fingers twitched like he wanted nothing but to run over to me.  

There was lust there, sure, but there were things in Tyler’s eyes that no other guy had ever shared with me.  I knew what the lust was for.  And it wasn’t just a quick fuck.  

Yes, I was proud of myself.  I was proud that I made it special for him like he made everything else for me.  And the fact that he was still worried/concerned that he was doing enough or that he’d somehow spoiled part of the specialness for me was just… I don’t think he understood really how he completely changed my entire life in every possible way.  And that he was doing it again tonight. 

He was lying on his side next to me, warm and solid; kissing me so gently it almost felt like our lips weren’t even touching.  One hand was flat on my stomach, light just like his lips, almost like he thought I was fragile.  He trailed down my neck, kissing over the lace covering my tits, a tiny smile on his face as he started to pull the end of the tie.  It seemed like he did it so slowly, and I barely felt the bow untie.  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to watch his fingers or his face. 

I thought about the first time he’d taken my shirt off and how exposed I felt, and how incredibly fucking patient he’d been with me, how understanding.  How he’d taken his own shirt off to make me feel less exposed; made me feel like I wasn’t a complete fucking nutcase.  How he made me realize that with him, I was just me, no act.  I ruffled my hands through his hair just as lightly as he was touching me as he peeled the sides of the top back like he was unwrapping something.  Goosebumps broke out all over my skin the second he moved to kiss between my tits, and he rested his chin there for a second—just like he had the first time he’d ever done this.  And it struck me how different this felt now.  He’d been seeking permission then; now there wasn’t the need for that. 

The first time his hands had been on me, it was like I couldn’t even imagine the force of the sensation, and it wasn’t like I was necessarily prepared any better now for the sensations, but it was different now.  No less intense, but almost a deeper feeling.  I think it was because I spent so much of my life not having full…ownership of my body—or not ownership really, but disconnection.  Sure, I got off myself, and I had pleasurable experiences occasionally, but it was never with the purpose of being shared in this same way.  And most times, it wasn’t really for me, either. 

Tyler was always so fucking happy to be doing this to me.  Moaning against my skin just as much as I was moaning from the feeling of his tongue swirling around my nipple, his hand palming and kneading my other.  I could feel the wetness already between my legs, and he hadn’t gotten below my tits yet. 

This much feeling always felt almost out-of-body.  I had that a lot as a stripper—it was the same kind of non-ownership thing—but this was a completely different kind of out-of-body.  It was the kind that was so intense, and the sensation so physical and emotional that it was just too good to be real, you know?  Like the actual, real feeling of his lips and his tongue trailing down the middle of my stomach was so fucking amazing, it couldn’t be real.  

Everything was so fucking intense, and still the pressure of his lips kissing over the tiny bow in the middle of the lingerie bottoms was so gentle before he slipped them off.  He peeled them off slowly—his fingers so soft and skimming against my skin like he didn’t want to stop touching me.  I remembered how I couldn’t watch him be so serious about fucking the first time, and how I couldn’t find that at all funny this time.  How I understood the why behind the serious—the emotions behind it.  It felt like my stomach was fluttering, and I couldn’t tell yet if it was because of his touch or what I knew was coming. 

Part of me wanted to tell him he didn’t have to go down on me—but I wanted him to.  I wanted that first feeling of his tongue on me—the wetness and the way his stubbly cheek was so scruffy against the sensitive part of my inner thighs.  I wanted to feel his nose nudge up against my clit.  It was amazing how I felt wanted and treasured while being seductive all at the same time.  The idea that there could be both sides at all…

I wanted to feel his long fingers curl up inside me and make me come apart.  I wanted to watch his eyes lock on mine and that mischievous little gleam, the satisfaction I saw reflected there when he watched me come.  Because I knew it was the same one that was in my eyes when I did the same for him.  And I wanted to taste him before he came inside me.  I wanted him to come in my mouth before.

His fingers were rubbing my own wetness into my clit, circling it before they were pushing into my pussy, his mouth kissing my clit instead, the stubble above his lip making a whole new wave of goosebumps break out.  

His fingers were still inside me when he came up to kiss me, his mouth covered in me, smelling like me.  He licked at my mouth before we started actually using our lips, and I couldn’t decide if I could like one over the other.  

I started pushing him back, anxious to have him in my mouth, and made short work of every piece of clothing he was wearing like it was a fucking contest.  I think I was a little eager about this part.  But I wanted it so bad.  I couldn’t wait.  If he was surprised, it was lost in all the moaning the second his cock was in my mouth.  I ran my thumbs over the grooves in his hips while I swallowed him, and sort of loved the fact that he couldn’t even keep his eyes open the whole time.  

I wanted to feel the pulse of his release because I was gonna take it all.  I wanted it all.  

I wanted everything.  Everything he wanted to give me.

He barely even finished when he sat up and pulled me into his lap to kiss me.  The taste of him was still in my mouth and his mouth still tasted like me—it seemed incredibly fitting to me as he laid me down again, settling between my legs.  

He was so sweet.  He still asked me if I was ready.  Like that final check just in case I wanted the out.  Truth was I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more right now.  

He was still so careful, running the head of his cock through my wetness, coating himself before lining up.  His first push was so amazingly slow; smooth and deep, but it felt like it took forever and not enough time all at once.  The level of concentration on his face—I mean, I think I got it.  Finally.  Completely.  I understood fully why he wanted this to be slow; why he wouldn’t let me do it early.  

We were only ever going to do this like this once.  Just once.  We could do it every day forever from this point on, but we’d never have this first again.  And I couldn’t have even began to pretend to know what this was going to feel like with him—and it wound up being better than anything I could have imagined.  

He was so much bigger than me in every way but still had the most gentle touch I’d ever felt.  The heat of him inside me, the way I wanted him even deeper, and wanted to arch into him and never leave again—I felt cherished.  I felt possessed.  I felt like I belonged here.  I felt powerful but so did he—so many conflicting emotions.  But it felt healthy, and that I could even make the distinction was mind-blowing.

He was so close.  So much contact.  And it was so…quiet.  I think because we both didn’t want to miss anything, wanted to catalogue every second.  I wanted to remember every single second of him pushing in.  I wanted to remember the way he shifted forward just a little bit more, buried so deep, closing the only space between us so that it felt like every part of my body was pressed against a part of him.  I wanted to remember touching him, the way his muscles felt moving under my fingers, the way my legs felt wrapped around him.  I wanted to remember running my thumb over where his heart was, the dark ink that spelled his brother’s name.  How I’d been nervous about even touching that at the beginning, and how now it was something I wanted to touch every time.  Of how that was a reminder of the first thing he really shared with me.  A huge part of himself, a huge, vulnerable part.  I wanted to remember the way I completely latched onto him, fingers and pussy both, everything so hot and wet, and the way he reached for my hands and how we both refused to let go once we had them.  I wanted to remember how his eyes were never completely closed the whole time, and how I knew that because mine weren’t either.  I wanted to remember the way his lips felt against mine while we moved, and how sometimes we weren’t even kissing, our lips just resting there against each other’s, and how just breathing him in felt almost more intimate than the actual kisses.  

His thrusts were so deep and slow and so much less physical—how did something feel like the most intensely physical experience but feel completely weightless and soft at the same time?  

Coming felt like a complete full-body event.  I’ve had great orgasms before, but this was just a level above all of them.  And I think most of it was just him.  Because watching him come, and feeling it with absolutely no barrier—I mean; there really wasn’t anything fucking sexier on every goddamn level than that.  The way he looked when he came—God, I don’t even know what to call it.  I don’t think it has a name.  I kind of felt like I was coming apart, but he was right there, and maybe it was just the opposite.  The heat of his release inside me, the extra wetness, I can’t really even describe it accurately.  Everything felt charged, but in the best possible way—electric physically, but emotionally, too.  It was like my feelings had emotions.  

We kind of couldn’t stop kissing.  And I couldn’t keep my hands off of his face.  And he didn’t care.  He just kissed my fingers right along with anything else.  

I was never this connected to someone else, let alone myself.  I could feel him, and it was like I could feel what he was feeling, too, but I could feel everything about me, too.  I felt so aware of myself.  Alive.  He made me feel alive.  

I cared enough about him.  For him.  More than anyone else in my life.  But I cared about myself now, my body.  I cared enough to get the lingerie, to dress it up.  He cared enough to appreciate it and want to undress it.  Naked had more than one meaning—I could be naked in a room full of people and not be naked.  This was different.  With Tyler, it was different.  I was physically naked, yes, but I was also naked emotionally with him, and he was giving me the exact same thing.  This was the last thing to give each other.  The last thing to give completely.  And it was giving way more than just condom-less sex.  This sex wasn’t just about me getting off, and really, that’s what a lot of our sex had been about—what I wanted, or what I needed because I hadn’t had it before.  This though, now this was about both of us, together.  There wasn’t a more together than this.  

And I realized, I think he’d been giving me that from the beginning.  So by me making this special for him, I finally felt like I was giving it back to him, like I understood.  Like we were completely on the same page.  

I’ve never given myself to anyone before.  Not like this.  

One (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two | Twenty-Three | Twenty-Four | Twenty-Five | Twenty-Six | Twenty-Seven | Twenty-Eight | Twenty-Nine |  Thirty  |  Thirty-One  |  Thirty-Two  |  Thirty-Three  |  Thirty-Four  |  Thirty-Five  |  Thirty-Six  |  Thirty-Seven  |  Thirty-Eight  |  Thirty-Nine  |  Forty  |  Forty-One  |