Page 80 of Ghosts Don't Cry
I stand up, and reach for the hem of my dress. The silk whispers against my skin as I pull it over my head, and let it drop at my feet, pooling red on gray concrete. The night air is freezing against my bare skin, raising goosebumps across my arms and chest, but I don’t feel cold. Not with the way he’s looking at me.
“Touch me, Ronan.” I reach for his hand and guide it to my waist. His fingers are shaking violently against my skin, rough and cold but achingly gentle. “Please?”
“I haven’t … I’ve never …” He licks his lips. “I don’t want to mess this up for you, Lily.”
“You won’t.” I step closer, between his legs where he’s sitting. “Trust me.”
His other hand lifts, moving so slowly, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he touches me. When his fingers brush over my ribs, feather-light and shaking, we both shiver. I lower myself to my knees in front of him, and reach for my purse. The box of condoms I convinced Cassidy to buy for me rattles slightly when I pull it out. His eyes widen.
“Youplannedfor this?”
“I hoped.” I place the box down between us. “I really want it to be you.”
He looks down at the box, then back at me. His pupils are blown, his breathing shallow. “Are you sure? Because once we ...ifwe?—”
I silence him with a kiss. His lips are cold at first, but warm quickly under mine. He tastes like toothpaste. I know he’s careful to make sure he can wash and brush his teeth, using restrooms in the diner when he has enough money to buy something or the gas station when he doesn’t.
His hands slide over my hips, pulling me closer to him, then explore upward, slowly, reverently mapping my body with shaking fingers. When his thumb brushes the underside of my breast, I gasp. He freezes immediately, snatching his hand away.
“Did I?—”
“Don’t stop.” I guide his hand back, pressing it against me. My heart pounds under his palm. “Please don’t stop.”
He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine, then he’s pulling me down, and laying me on top of the blankethe sleeps on. It’s rough wool, scratchy against my back, but it smells like him. His hands are still shaking when he touches me, his eyes dark and filled with wonder.
“You’re so beautiful, Phare.” The words come out unguarded. “Too beautiful for me or this place.”
I reach for his hoodie, and he lets me pull it off. His t-shirt follows—threadbare cotton that’s been handwashed too many times. I trace the sharp lines of his collarbone, the lean muscles of his chest. He’s too thin, ribs visible under pale skin. His muscles have been built from necessity rather than choice. When I reach for his jeans, he catches my wrist.
“Wait.” His voice is strained. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want this.” My fingers work the button open. “I want you.”
When we’re both naked, stretched out together on the blanket that’s not nearly enough protection against the cold floor, fingers exploring and lips tasting, we move slowly. Neither of us have done this before, but we touch, and taste, and pause, watching each other’s reactions, and learning.
The factory is freezing. Our breath fogs in the air between us. But where our skin touches it burns hot enough to make me forget the cold.
The first touch of his tongue between my legs surprises me. Surprise which turns to moans, then gasps while he learns how to bring me pleasure. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me still while his tongue works me over with single-minded focus. Until my fingers are twisting in his hair, and my hips are rocking against his mouth, chasing the high his tongue and fingers are driving me toward. The pleasure builds and builds until it crests, crashing over me in waves that make me cry out his name.
When I finally float down, boneless and shaking, I grope around for the box. My fingers are clumsy, still trembling from aftershocks. I take out one of the packets and tear it open. Hishands shake so badly that I have to help him roll on the condom, keeping my touch as gentle as I can make it.
And then he’s leaning over me, settling between my thighs, his weight pressing me down into the blanket.
“You can still say no,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to mine.
I smile up at him, and reach down to wrap my fingers around him. He’s hot in my hand, hard and ready. I guide him to me, and he sinks inside slowly. The stretch burns, and I can’t quite swallow the whimper that escapes. He freezes again.
“I’m hurting you.”
“Don’t stop.” I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. “Please don’t stop.”
He gasps when he’s fully inside me, his whole body shaking with the effort of staying still. His kisses are gentle, swallowing my whimpers as we adjust to each other. The burn fades slowly, replaced by the fullness of having him inside me.
“You feel …” His voice breaks. “God, Phare.”
I cup his face, loving the way he’s looking at me. “Move. I need to feel you move inside me. Please.”
He starts slow, so slow it almost kills me. Learning my body the same way he learns his books, committing every detail to memory. Each movement is a discovery. I learn how he shudders when I trace the lines of his ribs, the way his breath hitches when I kiss his throat. He learns what makes me arch into him, and what draws soft sounds from my lips.
