Page 50 of Take Me to Church
It makes me worryallof this is a knee-jerk reaction she might regret.
I give the sister I no longer know one last look before carefully slipping from between the sheets. The upstairs is quiet as I creep out of the bedroom, so I’m assuming Piper is just as asleep in the spare bedroom as Myra is in Christian’s bed. It leaves me as the only ghost to haunt the halls. And it turns out to be a pretty lonely venture.
I quietly creep down the stairs, looking for the only person who might understand how I’m feeling, and find him in his office. The long line of Christian’s mostly naked frame stretches uncomfortably across the sofa parked against one wall. His eyes are closed, but there’s nothing relaxed about his face. The dark slashes of his brows are pinched tightly together and his lips are pressed into a flat frown. He's still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and I’m not going to miss out on the opportunity to appreciate what I couldn’t before.
I’ve technically seen Christian fully naked, though it was at a moment I couldn’t really take in the full extent of his form. Which is a shame. Because it is beautiful.
He’s solid muscle, with broad shoulders and long limbs. The office isn’t as dark as his room was thanks to the glow of the streetlights peeking through the wood blinds covering the window, and it casts shadows that seem to etch out every muscle. The contrast of light and dark plays across his skin, making him look both dangerous and ethereal.
Which is surprisingly fitting.
“Are you coming in or did you just want to stare at me?” One of Christian’s eyes squints open and the hardness from his face disappears as he gives me a little smile. “Because if you’re here for a show I can certainly make it a much more interesting experience.”
My mind conjures up the image of Christian in his shower, one big hand gripping the length of his cock as water trails down his tanned skin. My eyes snap to the front of his boxer briefs where the shadows outline the object of my more recent fantasies. I swallow hard.
I came down here thinking I wanted to discuss my fears that Myra might change her mind, but that plan shifts like sand, running through my fingers until all I hold is the possibility that maybe Myra’s not the one reacting to freedom in an unexpected way.
Maybe I am.
I take a tiny step into the room, finding it surprisingly easy to push myself forward. “How would you do that?”
Like cutting my hair, sex, and all it entails, wasn’t something I immediately jumped into when I left the IGL. Both terrified me, merely the thought of them overwhelming me to the point I couldn’t really consider either for months. Even when I did finally decide to tackle the first of my fears, I cut my hair in tiny increments, scissoring away a little bit more every month.
I approached sex in a similar manner. I started out with the basics, familiarizing myself with anatomy that was completely foreign to me before slowly expanding my understanding until I didn’t panic watching porn.
Maybe I still panicked a little.
So, while I am familiar with the ins and outs of sexual intercourse, pun intended, I’m not as well-versed in the variations it offers as most women my age would be.
And I’m so tired of being different. Of holding back. Of being afraid.
“I guess it depends.” Christian shifts on the couch, working his big body into a sit, feet on the floor as he studies me. “Do you still feel the same way you did at the hotel?”
I swallow hard, nervous excitement flipping my belly as I recall the filthy words he said to me. The possibilities he proposed. “Yes.”
I want him to touch me. I want to touch him. I don’t, however, have enough faith in myself to believe I could be the one to initiate either of those.
Christian’s eyes study me in the dusky darkness. “Are you sure? You spent an awful lot of your life not being in charge.”
I understand what he’s saying, and I get it, but I’m looking at this in a different way. “But if I’m the one allowing you to take the reins, doesn’t that mean I’m also the one who is ultimately in charge?”
Yes, Christian will be the driving force in anything physical happening between us, but I gave him the keys. In my mind that puts me at the top of the hierarchy. It’s a place I’ve never been before and is almost as motivating as finally feeling free.
Christian’s eyes move over my face like he’s still not quite sure he believes I know what I’m doing. “You can change your mind anytime you want.”
“I know that.” Yet another indicator I’m the one with the power here, not him.
Christian slowly stands up, tall, powerful, strong, and solid. He prowls toward me, and all I feel is excitement. Anticipation.
“What will you say if you change your mind?”
“I’ll tell you to stop.” It’s a pretty simple answer. One I offer easily.
“And you feel confident you can do that? Tell me to stop without worrying I’ll be upset? Without feeling like you can’t speak up?”
It’s a good question, and more valid than I’d like. It also tells me Christian might be paying more attention to me than I thought.
I don’t answer him right away. I want to be honest. For him. For myself. Because he’s right. If I don’t feel like I can tell him to stop then all my belief about my own power in the situation is wrong.
