“I know what you mean,” I say, smiling against his lips.
Nico rests me on his bed, and I fall deep into the softness, his body coming down on top of mine. My knees bend up on instinct, making room for him to press into me, our most intimate parts touching, clothed and chaste, but so hungry.
“I’ve never…” I say.
“It’s okay,” he says, brushing a kiss over my lips. “I don’t want that. Not until you’re ready. I just…”
“I know,” I say, my hands flat on his back, pulling him toward me, wanting him to press into me harder to relieve the ache.
Nico’s hands slide up my waist, grazing against my breasts lightly and pushing up into my hair as he kisses me hard. My fingers work his shirt up over his head, as I boldly rush to feel his bare chest against my skin.
Everything about him is hot, his skin searing, and I cling to it, my fingers grabbing his shoulders tightly as he presses his weight into me, his hips rocking with his kiss, a faint moan escaping him. His hands slide behind me, pulling my hips into him as his body rests on mine, our lips locked together and the friction of where our bodies meet growing into an undeniable heat that I can’t help but chase. Wanting him, more of him, I push up on one shoulder, rolling him to his back so I can straddle him, my hips moving in a steady rhythm while my hands lie flat on his chest and Nico looks at me, his eyes pleading for me not to stop.
I can’t stop.
I won’t stop.
I want to feel this just as much as he does. I’ve never…
Nico pulls me to him, his hands grabbing my ass, helping me to move against him until the pressure becomes so strong that I feel it fall over the edge inside me, my core clenching, my stomach tightening. My face falls to his neck, to his shoulder, and my teeth sink in lightly on his skin, and I whimper with each wave, Nico pulling me into him again. Again. Again. Until I feel him breathe rapidly against my neck, his mouth tasting me, his teeth leaving a mark.
He holds me tight when the motion stops. After several minutes, his hands fall away, but his fingers tickle against my arms, moving my hair from my face, kissing me softly. His eyes rake over me one last time before he sits up, stepping over to his door, lifting my shirt and handing it to me. He puts his on, and holds out a hand, helping me to stand.
“You should probably comb your hair,” he smirks, and I blush hard.
He runs his fingers through a few times, but I do more as he steps to his drawer, pulling out a pair of shorts and boxers. I shut my eyes tightly, embarrassed, and he chuckles.
“Oh, now you’re shy,” he says.
“Just…just, oh my God, go change,” I say, both hands quickly covering my face.
Nico steps up to me, pulling my hands away, his nose nuzzling mine, his dimple evidence of his smile.
“Don’t cover your face. You’re too beautiful,” he says.
“Oh my God, corn—,” I say, and he kisses me before the word can fully leave my lips.
“Corny,” I finish when he’s done. He winks, and slips out of his room, holding his thumb up to let me know the coast is clear, and nobody heard a thing.
I wait for Nico just inside his door, and he takes my hand, guiding me down the hallway to the back patio door, opening it to lead me outside. We sit by the fire pit with our feet up, tossing in bits of leftover food, and pieces of paper, watching them ignite and fly away as embers. There’s laughter inside, and we both lean to look around the fire, his mom slamming her hands on the table with her heavy laughter, the other women joking, too.
“I wish my mom would have stayed,” I say.
Nico looks to me, his brow low.
“She could use friends like these. That’s all,” I say, watching the scene in the kitchen fondly.
“My mom liked her; I could tell,” he says.
I tilt my head to the side, letting it fall against my arm, pulling my leg up so I can look at him, the way he looks with the fire glowing and outlining his profile.
“I memorized your profile,” I say, pulling my knee in closer. He flits his eyes to me, but looks back at the fire, his feet resting on the bricks of the pit. He pokes a stick into the flames, moving a chunk of wood and making it crackle.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“I did. Because you don’t really make eye contact in class. You sort of go to your own little world when you think. I don’t even think you look at our teacher,” I say, squinting as I realize this fact.
Nico smirks and chuckles lightly, his lip raised on one side.
“I don’t,” he says.
I pull in my brow.
“Why?” I ask.
He takes in a long breath, eventually dropping the stick to the ground.
“At my old school…at Public? You sort of always got in trouble when you made eye contact,” he says, laughing at his own answer.