A lifetime passed in that hallway before either of us moved, every thought, every touch, every smell so utterly and completely filling my senses. Yet his voice had been mostly absent, that deep low gravelly voice which has brought me so much calm day by day. His hands find both of mine splayed oh so casually across his body, his fingers peeling mine away to keep them for himself, a tangled web of digits he quickly brings to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are we going to stand here all day?” he asks. I laugh and drop my eyes once more, a new nervousness creeping into me, a selfish ache not wanting to break the moment.
Sensing my reluctance, he bends once more, his mouth finding my neck again, his teeth sinking deep this time while his hands push mine over my head with a thud. Pinning both mine in one of his, his other hand finds my ass again as he lifts me to meet his hips. I feel it before I hear it, a growl that vibrates against my skin, a groan that shakes me to me core, and then “I’m not leaving, but we do need to do something else for a while”. Another push of his hips against mine leave me under no illusions of where his mind is at, though confused about why he’s so keen to stop. A whisper that leaves me tingling answers the question “I don’t want to hurt you,” and he thrusts again to get his point across, his hand tightening on my wrists and his teeth finding my flesh one more time. Then that soft sucking sound as his lips tease and kiss where he’s just bitten me. I can hear his breath, I can hear his heart now too, I can literally hear his arousal as denim rubs against denim.
But he stops. He pulls away. How I didn’t land on the floor I’ll never know because I certainly didn’t have much control over my body by now. My hands slap against me as they fall back down, released suddenly from his grip. I gasp, he hears it and looks hard at me. A deep chuckle, a belly laugh as I like to call it, echoes around me. He’s right there in front of me, yet I miss him. I feel his hands on my hips as he turns me towards the kitchen, I hear him slap my ass a little as he pushes me forwards, I hear my bare feet padding on the floor, then the sound of his boots following.
Pushed to a chair, I virtually collapse, a whine reminding me we’ve ignored the pupper for too long. Yet he’s saying my name. Why is he saying my name? A new warm flush creeps throughout me as he calls it again, softer this time yet a little more urgent. God I love it when he says my name. A long laugh breaks me out of my daydream long enough to wonder why he’s laughing. “What’s so funny?” I ask. “You are,” I get back, followed by “do you want tea or coffee?” I’m stumped. How am I sexualising every sound from his mouth? How am I not hearing words but instead wondering what it would feel like to hear all of these sounds uttered against my skin? And more importantly, how is he being so damn normal? “I think I’ll have a proper drink,” I manage to reply. “No, not right now. Tea or coffee?” His tone has changed. Why has his tone changed? “You know I don’t drink tea.” He smiles then, “Aha, you’re back to me then. Just as well I made you coffee so,” he’s laughing again.
I hear him come across to me, hear the mugs being put down, but mostly I hear those boots on the kitchen floor. Dare I? I almost knock him over pushing my chair out, the legs scraping hard against the floor, a sound I despise normally, but I have to get to him before he sits. I glance up at his confused face, My heart is beating so fast I’m sure he can hear it. I kneel, both knees cracking at my efforts. The sound of a short sharp breath, more than a gasp but less than a heart attack. I look up, my hands reaching for his feet. He says my name again, I can feel it. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore but I manage to pull the laces free on one, then the other. He has no idea, but I’m soaked by what I’m doing. It’s like a deep flood between my legs, one I’m sure he’ll hear when I go to stand up. I pull one boot free, then the other, kneeling before him. I can feel him say my name again. Shit, how do I explain this one. “No shoes in the house, remember?”
Legs like jelly manage to stand and escape to the hallway, my short steps like slaps against the tiles in an effort to get away, just for a moment. A whole world of thoughts screaming inside my brain, all being ignored because of the wetness between my thighs. My name again, followed by a chair against the tiles. Pitpat back to the kitchen, then silence. Surely he can hear my heart. I’m afraid to look, terrified of what I’ll see. So I don’t. My name is on his lips again. “Talk to me, please, for once the silence is killing me.” A long slow drink of my warm hug, I hear him sigh as I swallow, then I return his sigh. “I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry.” I hear him move his chair closer, feel his thigh against mine, smell that glorious intoxicating scent that’s all him as his body invades my space. “Then we can just be for a while?” he asks me. “Yes please,” I reply.
We sit, the silence interspersed with sounds of sips, some sighs, the occasional throat clearing to say something but then silence again as words aren’t forthcoming. The silence is loud, a screaming tormenting sound as my thoughts cascade through my head fighting against a tirade of abuse from between my legs telling my brain to shut up and behave. God it was loud. He takes my hand and I notice he’s standing, I follow as he leads me through the house, my pitpats met by the softened thuds of this gentle giant in front of me.
A long low creak tells me we’re in the sitting room. A gentle tug and I sit alongside him, an action quickly changed as he says my name, firmly this time, chastising me, and pulls me onto his lap. Many creaks, much readjusting, some laughing, and a long low groan later and we find a comfortable position. I find myself cocooned against him, my head against his chest, his head on mine, one of his arms wrapped around me to stop me wriggling and moving, the other in my lap with my own, fingers locking squeezing and releasing. My mind begins to calm, the constant thud of his heart beneath me a reminder this is real and not a dream, the touch of his hands holding me and reassuring me I’m here and so is he, and that beautiful heady scent, a mix of soap, fabric softener and that musky scent so uniquely him.
Another sound creeps in, the music I’d forgotten about. Lyrics claw at me, take away my security in just “being”. I don’t know if I’m what he wants, I don’t know if he’s what I want, and that horrible sound of dread starts filling me up. He senses the change in me somehow and I hear and feel the low rumble of my name once more from him. I turn his hand over in mine, tracing lines across his palm, rubbing the callouses and finding scars. I have no idea how long we’d sat there, but his hand finds my face and we both realise it’s wet with tears. My name again, I could listen to him say it forever and a day. I look up and smile, concern meets me, those eyes questioning as his thumb tries to rub away tears I’m barely aware of.
He leans his forehead on mine, and I find myself half underneath him as he shifts his body from under me to beside me, one arm still cradling me softly, the other holding my face gently. I hear his breath, feel it on my lips, the faint smell of coffee still lingering. I miss the sound of his heart to calm me. My name again. And then the first sweet taste of his lips on mine.