Hazel Eyes and Peaches

chapter 14:

It doesn't take long for us to pull up to one of the most beautiful houses I have ever seen. He explains to me that both his parents, his younger sister, and he are the only four living in the house, but most of his siblings come to visit often since they all live close together. It was his grandmother's house before she died a few years ago, and his mother had grown up in it. 

She had moved away when she met his dad, but when her mother and father had both passed away, she moved back in. It seems like this house has been in the family for quite a while, the children never going too far from Los Angeles. 

He speaks about the house like it's the only place he would ever want to live, but I know that isn't true. He just loves it so much. He takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together, as he tugs me up and out of the car. I giggle as he throws his arm lazily around my shoulders, kissing my cheek adorably.

He smiles down at me, and I'm taken aback for a moment. I think I've only seen him smile once, and it was for a short second. He has a great smile. He should definitely do that more. Using his key to unlock the door, he lets me inside first and guides me into the kitchen area with a hand on the small of my back. 

I hear loud laughing at the entrance to the home, and he mumbles profanities under his breath. My heart stings, wondering why he doesn't want his family to know that I'm here, and he shuffles us up the steps quickly. I gulp down the pain, wiping quickly at my eyes to hide the crybaby tears. 

He opens a dark brown, wooden door to open up to a dark, black room. And when I say black, I mean black. Black sheets on his bed, walls painted black, black doors to his closet. To give it some variety, there are hints of gray, black and white pictures, and touches of brown but it's mostly black.

It's very luxurious and almost romantic.

I love it.

"Clay?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you not want your family to see me?"

"You would be comfortable meeting them?"

"Well, yeah. You told me about them, and I want to know them for real."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you would be uncomfortable with knowing them after only knowing me for a short period of time, but I would love to introduce you to them. Only if you want to though."

"Maybe after we clean your knuckles?"

"Sounds good. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"You did a little bit, but now that I know the reason, it's okay. Do you think you could ask me though before deciding things for me?"

"Of course. I shouldn't have assumed."

"You live and you learn, right?"

"Right. I've got to clean my knuckles. I'll be back."

"Wait, let me do it. It was my fault that you had to do that."

"Do you honestly think it was your fault, peaches?"

"No. It wasn't."

"If you want to clean my knuckles, you can. You don't need an excuse to do that, but don't feel like you have to."

"I want to."

"Come on then."

Forgetting and knowing that we've moved on from him hiding me away from his family, together, we walk into the bathroom attached to his bedroom. Just like the black of his room, the bathroom is designed the same way. I like the black, I do, but I also think that maybe he needs some color in his life. 

Compared to my room - with a light, dusty lavender duvet from Bed Bath & Beyond, my soft gray walls, the brownish-gray floors, modern and abstract black and white paintings on the wall behind my bed, a desk on the right wall with bookshelves, my closet and two dresses on the other, and finally, my medium size tv and five bookshelves filling the wall opposite my bed - he needs something to brighten up his life. 

I at least have a bit of color other than gray, black, and white. It's not my room though, so he can do whatever he wants with it.

His hands heavily land on my hips, and he carefully lifts me onto the bathroom counter. Reaching above me, he pulls a small first aid kit out of the cabinet and places it on the counter next to me. I fight the urge to run my nimble fingers over his neck, across his strong and bulky shoulders, and down the v of his neckline that only shows because of his shirt. 

I itch for my hands to run over the smoothness of the abs of his stomach, trail the other v-line he has further down, and press his crotch against my own. I want my hands to run through his hair as he places kisses down my neck and over the tops of my breasts. 

The desire to have my skin grazing his own, his hands swiftly moving over every inch of me, our breath mixing between us before he kisses me with passion as he thrusts deep into me...it's overwhelming.

I know I shouldn't be feeling this way, and I haven't before. At least, not like this. I have felt horny before, even bringing myself to an orgasm, but that was only because of hot men in books. Never in real life have lusted so passionately over someone. 

I've kissed people, my now ex-boyfriends mostly, but it was only because of the pressure to do so. I haven't felt like I wanted to kiss them, but with Clay, to feel his lips against my own...that would be a dream. I wonder what they feel like. 

Would they be rough on mine or would he take his sweet time? Would they be deep and soothing or fast, quick kisses? Would he bite my bottom lip to open up my mouth for his tongue? Would he taste just as good as he smells?