Page 51 of Take Me to Church
But this is Christian. The man who saved me. The man who saved my sister. I trust him. Honestly, I trust him more than I trust myself. Especially where sex is concerned.
So I nod. “Yes.”
And I know that if I ever do tell him to stop, he will listen. Without anger. Without frustration. Without judgment.
He might be the only person I can say that about. And the realization tells me everything I need to know about whether or not I’m doing the right thing.
Not that I was actually questioning it.
Christian slowly circles me, his gaze pinning me in place as he moves around where I stand. “Then say it now. Tell me to stop.”
I tip my head, meeting his stare. “No.”
His brows lift, like I’ve surprised him. “No?”
“No.” I almost smile because I’m shocked at how saying that one word is making me feel. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He circles at my back and I have to turn my head in the opposite direction to regain eye contact, but when I do I’m rewarded with a devilishly sexy smirk. “I think you like telling meno, Lydia.”
I lift one shoulder in a little shrug because apparently my bravery has limits.
Christian moves to the door, quietly closing it before flipping the lock. “As much as I want you to get enjoyment out of telling meno, I have to admit I’m much more interested in hearing you sayyes.”
So am I, but again my bravery is faltering, so I just watch him as he comes back my way, closing the gap between us in long, heart stopping strides.
I expect him to stand in front of me, but instead Christian circles me again, bringing me right back to feeling like Little Red Riding Hood as the wolf decides where to taste her first.
“Did you ever think of me, Lydia?” Christian’s voice is soft as the front of his body brushes against the back of mine, teasing me with a barely-there touch. “Or did you forget me as soon as I was gone?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips, deciding how much to give away. I don’t know the way real interactions between men and women work. I only learned about things like playing hard to get and flirting after spending two decades being taught nothing more than my father would choose the man I would marry and then he would dictate every choice in my life from that point on. I had no say in the matter. There would never be playing hard to get or flirting. It simply wasn’t an option.
I was taught to be sweet and agreeable, so with only those options to fall back on, I decide to tell the truth, hoping Christian won’t dig deeper. “I thought of you.”
Maybe he’ll leave it at that. Maybe he won’t ask about all the ways I thought of him over the years.
“Did you wonder what I was doing? Where I was at?” His hands brush against my hips, curving around the tiny bit of fullness they’ve developed now that I can eat what I want.
I shake my head. “No.” I thought I’d known where he went. It never occurred to me thateverythingI’d been told was lies. Only most of it.
“Did you think about what happened when we were kids?” Christian’s fingers slowly gather the cotton fabric of the oversized T-shirt I stole from his drawer and wore to bed. “Was that what you thought of?”
I shake my head again, nervous and afraid and excited as I wait to see what will happen next.
Christian leans closer, his breath warm against my skin as his lips slide along the column of my neck. “Then tell me what you did think about.”
I close my eyes, rocking my head to the side, lost in the feel of him against me. The slow drag of his mouth. The heat of his hands. “I thought about what might have happened if you hadn’t left.”
Christian’s hands still where they rest against my waist. “And what did you imagine would have happened if I hadn’t left?”
I’m not willing to sum up the extent of that for him. Not right now. I don’t want to take the time and I don’t want to spend this moment going back. “You were the only man I knew that I wanted to imagine touching me.”
I expect him to pick up where he left off, but Christian doesn’t move. “Is that what you still want, Lydia? For me to touch you?”
I feel like the answer is obvious. Especially considering less than twenty-four hours ago I climbed into his bed and rubbed myself all over him looking for relief. But I don’t say that. Instead I accidentally make a sound.
Christian chuckles, the deep resonance of it sending a shiver down my spine. “Did you just scoff at me?”
He doesn’t seem bothered by my irritation. In fact he seems amused, and his lack of frustration or anger is enough to loosen my lips just a little. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”
