Michele

 

Back at Iain’s apartment, I helped him make sandwiches and we spread our lunch out on the kitchen counter to eat, not even bothering with sitting at the table. I was suddenly ravenous, having not eaten all day, and we inhaled our sandwiches quickly. After we were finished, he suggested we watch a movie on TV for a while, just to relax. I understood that - today had been an emotional day for both of us, and snuggling up for an hour or two to forget about the world seemed like a good plan.

“Pick anything you’d like,” he told me, pointing at his movie collection next to the TV. I walked over to the shelf; as I began browsing the selection, his phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and said, “I gotta take this. Probably work.”

He answered the phone and stepped away, toward his bedroom. A part of me, the paranoid part, wondered if it was Brandon - although I knew logically that Iain wouldn’t take that call when I was around.

It was hard to believe that it hadn’t even been a full 24 hours since Iain showed up at the bar and everything between us had changed. This time yesterday, I was set on forgetting that he had ever existed, although now that I was on the other side of it, I knew that wouldn’t have been truly possible.

I thought of his lips, dangerously close to mine as I sat on his lap on the couch just last night. I remembered his kiss: the warmth of it, his breaths mixing with mine, the way his beard tickled my face. The memory of it all brought heat to my cheeks, to my chest, and toward my center, which remembered the way he felt inside of me, the way he had claimed me as his own. I wanted that again.

Iain walked out of his bedroom, and our eyes met as he rounded the corner. I wondered if he could see the fire in mine.

“Sorry about that. Someone called to hire me for a new case.” He leaned against the wall, watching me, his brow creased in concern. “You okay? Did you pick something?”

“No, I didn’t.” I abandoned the shelves full of Blu-rays and inched toward him, staring at his face, taking it all in: his blue eyes, bluer than the sky outside, his thick brown hair swept back from his face, his full lips. My entire body thrummed to life, knowing how badly I wanted him in that moment but not knowing how to tell him that. I’d spent so long dreading intimate touch with my own husband that craving it now with someone else felt so jarring and foreign. How had I managed to basically jump his bones before? It had been like the fear had disappeared.

“What’s wrong, Michele?”

He stepped forward, resting his hands against my upper arms, eyes searching mine. I struggled to answer, to search for the words.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I replied, my voice soft. I licked my lips, my gaze flicking to his. “I just… don’t want to watch a movie.”

His gaze darkened, his brow relaxing. I knew then that he understood.

“C’mere,” he said gruffly, dropping his hands from my arms to my middle back and pulling me close, leaning his head toward mine.

He kissed me roughly, greedily; I gasped against his lips before melting into his chest, allowing him to press me flush against him. My heart was in my ears and my body was coming to life. My skin began to hum as he ran his hands down my back, his fingers playing with the hem of my sweater, his tongue meeting mine.

God, did I want him - and that thought overwhelmed all other thoughts in my mind. My own hands found their way under his shirt, his stomach hot against my palms. I slid my hands lower, to the place where his jeans met his hips, tracing the line of them until I reached the button.

Iain broke our kiss, his breaths coming out in small huffs, his hands resting under my shirt, against my lower back. I could feel his hardness pressing into me.

“Come to bed with me,” he said after a moment.

I didn’t hesitate. “Please.”

He led me to his bedroom, which felt much cooler than the rest of the apartment. It didn’t matter; I was too hot for my clothes. My earlier fears abandoned, I tugged at my sweater, pulling it off and dropping it to the floor, and then removed my bra. Iain’s gaze drank me in, his eyes skimming over my stomach, my breasts, my shoulders.

“God, the things I want to do to you,” he said, stepping forward. “Where do I even start?”

I squirmed in place, anticipation mounting at his words. “Where would you like to?”

“Hmm.” He stepped forward, but he still wasn’t close enough to touch. “Let’s start by you taking those jeans off.”

Suddenly shy, I felt heat prickling at my cheeks. I reached for the button of my jeans, undoing it and sliding the zipper down, the sound of it heavily pronounced in the quiet room.

“Your panties, too,” he told me when I had finally kicked my jeans aside with my sweater and bra. He licked his lips, probably totally subconsciously, as I lowered my hands to my panties, my thumbs grazing against the warm cotton. His pupils were blown so wide I could hardly see the blue anymore. The sight of him that enraptured by me, my body, was so viscerally erotic that without another thought, I slid my panties down quickly, exposing myself completely before him.

There was a heavy silence after that as Iain stared at me. I stood there, letting him do so, remembering the last time, remembering the way he had told me I was perfect. I had felt so embarrassed by that, not wanting to hear it, not wanting anything more than his body on mine.

Now I wanted it all.

“Fuck, baby.” He stepped forward, his clothing brushing against my bare flesh. Goosebumps exploded over my skin, my nipples hardening from the touch. His hands came up, his fingers grazing lightly over my nipples, the sensation sending shivers down my spine. Then he lowered a hand, sliding it down my belly, toward my aching mound, two fingers slipping through my folds, resting at my entrance.

I moaned. It was dizzying, how much I wanted him. How much one small action could completely alter my entire world.

“Please,” I begged.

“Please what?” His voice was like gravel.

How could I put it into words? That I wanted him to slip those fingers inside me, that my entire body felt like a coiled spring, ready to burst? My skin was on fire, my veins pathways for flames. And he was only adding the fuel.

“Michele,” he said, his fingers still poised against me. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” I breathed. “I need you. Please.”

He leaned in and kissed me at the exact same moment that he slid his fingers inside of me, stretching me in the most delicious way, his breathing heavy as he worked me. I grabbed onto his shoulders, squeezing the fabric of his sweater, reminded once again that I was naked and he was not.

I was so vulnerable, so raw. I’d told him that I needed him. But it went beyond that: I needed to be consumed by him, and that thought, that realization, scared the shit out of me. How could I let another man in like this? Didn’t I learn my lesson the first time?

“You’re so wet,” he said, ending our kiss and removing his fingers from me. His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through me, and I pressed my body against him, feeling his hardness, warm and solid through his jeans, against my belly.

“And you’re overdressed.”

“Easily remedied.” He grinned deviously, backing me up toward the bed, removing his sweater, unbuttoning his jeans. He pulled his jeans and boxers down together, his heavy erection springing free.

I sat on the bed, and Iain stood before me, his cock inches from my face. Suddenly, wildly, I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to make him lose control, just like he did to me. I reached out tentatively and wrapped my hand around him, working him in my hand, watching his expression change. Iain’s breath hitched, his breaths quickening.

“Come closer,” I said.

He looked momentarily confused but then complied. I leaned forward, opening my mouth and taking him in, my tongue tracing patterns down the length of him. Iain cursed under his breath, the sound sending more heat through me, his fingers curled in my hair.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him; he was gazing down at me with an expression of reverence, of worship. Like I was the only thing that existed to him.

“Shit,” he whispered and, without warning, pulled back. “Shit, I don’t wanna come yet.” He ran a hand through his hair, and leaned toward me, kissing me, laying me back, reaching for his end table and grabbing a condom. He tored open the wrapper, rolling it on. He climbed on the bed and hovered above me, his eyes dancing over my body, his chest heaving.

“What’re you waiting for?” I asked him, my voice hushed. I wiggled beneath him impatiently, thinking only about how he’d feel inside of me.

“Always in such a hurry,” Iain said, leaning in and nipping my bottom lip. He grinned and sat up, gesturing for me to do the same. “Maybe I should teach you to slow down.”

I let him guide me onto my hands and knees, anticipation kicking up as he lined himself up at my entrance from behind.

“Maybe you should,” I said. He entered me, shallowly, nowhere near enough to satisfy the ache within. I moaned in frustration, knowing that he was teasing me, loving and hating it at the same time. “Or maybe you could just fuck me like you mean it.”

He pulled back, and with a low growl that sent shivers down my spine, he thrust into me fully in one quick, deep movement. I cried out, clutching at the comforter, my knuckles white as it bunched up in my hands.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked from behind me. His hand snaked in my hair, pulling as he worked his hips against me, each thrust somehow deeper than the last.

“Yes,” I gasped. All other thoughts escaped my mind as he claimed me; the world quieted and I could only feel. There was no New York, there was no Brandon, there was no Shannon or Tampa or hospitals or anything at all except Iain and me. I was at peace. It was a blissful feeling, one I hadn’t known in years.

He was cursing under his breath behind me, and it brought me back to the present. My heart was racing, and his grip in my hair tightened, bordering on pain. Somehow that didn’t scare me, but amazingly, alarmingly, it only aroused me further. I felt that sweet coil of pleasure mounting within me - I was close, and I let out a low moan.

“Fuck, I could do this all day,” he said, slowing his pace and pulling out of me completely, letting go of my hair. I groaned at the sudden feeling of emptiness and let him guide me onto my back. “But I want to see your face when you come.”

I’d let him see anything he wanted if it meant release. He entered me again, rougher than before, his skin hot and damp against mine. He pulled my leg over his shoulder, a low growl in his throat as he dove into me.

I was seeing stars. I closed my eyes, my body coming to life, the heat in my veins dancing faster and faster as he thrust in and out of me. His breaths were now a combination of throaty groans and grunts, and his face burrowed into the crook of my shoulder, his lips hot, his beard scraping against my skin. I could think of nothing but him. I could think of nothing but how close I was.

He ran a hand between us and down my stomach, his fingers landing on my clit, rubbing in tight circles there. I arched my back, my body instinctively raising to meet his touch, my belly fluttering and twisting inside as I felt the beginnings of an orgasm approaching. He lifted his head and met my eyes. The look on his face was pure, unfiltered lust, and something snapped within me. I came, that tight coil springing loose, the world drifting into nothingness as I rode wave after wave, the feeling so poignant and sweet I almost sobbed.

Iain’s hands were back in my hair, his fingers clenching, the tugging bringing me back to the present. He let out a hearty moan, his hips working against me at an unsustainable pace. He came, his body shuddering as he did so, slumping against me after it was over.

Everything felt floaty and soft. I relaxed a little, my breathing returning back to normal, opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling, running a stray, absent hand down Iain’s back. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so good after sex. And fuck, sex with Iain was good.

He lifted his head, leaning down to kiss me softly before getting up. I watched him head to the bathroom, eyes trailing down his bare back.

How did I get so lucky? Even though we met in the worst possible way, it didn’t feel like that. It felt… right.

Hadn’t I learned my lesson? Was I an idiot for trusting Iain when I’d had nothing but heartache for years?

Should I trust my instinct, or listen to my past?

Feeling chilly, I got out of bed and pulled my panties back on, along with my sweater. I walked over to the bedroom window, looking out onto the street.

There was snow everywhere still, but now it was plowed and scraped and trampled on. Black slush lined the road, and bundled up people walked up and down the sidewalks.

“Hey you,” I heard. Iain was right behind me; he had snuck up on me and I hadn’t even noticed. His hands, large and warm, rested on my shoulders. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Just looking outside.” I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes and smiling. The snow, the slush, the street below - it disappeared. I wanted to believe that being here with him was the right thing to do, but it was so hard to let myself fall blindly into it. Iain felt safe, but feeling and being were two different things.

But for the moment, I could pretend.