"This one?" Erik asks, his fingertips already grazing against the back of my dress, touching the zipper. The only one existing on my dress; the only fabric keeping him from finally being inside of me. The only one keeping him from seeing me naked.
I guess technically it is on my back; so if anything, he'll just be seeing my faded back-acne - which although every infomercial playing at 5:00am would like to tell you, can be cured by 3 easy payments of $59.99, is still there. Along with a lot of light hair that I've went back-and-forth between shaving and trying to apply self-tanner to, before finally just giving up on.
Not just my back, I gave up on self-tanning. I know, le gasp. It's just such a pain in the ass to sit in that stuff for a full night. When I was single, I had nothing better to do, but now that I share a bed with someone, it's a little more difficult.
Also, that stuff made my skin itch like crazy - and between that, and my non-stop sweating at night, I had to try and take at least some precautions to not have Erik want to move down the hall. Because nothing makes a grown man more erect than sharing a damp fitted sheet with someone that's scratching their skin flakes everywhere.
Va-va-voom.
"Yeah." I confirm, feeling the oh-so familiar tingling sensation in my south-of-the-border, when his breath touches the back of my neck.
I can feel my own breath getting heavier, waiting for him to make a move. And if he takes too long, that breathing is gonna become exasperated because I have the patience of a two year old that only got half a cookie instead of the full shebang.
I can hear his breath, followed by the low clearing of his throat. That, and the occasional giggling from that boob jobbed, I vacation in Cabo, girl, Kayden brought home. I wish I could say Erik closes the door and that shuts them both out (and up), but unfortunately the door is already closed and the walls are just paper thin.
The feeling of my zipper being moved down, is enough to distract me. Distract me from the talking going on outside, the occasional fireworks display, and my own thoughts that race through my head. His hands feel cold against my skin, but that's not what causes me to get goosebumps.
"You sure you just wanted me to undo the zipper?" He asks, despite being behind me, the sound of his voice making it clear he has a smile. It's not a friendly one, that he gives to everyone, it's the one specifically reserved for me.
For when I come out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel and wearing one of his t-shirts. For when I catch him looking at me when we're in the car, and a gaze of innocence turns into one of something not. And for that one time when I tried to ask him what he thought of my outfit and he ended up ripping off my clothes (not literally).
"Because..." He begins, delicately sweeping my hair to one side and taking full advantage of my bare shoulder. Not in some Edward Cullen way, he's not a vampire. Instead, he hovers his mouth just inches away from the side of my neck, making me wait for it, making me wait for what I want right now. "I was thinking maybe you asked me over here because you wanted me to kiss your neck." God damn that fucker.
He's smarter than I thought. And maybe has been glancing at the pages of the romance novels I have dog-eared in my nightstand. I keep them in the drawer but I'm sure he can figure out from how I turn red anytime he walks in on me reading one, that he knows what they're for. And why I have certain parts, marked for life.
I smile, biting my lip when I feel his lips brush against my skin. "Can't those both be true?" I ask, a low sound of appreciation coming from my mouth when his mouth touches just the right spot. He groans in response, pressing up against me and letting me know the batter is done.
But, like any professional baker - or fan favorite baseball player on an old-school Disney Channel movie, he knows the oven needs to be warmed, first. So, while I'm sure he'd be perfectly fine docking his ship at my proverbial harbor already, he doesn't rush. Instead, taking the time to continue down my neck, across my shoulder, until he gets to the strap of my dress.
"Fuck, Rosie." He groans, probably just now realizing that I'm not wearing a bra. I mean, there's one built into the dress so I don't know why I would. Also, my boobs are about the size of two tea plates or those holders that you put sauce spoons on, when cooking.
Not that I do much cooking, but in the excitement of moving into our first place together, Erik and I have been Amazon Priming like a soccer mom hosting a birthday party. Of course, he doesn't let me pay for any of it. That bastard.
"Why didn't you tell me you weren't wearing a bra?" He questions, sounding like I just told him the dinner he cooked had soggy noodles. I turn my neck to look at him, just in time for him to lean in and practically attack me with his mouth.
I get lost in him. In his kissing and his hands grabbing and groping, touching my body in what feels like every crevasse but my earlobe. My dress comes off, his shirt, my underwear. And then, much like a bad case of strip poker, I'm completely naked and he still has clothes on.
"Why are your pants still on?" I ask him, now laying back in bed and having him between my legs. I know that usually he leaves them on - or at least his boxers, while he revs my engine to life. But tonight, much like a dessert I've been waiting all dinner for, I just want him inside me.
He laughs, a slightly strained expression on his face. We're both breathing like two out of shape teenage girls being forced to run the mile. "Because I wanna make you cum, first." He says, matter-of-factly, sounding as poised as a politician - even though it's what he does, every time.
Even though we've done the proverbial cha cha dozens of times, he still makes sure that my bread has been buttered before our metaphorical go-time. Never rushing or making me feel like I'm taking too long. He's sweet, and patient, and always keeps my comfort and enjoyment, at the top of his mind.
Maybe that's why I say it. Because I feel loved, because I know he loves me. Because I know I can trust him with my whole heart - and, unlike a bad friend, know he won't return it shattered to pieces.
"I need you, inside me." Where else would he go, Rosie? Kansas?
He bites his lip, contemplating the potential change in our routine. Are we the winning dance troupe that can make it to regionals and win, based on something they just conjured up in the middle school bathroom? Or, would we flop on our faces and awkwardly be forced to just do jazz hands for the allotted two minutes and forty-five seconds.
"You sure?" He checks, his eyes meeting mine before getting distracted by the rest of my body. "I can wait." He assures me, as if my request is made out of the sheer niceness of wanting him to cum. And as we both know, once he's inside me, he doesn't last long. "I wanna take care of you." He tells me, cupping the side of my face with his hand and caressing me so softly, I can feel it in my spine.
I look at him, wishing there was an easier way to communicate than to use my words. So instead, I decide to take things into my own hands. And by that, I mean literally reaching over and taking his dick into my hands. Well, first I unbuckle his pants and undo them, but the belt loop gets stuck and I'm so insistent on being bold that I keep going at it until he finally takes pity.
"Fuck, you're so hot." He groans, taking his pants and boxers off in record time. Thanks King, next time I'll just let you do it. You know what they say, stick to what you know. So, if you need me, I'll be awkwardly talking to myself while attempting to inner monologue.
It's when he reaches over to the drawer, seeking one of his foil-wrapped friends, that I touch his arm. "Can we..." I trail off, either my nervousness or the logical part of me, trying to break up the situation. "Can we try without it?" I ask, looking at his dick in an attempt to distract myself. Hello sir, how are you? Nice weather we've been having, eh.
He stares at me blankly, taking a moment to process what I'm saying. "You wanna not use a condom?" He repeats, making it sound much more serious than it did in my head. I wish he would just get inside me.
I don't give myself time to think. "Yeah." I chew on my lip. It's slightly swollen from all the kissing we've been doing. "I just wanna see how it feels." I lie, leaving out the part about feeling safe with him and willing to let that vulnerability - the one I don't want to say, come out. "If you want to."
He sits back on his knees; my friend, his dick, flopping against his stomach. It looks like a soda bottle that's been shaken to death and about to blow up. "I want to. I definitely want to. But, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, with everything that happened with the..." He trails off, us both knowing what he's referring to. "I just...I don't want for you to have to go through that, again."
I know what he's saying. I know what the risks - or potential outcomes, are. I know that this isn't logical or sensible or anything that I can explain. "I know." I answer, my eyes probably giving away everything that my mouth can't. "I want to."