Page 68 of Challenge
My eyes flutter closed and, with every stroke of his tongue, I inhale his words of affirmation. I accept them with each burst of oxygen.
Tears slide down my temples and into my hair over the realisation that I’ve never felt this level of devotion before, both for him and from him. It’s more than I’ve ever felt about anything in my entire life.
He moves his mouth down and kisses every inch of my body, whispering reverent words against my flesh. Slowly, they begin to chip away and break down the dark, secret place in my heart.
“I can’t believe I get to see you like this.” He moves back up to my face. “You’re raw. Open. But only to me.”
I swallow hard and give him the slightest nod. It’s so subtle that no one else in the entire world would notice it. Only him.
In this moment, we’re beyond the words of everyday life. We’re communicating more than vocal abilities allow.
And when he pushes into me, hard and bare, with zero barriers left between us, the entire act is not mind-blowing.
It’s life-ruining.
It’s as if I’m on a merry-go-round that is moving so fast, the world is a blur all around me. The only thing in focus is the man sitting on the ride beside me.
When I finally allow myself to come apart from his words and his touch, I throb everywhere. My body trembles from head to toe. The ache in my chest is so strong it feels as if it could arrest at any second.
Then, just when I think things can’t get any worse—when I’m certain I can’t possibly feel anything more—he lies down beside me, pulls me into his arms, and softly whispers into my ear, “Thou art mine.”
INDIE LETS ME HOLD HERuntil she falls asleep. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t ask for space. She doesn’t even go to the bathroom to clean up. She just curls up inside my arms, silently asking me to hold her. To be close to her.To not give her space.
No words are exchanged over what I revealed while we made love. I think that’s what we did at least. I’m not even sure I fully know what I admitted. I just did what my body demanded that I do. It wasn’t a premediated act. It wasn’t me trying to be Penis Number Two. It was spontaneous and extraordinary.
The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is the sting of tears behind my closed eyes as a painful realisation overcomes me.
I wake to a noise and crack my eyes open just in time to see the bathroom door shut. The sound of rain pattering outside fills the quietness of her flat. The grey, hazy morning light casts a foreboding sensation over me. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s only six-thirty in the morning. I roll on my back to assess my injuries.
Knee feels fine.
Head feels groggy.
Heart feels fucked.
With a heavy sigh, I drop my feet to the floor and slide into my black boxers, wincing at the memory of the fact that I didn’t use a condom last night. I’ve never not used a condom with anyone. Ever. How stupid can I be? We hadn’t even talked about birth control and I just pushed into her, completely bareback, like the biggest arsehole on the planet. I sit back down and drop my head in my hands, wishing someone would punch me in the face.
Despite all of that, a more poignant thought pushes itself to the surface—the thought that had me overwhelmed and moved me into a place I never thought I’d be with a woman. It’s what enabled me to breathe in the scent of her all night long and fantasise about how life could maybe be different. And that maybe different is okay.
I want her.
In the early morning light of day, with no tears in her eyes, and no roaring desire to comfort her and make her feel special, I still want her. I want her for more than what our arrangement originally stated.
I want her for many, many days.
Maybe an infinite amount of days? Hell, I don’t know. Wanting someone like this is new to me. The passionate footballer inside of me is screaming,long term, which is insane. And utterly mental.
But I’ve been awakened by Indie and I have to tell her.
The door opens and my head snaps up to see her pause in the doorway. I stand up from the Murphy bed positioned right in the middle of her small studio. She’s so close but feels so far away. She runs a bare foot up the back of her calf, her legs naked beneath a long grey tank top. Her red, curly hair is knotted on top of her head and thick black-framed glasses line her pensive brown eyes.
“Can we talk?” I ask and make a move toward her.
“Yes, but just…don’t touch me.” Her words sting and she rushes out her next sentence. “I can’t think straight when you touch me, Camden.”
I can respect that I guess, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t still sting. She drops down on a wooden kitchen chair and pulls her legs up to her chest, yanking her tank over her knees. I’m standing six feet from her but can see the regretful look in her eyes, plain as day…and it guts me.
Swallowing slowly, I say, “Indie, I need to know. Are we…safe? I didn’t use a condom and, fuck, that was so wrong of me. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I know I’m clean, but are you on anything?”
