Nothing is perfect. Romance books aren't always practical and movies take a million takes before the scene looks just right. Real life is the same. I giggle when Wes struggles to untie his boots and he teasingly whispers, "Sheesh," as he tries to unfasten my bra with four tiny hooks. I never thought this would be happening today so I wasn't prepared with something a little easier to remove one handed. I lift my hips and shimmy my underwear off and he stands up quickly and holds up a finger letting me know he'll be right back. It's not choreographed and we aren't dancing a practiced routine, but it's our version of perfect. I can't help but feel my heart swelling in my chest as I stare up at the ceiling and thank God for this man and the time with him he has given me.
Wes returns with three condoms and tosses them on the bed beside me. He looks at me as he takes off his pants and boxers, quickly taking off his socks too, which is a good thing because I couldn't do this with a straight face if he forgot and left them on. "We're terrible roommates," he whispers with a slight chuckle.
"We didn't have sex on the couch like we could have," I remind him unable to keep from laughing.
"True," he says with a nod, kissing me until I practically forget my name. "But I just went into their room and took their condoms." He moves his lips down to my neck and I giggle when his smile tickles me there. "I left a note," he adds and then we're really laughing.
It's dark now, the small nightlight Wes bought for me is on, but it only offers a faint glow from its position next to the dresser. I slow things down because I want to see him. I want to be able to see his features and to watch him as he looks down upon me. I kiss him while I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and I use my hands to explore his body until I can see it with my eyes. We kiss for what feels like hours. He takes the lead, kissing my neck from his position above me. He runs his strong hands all over my body until I fear I'll burn and then I lift up to him, using my lips to take over.
I can't get close enough as I kiss my way across his perfect skin, tasting him everywhere and loving the weight of his body on mine. Slowly the stillness is interrupted, a slow gentle rocking beginning when his powerful thigh slips between my legs. It's like practicing before the big show, he moves and I counter with my own until we've reached a maddening rhythm that has every intimate part of me needing him with a fire that I know only he can put out. When his hand softly rests on the inside of my knee before slowly climbing upward, I swear I see stars in the dark. My mouth is open in a gasp, but I can't say the words that are insistent in my head. Yes. Now. I don't have to though because I hear the crinkle of the wrapper and then I lose him for a second as he puts it on.
I expect him to move quickly, to relieve the ache I know he must be feeling too. But he doesn't. He takes a minute to slide me higher on the bed, helping to rest my head on the pillow. I'm grateful we've spent so much time in the dark because I can see so clearly the way he's looking at me as if I'm something special he can't believe he's holding. He moves his body in between my legs but still doesn't rush. Sweeping a stray strand of hair from my face, he looks at me, and then kisses me until I feel my throat grow tight with too many emotions. His lips graze softly across my face until we are pressed together cheek to cheek. He lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, "I'm going to love you when it's over."
********This might have been my favorite chapter to write so far. Hope you love them and their real relationship. I like to make the characters real, not these perfect people with perfect love we can't relate to. Hope I'm doing it right. If I am please vote, comment and SHARE! Tag a friend and insist they read it...that way there are no regrets WHEN IT'S OVER.
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When it's Over #Wattys2016Teen Fiction
Imagine sitting down to write an email to an old woman in charge of an advice column when you need the answer to a very important question. What if just one typo sent your email to an 18 year-old Marine instead? Wes Lee began to receive misdirected...