Chapter 10 Waiting for Spring - R.J. Keller

He wasn’t surprised to find me still in his kitchen. Leaning against the counter. Waiting for him. But first things first.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He gestured towards the porch. “Cass is just…yeah. I’m fine. You, uh, wanna stay for awhile? For a drink or something?”

“Sure.”

He made his way over, slowly. Smiling. He stopped directly in front of me and pointed to the cupboard behind my head. The one that held his liquor. “You know, you’re sorta in my way.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there. So close I could actually feel the heat coming off of him. He was going to make me say it. Even though he knew. He’d known it the second I’d come downstairs, just like I’d known the second I’d been snatched out of my dream that afternoon.

I cleared my throat. “I’m not really thirsty.”

“Yeah,” he said, and he was still smiling. “I know.”

I was shaking, just slightly, and I knew why. I was nervous. I hadn’t been the first time this had almost happened, but this was different. I managed to smile, though, managed to keep my eyes focused on his. They were more alive than I’d ever seen them, and my heart started thumping; pounding out that ancient drumbeat. Because this really was it. It was all about to break loose and I was ready. Stopped shaking. Finally.

He noticed, had been waiting for the shaking to stop. He reached out and held my face in his hands with gentle fingers. Like it was something precious and fragile. Like it would break if he wasn’t careful. It threw me a little, because I hadn’t expected tenderness; wasn’t prepared for it at all. Until that moment I’d been ready to dive right in and go for it. Wild hippie monkey sex, the kind where you wake up in the morning wondering where the hell your pants are. But his touch promised something even better. Something I hadn’t had for a very long time and when he closed the gap, so slowly, and finally kissed me it was with a soft, warm mouth. Tender. Slow. Like he didn’t care if it took all night. Like he didn’t care if it took forever.

But then he stopped, just barely. Our lips still were still touching but he didn’t move. I felt him smile, opened my eyes to see his hovering there. Open, expectant, and I could see the question. I smiled back, my lips stretching over his.

I found his belt loops, grabbed tight hold of them, opened my mouth, and guided his lips into another kiss. But not like before. I had to let him know.

I need this.

I touched his tongue with mine, slid it slowly underneath his, coaxed it into my mouth. I wanted it all, needed it, and he gave it to me. It was hot, tasted a little like beer, and I knew mine did, too. And it was perfect.

But it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel him, to touch him. Him. His body, his skin. I tugged, pulled his shirt out of his jeans and reached underneath it. He trembled at my touch but his hands were still gentle as he ran his fingers through my hair. I took my time, explored the new terrain slowly. His tight stomach. The taut muscles of his chest. It was covered with soft, damp hair and I slid my fingers through it, lingered there. It had been at the root of every fantasy I’d ever had about him and I was nearly overwhelmed by a sudden, swift flood of all of them: The sounds of his breath in my ear, his hot scent. His rough hands, all over me. The way he’d tasted. In my mind. All of him. It mingled with reality, with his lips and fingers and heat and tongue and I let out a brief moan, almost a whimper, then choked it back, embarrassed.

He let go of my lips and drew in a sharp breath. Looked at me with eyes that weren’t quite focused, hazy with arousal, and I thought he’d finally reached his breaking point. The point when clothes got ripped off of bodies in a mad rush for the bedroom. But he only put his arms around me, firmly, and pulled me to him. I slipped my arms around him, still underneath his shirt, ran my fingers along the muscles of his back. He pressed me against him even closer, so close that I could feel my heartbeat against him, an echo of his, my breasts tight against his chest. Then he took my mouth again, held me in his arms on that hot, spinning carnival ride of wet lips and damp skin.

And it wasn’t enough.

I knew he was holding back. I could feel him wanting to let it go. And I needed him to. I slid my fingers slowly down his back, slick now and hot with sweat, let them wander lower still. I stopped for a moment at the waist band of his jeans, pulled at it with my thumbs. Waiting. Waiting, my heartbeat ticking down the last remaining seconds. Gave him one more chance. Waited. Then...

I let go of the waistband and grabbed it. His ass. It was tight and round and perfect, and I saw, behind my closed eyes, how it looked that day, that first day, climbing those stairs right in front of me, and now I was

Oh my God, it’s in my hands, right here, it’s in my hands...

actually touching it, I could feel it, finally, even if it was just through his jeans it was...

It’s. Right. Here. Right here in my fucking. Hands.

My blood flowed hot through my veins, washed away all reason and thought; lost all track of his lips and his hands. The only thing in the world was his ass, his ass, and I grabbed it harder, squeezed it. Leaned back against the counter. Pulled him closer. Close as I could, so that his ass wasn’t the only thing in existence. Even through his pants, even through mine, I felt him, hot and hard, and I still didn’t let him go. I had waited so long, too long, and I needed him, please, God, needed all of him, against me, on me, inside me...

He pulled his mouth away from mine again, gave a loud, deep groan. His hands were heavy on my shoulders, like he might fall over if he didn’t clutch them. It made me smile. Into his shirt. While I struggled to catch my breath. His breath was quick and hot in my hair and on my forehead and finally I heard a husky whisper in my ear:

“Tess...if you don’t let go of me...I swear...you’re gonna get it right here. Right here in the fucking kitchen.”

Oh God, yes. Please, please, please. Gimme...

I squeezed my eyes, fought to get control of myself again. Took a slow, deep breath, oxygen and coherent thought finally returning to my brain.

“Sorry.” I let go, embarrassed again, my own breath still hard and shallow.

What the hell is wrong with you? It’s been a long time, but you’re not an animal…

“Don’t be,” he said, and his voice was still hoarse. “I’m not. I just want...I don’t want...”

He took my face in his hands again, firmly this time, lifted it up towards his. Everything else in the world melted away. Everything except for Brian. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. His mouth wet and open, his hot gorgeous breath on my face. His hair was damp and he smelled—God, he smelled sweaty and spicy and hot and so, so good. His eyes were wild and dark and burning, searching my whole face. I knew what it was he was hunting for. And I hoped he found it looking back at him.

He pulled me quickly out of the kitchen, through the hallway, into his bedroom. He snapped on a dim lamp, kicked the door shut, pushed me up against it and kissed me. This time his mouth was different; raw, rough, demanding. He pressed himself, his whole body, tight against mine, barely leaving enough room for breath. And I loved it.

I pulled at his shirt and he broke away reluctantly, leaned back to let me slip it over his head. I caught a brief glimpse of an armband tattooed high on his right bicep. Once his head was clear of his shirt he came right back at me and I cursed myself for focusing on it, because I’d lost my chance of getting a good look at his chest.

He pinned my arms against the door, holding me in place. His open mouth was hot at my neck, sliding slowly down, slowly, and I was sure he could feel my pulse with his lips and his tongue. So slowly, until he got his first taste of cleavage. He lingered there forever, my shirt fluttering with each breath he took, then he finally released my arms and went to work on the buttons. He fumbled slightly with the first one, but the other three gave up without a fight and soon my shirt was dangling, not quite open, just waiting for him to unwrap his gift. Before he did he looked into my eyes. Clear, focused, ready. Making sure I was, too. I dropped my arms, let them rest at my sides, and smiled for him again.

He brushed aside the two halves of my shirt, just below the curve of my breasts, and stared silently for a few moments. Then he smiled and his eyes told me that he knew. And he was right. Red lace bra. I’d put it on just for him.

He gave me his mouth again as he slipped off my shirt and, with a few urgent tugs, my bra. My breasts were free at last, but only for a second because he was right there, exploring. First with tentative fingers, then boldly with his rough, warm hands. Finally his mouth left mine and he continued his research with those gorgeous lips, and his tongue, and

oh God his mouth is so, so, so fucking hot

he stayed there for a slow, hot eternity. I held his head in my hands, his hair wet in my fingers. Short gasps. Murky head, swimming dizzily. I felt myself losing balance, listing back towards the door. He pulled me back to him, firmly, back to his open mouth, but the rest of my body was burning and neglected, crying out for him to touch it. I took in a raspy breath and when I let it out it was a plea, practically a sob.

“Brian...”

He tore himself away and I waited, with my own mouth open, for him to kiss me again. Instead he smiled weakly, his face flushed and hot, and whispered a breathless, “Sorry.”

I smiled back. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

I found his buckle and made quick, careful work of opening his jeans, pulled them down as far as my arms would reach, while he did the same to me. I stepped out of my pants and he whipped off his own. Finally we faced each other completely naked.

I looked at him, at all of him. I was going to touch that gorgeous body, to feel it on top of me, underneath me. Mine. And then, of course, the other realization. He was looking at me just as closely. Nothing to be too ashamed of, not really, but thirty-four isn’t twenty-five and...

He shook his head and pulled me to him. His arms were gentle once again and it was just how I wanted him to be. Then he uttered the sweetest words in the world.

“Tess...” and he was looking right into my eyes. “You are beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

His lips were on mine before I could respond. Slow, hot, patient, just the way he’d begun. He backed slowly towards the bed, pulling me right along with him. Even as he lay me down on it, leaning over me, sliding me farther back, his mouth never left mine, not until I felt his pillow underneath my head. I looked again into those dark, dark eyes, and smiled up at him, waiting for him to start.

Instead he reached over beside the bed, yanked open the drawer of his nightstand and started digging around inside it. The drawer banged shut and I heard something crinkling above my head.

Welcome back to single life, Tess.

The words flashed like neon in my mind and helped me to focus. I thought of the prescription that I had taken for years, the one I’d been too afraid to cancel, even through a lonely fall and winter. And I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to put it on, that we were all set. But then I remembered. His fall and winter hadn’t been so lonely.

Just for right now, please Brian, just for tonight...let it just be about the sex. Please don’t look at me that way. Please. I can’t bear to think of how bad it will hurt when you stop looking at me that way. Please--please--just fuck me tonight and let me worry about whether I’m ready to deal with the rest tomorrow.

I opened my eyes. His were directly above me. Searching. Worried.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded and smiled up at him. He waited a few moments longer, still searching. Then he smiled back, swallowed hard and finally started; a slow, sweet, exquisite rhythm. He whispered to me, deep and soft. Hot, sexy, beautiful words that felt just like a song, and I lost myself in him, completely engulfed by him; his touch and smell and sound and sweat. He was so tender and warm, nothing at all like I’d expected, so much better than I had ever imagined him, and I finally let go. Finally gave in to him, let him carry me off with him to where he was, where he’d been for so long, where I knew he wanted me to be. And when I felt it start, the slow spark that became hotter and hotter, one electric wave after another, it wasn’t only my body, but all of me responding to him, and I surrendered to it--and to him--completely. His name started in some deep, secret corner within me and I wasn’t sure I’d said it out loud until he whispered mine back, and when I heard it again, a final, searing moan, his eyes were wide open and looking down into mine.

He collapsed heavily on me, his breath quick and warm, blowing in my hair, his heart pounding against me. Mine hammered away, too, short, deafening blasts; each beat a cymbal in my ears. And it was full, so full of him, that I thought it would burst. I tried to focus on it, to make my way through the ripples to find the sweet emotion at the center, but I couldn’t. All I knew for certain was that everything had changed. Because he was still inside me. Still. And I didn’t want him to ever leave.

He raised his head, finally, and looked down at me. I knew exactly what it was he was thinking--what he was feeling--because his eyes were still glowing with it. But he didn’t say the words. He just caressed my cheek gently, kissed it, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

I listened to his footsteps thudding towards the bathroom while I stared at a tiny crack in the ceiling. His room was directly below mine. And I wondered, for the first time, how my own footsteps had sounded to him from down here. If he had ever lain awake, right here, right in this bed, listening to me.

He sauntered back into the room and plopped down beside me on his back, pulled me over to him. I rested my head on his shoulder, played with the hair on his chest while he caressed my back lightly with his fingers. It was the best feeling in the world. But there was a can of worms I had to open. The one I hadn’t thought about until I’d heard Crinkling above my head. I watched the clock on his night stand, trying to build up my courage. It glared back at me in bold red numbers for seven full minutes. Both of us were silent the entire time. Finally I managed an, “Ummm...”

He waited for me to continue and when I didn’t he asked, “Are you humming to yourself or are you trying to tell me something?”

I laughed, and it made me brave enough to tell him about my prescription. Then I asked him That question. He smiled and said:

“Yeah, I have been. And I’m clean. I’ve never done it without a rubber anyway.”

I smiled back; relieved. Then there was something else.

It had been so long since there was something new. Even if it wasn’t my something new. So I climbed on top of him and kissed him, deep and hot and slow…

Ready again. Twenty-five. Gotta love that.