CHAPTER TEN
The Course of An Eternity
Chris holds open the door to our dorm. “After you, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I walk by him into the dimly lit entryway. As much fun as I’ve had tonight, I’m glad to be back here. The crowd, the music, the noise, the social interaction… . It has all been a lot for me, and I’m ready to decompress. The noise from the speakers by the stage has left a good ringing in my ears, and my voice is raw from having to yell over the music. I feel grateful, though, that Sabin was my home base tonight. He let me come back to him as often as I needed to ground myself. When the noise was too much or the social interaction felt overwhelming, he remained my rock. Chris? Chris was more of my risk. Gravitating to him took more bravery because he could see that the evening was more than I could handle. He must have asked me fifty times if I was all right and if I was having fun. He seems to know me—and knows what to worry about—more than he should. Maybe that was why he’d offered to walk me back after Sabin ran into Chrystle, and Estelle took off with her giant purse after getting a text.
Chris and I pause after stepping into the dorm, knowing it’s time to part ways. I’m tired, but I’m not ready to leave him. At least I am clearheaded since we abandoned that vile tequila on the top of the architecture building hours before. I know that I won’t do anything horrifying like throw myself at him. Despite the massive appeal that holds right now.
The staircase to the right leads up to my room, and the one on the left leads down to his. “So, I’ll see you around. Thanks for tonight. It was really fun to see Sabin onstage.” A quick exit is probably smart, so I start up the stairs.
“Hey, Blythe?“
“Yeah?”
“Where do you think Estelle was going? When she got that text, she sort of took off fast.”
I laugh. “Honestly? As her brother, you may not want to know what I think.”
“What? Do you think … ” Chris wrinkles his brow. “Oh no. Really? You think she had a date?”
“Define date. But yes, I do.”
He shivers. “Yuck. But she’s all … religiousy and shit. I was hoping that she was morally opposed to … stuff.”
I try not to smile. “Stuff?” It’s funny to see Chris like this since he is usually so articulate.
“I’m not phrasing it any other way.”
“Understood.”
We linger for a moment by the first floor landing. Why are good-nights always so uncomfortable?
Some late partiers, loud and clearly drunk, stumble through the front door and stagger up the stairs. I finally walk up the first few steps. “It’s really late, I guess.” I tuck my hands in my back pockets and do what I can to appear casual. “Good night, Christopher.”
“Good night, Blythe.”
I feel a certain pride in making it back to my room without giving in to the urge to turn around and shove my tongue down his throat. It’s a positive in an otherwise frustrating situation. The main thing here is that Chris seems to like me well enough as a friend, and having him in my life in any capacity is better than not having him. Plus, it’s only because of him and his siblings that I went out tonight with a group of people—a pretty monumental event for me. And it was fun. Truly, honestly fun. All in all, I can’t complain.
The light of the moon through my window is bright enough that I don’t crash into anything, and I welcome the quiet of my room. I strip down to my underwear and throw on my black cotton robe. It’s two in the morning, and I should be exhausted, but I’m not. I walk aimlessly around my room, remaking my futon and tidying the untouched single bed that used to belong to my roommate. There is some laundry that I could put away and a book I’ve been wanting to read…
Awake and restless, I stand unmoving in the center of my room. I don’t want to clean, and I don’t want to read. This night should not be over, and I am hyperaware of missing Chris. He has infiltrated my entire core in a way that I cannot shake off tonight and in a way that I will probably never shake off. Nor would I want to. I turn and face my door as if it’s possible that he can feel our connection.
And then there is a knock. It has a hesitant, questioning rhythm. It shouldn’t.
Without saying anything, I open the door, and he is there.
Chris steps into me and kicks the door shut behind him. The second it slams, his hands are tight on my hips, and he moves in. Turning me around, he is behind me, pulling me against him hard and crushing his chest into my back. I gasp as he moves his hands roughly over my waist, my stomach, his breath hot in my ear when he pushes the fabric of my robe aside. Going up the back of my thigh, the palm of his hand eases steadily and confidently higher until he has my ass in his hand. Over and over, he strokes me up and down in a sultry rhythm. Chris slides my robe off one shoulder and brushes my hair to the side with his other hand. The feel of his lips on my neck and the top of my shoulder is heaven. When the grip he has on my ass tightens so much that it begins to hurt beautifully for only a fraction of a second, he stops and slowly slips his fingers under the back of my underwear. Over the course of an eternity, he runs his touch just under the edge of the fabric.
I force myself not to grab his hands and move them immediately where I want, but it’s torture. How can I get through this? But I don’t want him to stop, so I let him set the pace. When he’s traced his way to the front, I lean my head back into his chest, willing this to never end. His hand moves from my hair, across my collarbone, down my chest, and then slips under the top of my robe. Now he is brushing my breast ever so teasingly, and I am convinced that I have hit my tolerance for standing up straight. My knees are beyond weak, and with the way my legs are starting to shake, I’m not sure how long I can stay like this in the face of so much pleasure.
Chris’s voice is a low whisper in my ear. “I want to hear you come. I need to hear you come.”
I tremble and turn around into his arms. Chris backs me up until I am pressed against the door to my room. The way he kisses me with such raw sexual heat just about makes me lose my mind. He takes my hands in his and raises them above my head, pinning them against the door as his kiss deepens even more. The feel of his body starting to grind slowly into mine is getting me dizzy. I cannot think. I can only react. We kiss for what seems forever until he lets go of my hands so that I can finally hold him the way that I want, my hands working over the front of his pants. It’s the first time that I’ve ever touched a guy like this, but my need for him makes it easy. I like feeling him hard under my palm and the way that he presses himself into me a bit. He’s not pushy or self-serving, though. He’s responsive.
He moves his mouth from mine and lowers his lips to my neck, then works slow kisses down to my breast. The tip of his tongue sweeps over my nipple so painstakingly slowly that I can barely take it. Then my nipple is in his mouth. He sucks on me firmly and decisively until I whimper, and he moves to kiss my mouth again. This time he is gentle, running his tongue over my bottom lip, teasing me with his lips and his taste.
Keeping his body close to mine, he looks down and unties my robe. My hands are now in his hair, and we both watch as he caresses the curve of my breast, moves down my stomach, then to the inside of my thigh. This is the first time anyone has touched me or seen me like this, and I’m surprised that I’m not nervous or self-conscious. There’s a reason why: it’s Chris. He sweeps his hand over my underwear, just once, making me dig my fingers into his shoulders.
“Chris.” His name is barely audible even to me.
“I want to hear you come,” he says again.
Jesus, he is making it impossible to talk, but I want to tell him something. “No one … no one has … ” I manage.
He pauses for a moment and then lightly trails his fingertips up from my underwear all the way to my face. “No one?“
I smile a little. “Well, no one but me.”
He smiles back. Chris holds my face in his hand, kisses me once more, and then presses his cheek against mine. “Will you let me? I have to know how you sound.”
All I can do is nod.
He has one hand over my underwear and the other flat against the door by my head when he speaks again. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare.” I will kill him if he stops.
He eases my thighs apart just a bit and barely grazes the back of his hand between my legs. My arousal level has just gone into new territory. I am delirious with lust, but he keeps his pace unhurried and steady, making me want more with every move. Using one finger, he lifts my underwear and holds it to the side. Chris stays still, letting my tension and need mount as he hovers over me.
“Please,” I murmur.
So he runs a finger up and down, smoothly and sensuously, over and over.
I whimper again. The sound of his voice drives me crazy, and it is impossibly easy to turn myself over to him. I feel completely safe.
His finger goes against me a bit harder until he is moving in slow circles against my * and I am groaning in his ear. I am not this loud when I’m alone, but there is no way to control myself with what he is doing to me.
“Yes … .” he encourages me. “I want to know what feels good for you.” His words coax me closer, heightening what already feels so perfect. He adjusts his touch slightly, and I put my hands on his shoulders.
“You like that?” he asks me in a murmur.
I groan again in response.
Then my underwear is down—I have no idea how this happens because I am so, so perfectly lost—and his fingers move lower. He parts me open slightly while he goes up and down with the barest hint of movement. “What about this?”
I dig my fingers into his skin.
The sound that I make when the tip of his finger goes inside me is unlike any other I have ever made.
“So that’s good, too?” he asks as he eases in a bit more.
“Yes.”
He starts to slip his finger in and out, delicately and seductively, luring me closer to orgasm. “You are so wet,” he breathes as I start to move reflexively into his hand. “And so hot. God, you feel like velvet.” He continues while he also places one finger higher, rubbing my * again, just where I need it. I can hear my breathing getting faster, my sounds getting louder, and my world getting smaller, until the only thing left is the intensity of us.
“You’re close now, aren’t you?” he says, moving a little faster, pressing a little harder. I can’t talk, but I let myself fall into his words and his touch. “I’ve been wondering how you would sound like this,” he purrs. “From the moment I met you, I’ve wanted to hear this. And you sound incredible … You feel incredible … Come, Blythe, come… .”
My body tenses, and then I am still for a bit while the sensation climbs to incredible heights. “Oh God …”
I half open my eyes as I feel Chris take his cheek from mine so that he is watching me. My vision is blurry, but I know he is staring right into my eyes. “Baby,” he whispers. “Look at me. You’re so, so close … It’s like I’ve been waiting forever… . ”
I hold his look as he keeps working his hand against me. I groan and shake into his hold as my orgasm starts to hit. I have never come like this. My pleasure with him is more complete, more layered, more overwhelming than anything that I could give myself. I find that I am saying his name over and over as each wave engulfs me deeper in the beautiful abyss he has created. When it becomes impossible to see, I let my eyes close as he keeps his hand against me, making me shudder again and again.
Then his tongue is against mine, and his arms wrap around my lower back. He kisses me intensely and presses his chest against mine. I can feel how hard he is, and as dizzy and out of it as I am, part of me wonders what is going to happen next and whether or not I’ll know what to do.
But I don’t need to figure that out because Chris is too busy kissing me and only eventually slowing down until he gives me a final, light kiss and then nestles into the crook of my neck. I can feel him shaking his head back and forth, just slightly. “You are amazing.” He moves his hands to my waist and then slips my underwear back up. “You’re just … You’re everything.”
His words are perfect, but the tone in his voice is not right. Wistful. Apologetic.
I’m still catching my breath, but now I’m waiting for the ball to drop.
“I … I should go.” He pauses and slips his fingers into my hair, cradling the back of my head as he kisses me again quickly. “I need to go.”
“Wait, what?” I am so lost now. “No. No, you don’t have to go.”
“Yeah. I do,” he says gently. “I want you too much.”
This I understand because I want him so completely right now that it terrifies me. “So stay.”
It seems to take forever for him to answer, and his hands are still playing with my hair, his lips still darting against mine every few seconds. “I can’t.” He steps back and takes my hand to move me out of the way of the door. “I’d give anything to stay, but I can’t. You’re stunning, Blythe.” He gives me an almost-sad smile. “But I just can’t stay. It’s too much.”
And before I can figure out what the f*ck that means, he is gone.