“Lil,” he says slowly. “Relax, okay?” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t think I know this is hard for you? I knew we were going to run into this moment.” His eyes fall to my lips. “I knew you were going to want to kiss me and for me to take you quick and hard. But that’s not going to happen today.”
I nod rapidly, hating those words but trying to soak them in and accept them. Uncontrollable tears begin to flow because I’m afraid I may not be able to restrain my compulsions. I thought being away from Lo would be the difficult part, but learning how to have a healthy, intimate relationship with him suddenly seems impossible. He’s a man that I want to take advantage of every minute of the day. If I’m not doing it, then I fantasize about it. How can I stop?
His breathing shallows, as though my tears are driving knots into his stomach. Mine has already collapsed. I feel utterly destroyed by guilt and shame and desperation.
His fingers dig harder in my sides, as though reminding me that he’s here, touching me. “What’s going to happen,” he breathes, “is that I’m going to carry you through this door. I’m going to draw out every single moment until you’re exhausted. And I’m going to move so slow that three months ago will feel like yesterday. And tomorrow will feel like today, and no one in this fucking universe will be able to say your name without saying mine.”
And then he kisses me, so urgently, so passionately that my lungs suffocate. His tongue gently slips into my mouth, and I savor each and every movement. He kneads the back of my head, gripping my hair, yanking and sending my nerves on overdrive.
His hands fall to my ass, and he effortlessly lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, squeezing tightly into a front-piggyback. He guides me inside, just as he promised. I hook my arms underneath his and press my cheek to his hard chest, listening to the unsteady beat of his heart. We’re so close, but I still ache to be closer. My breath shallows for it.
He kisses the top of my head and carries me into my bedroom on the second floor. Well—our bedroom. My net canopy is pulled back, the comforter black and white with red sheets. Lo rests my back against the mattress, and I reach up to grab a fist-full of his shirt and yank him on top of me. But he steps back and shakes his head.
Slow, I remember. Right.
My legs dangle off the edge, and I prop myself on my elbows as he stands in front of me.
“I’m yours,” he tells me. “I will always be yours, Lily. But now it’s time for you to say it.”
I sit up and my eyes flit over all of him. In all our life, he has never once said to me, you are mine. He has never taken me the way I’ve taken him. He has given himself to me. And I realize, it’s my time to make this right and give myself to him.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
The muscles in his jaw twitch, almost smiling. “I’ll believe you when I see it.”
I squint. “Then why’d you tell me to say it?”
He leans forward, his lips so close to mine. His palms set on either side of my body, forcing me to fall back a little. I hesitate to kiss him. He’s testing me, I think. “Because I love those words.”
My lips part. Kiss me, I plead. “I’m yours,” I breathe.
His eyes drop to mine, watching me, drawing out the moment. The spot between my legs aches for him. I want the pressure of his body—to rock against me, to fill me, to say my name over and over.
Kiss me. “I’m yours,” I choke, wide-eyed in utter suspense.
And then he sucks on the bottom of my lip, he teasingly bites it and then sinks his pelvis into mine. I buck my hips to meet him and he lets me.
Lo grips the hem of his shirt and tugs it off his head, tossing it aside. Before I run my palms over his taut chest and newly sharpened abs, he laces his fingers with mine. Simultaneously, he puts his knee on the mattress and pulls me higher onto the bed, my head finding the pillow.
He climbs on and keeps my hands trapped in his. Then he stretches my arms high above me, our knuckles knocking into the headboard.
His body hovers over me, no longer melded together. I squirm beneath the space I dearly hate, my heart thudding and raging to be even closer. “Lo…” I can’t take it anymore. My back arches a little as I try to meet his body again, and he tilts his head, disapproving.
So I stay still. I try to let him take control since I need to go slow. His lips lower but linger from touching mine. He keeps that distance as he unbuttons my jeans, relinquishing the hold on my hand. He uses his other to guide my palm to his zipper. Yes. It takes only seconds before I have him unzipped and unbuttoned, tugging his jeans off with familiarity. I wiggle out of mine and he lifts the shirt off my head, in nothing but a black lacy bra and panty set. I did know he was coming home today, after all.