“Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”
“Well, today we had sex, so I’d say yes.” His cheeks flush. “Unless you don’t want to date.” He pretends to look offended. “Did you just use me for a booty call?” But I can tell that there’s a little part of him that wants a serious answer.
“I didn’t use you for a booty call,” I confirm.
He snaps his fingers and says, “Damn. I was going to brag to all the guys.”
He says nothing else for a moment, so I say, “I think we’re all more than the color of our skin or the color of our eyes. More than our hearing status. More than our culture. Do you think it would be easier if you made a family with someone who is deaf?”
“Maybe.” He rocks his head side to side. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you want a family? Kids?”
He nods. “I do. And I know you do.”
“I do.” I smile. “I always have.”
“What would you do if you couldn’t play music anymore?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“What do you play?”
“Piano. Keyboard. Whatever.” I brush his question out of the air. I feel funny talking about music since he can’t relate to it. “Do you like music?”
“I don’t dislike it.” He shrugs.
“Were you ever jealous because Mick could hear?”
He chuckles. “No. But he was jealous that he wasn’t deaf.”
“Why?”
“He wanted assistive devices and speech therapy and all the special OT that I got as a kid. He grew up in a deaf household. He never felt like he quite fit in. Not to mention that he became the automatic interpreter for all of us when we needed to talk to a hearing person. I can still remember the time when my dad made Mick call the electric company about a bill. He stood there and signed everything Mick was supposed to say, and Mick told him the responses. Dad got angrier and angrier, and Dad started to curse. So Mick relayed it. It’s what you do when you translate. But then the person on the other end of the line got angry and hung up on him. Dad was livid.”
“Not with Mick?”
“With the world, for not making it easier for us to communicate.” He grabs my toe and yanks it playfully. “Sometimes it startles me that it’s so easy to communicate with you.”
“I feel the same way. Had I not met you over a tattoo, I might not have talked to you at all. I might have been afraid.”
“But then you asked me to lunch.” He grins. “And then you stole my cap. And then you made me want you by being so damn cute with the ransom notes.”
“That’s all it took? Damn, you’re easy.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you ready for a relationship?”
“Define ready.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then they fly open and he rushes with his hands. “I think about you all the time. I want to know everything about you. I want to hang out with your dad. I want to play strip poker with you. I want you to play the keyboard for me with really big speakers so I can feel the passion when you play.”
I wave a hand to stop him. “Why do you assume I have passion when I play?”
“Because you have this fire in you…”
I point to my chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You burn brightly.”
“I didn’t burn at all for a really long time.”
He looks at my wrist, picks it up, and presses his lips against the tender skin. “Tell me about the day you did this?”
I tug my arm back, but he holds tight, the pad of his thumb trailing from side to side across the scars. A shiver runs up my spine. My skin is really tender from the tattoos, but he’s gentle. “I’ve never told anyone about that.”
“You could start with me.” He puts his hands together like he’s praying. “Did it all start with a cold, dreary night?”
“No, it started with a bright, sunny day. I had been depressed for quite some time. Marta and Emilio were worried, so they made me go to a therapist. He gave me meds for depression, but I didn’t take them. I didn’t want to escape my grief or my loneliness.”
“You had five sisters and you were still lonely?”
“Yes. That’s the thing with depression. You can be in a crowd and still feel like you’re completely alone.”
I lay my head back against the pillow. His hand goes back to rubbing up and down my shin.
“I killed my parents, and I had a hard time getting over that. I’m still not over it.”
“You didn’t kill them.”
“I caused their deaths.”
“So, you didn’t go to therapy, and you didn’t take your meds…” He rolls his finger to prompt me to continue.
“So, I didn’t go to therapy and I didn’t take my meds and I felt like I was freefalling all the time, like there was nothing to hold onto. That day was particularly bad. It was the anniversary of their deaths.”
“Who found you?”
“Marta. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.” I take a breath. “See, the thing is I really didn’t want to die. I just wanted to catch up to the life that was going on all around me. I couldn’t. You won’t understand it. I can’t begin to explain.”
“Try me. I might understand more than you think.”
I have all of his attention. “I wanted to be new. I wanted to start over. I wanted to be someone else. But when I woke up in the hospital, I was still me. My parents were still gone. But Melio and Marta were there, and my sisters were there too. And they were angry at me. Melio swore at me. He swore at us all the time, because he’s Emilio, but he never actually swore at me in anger. And he was very angry. And scared. And Marta…she was hurt. And at that moment, I realized that even though my parents were gone, I had been given a wonderful gift and I was squandering it. So I went to therapy. I took the meds. The world became a brighter place.” I toss up my hands. “That’s it. That’s all of it.”
“Why the gloves?” he asks. “Why didn’t you just wear long-sleeve shirts to cover the burns?”
I laugh. “It wasn’t the burns I needed to cover. It was the suicide scars. They hurt my sisters and my parents every time they saw them. So I blamed it on the burns and wore the gloves. I didn’t want them to have to see. I didn’t want them to remember. And I guess I didn’t want to remember it either.”
“Have you ever felt like doing that again?” he asks.
“No. I’ve never felt like that again.” Is he worried that I’ll try to hurt myself again?
He stares at me until I start squirming.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Do you feel differently about me than you did before?” My heart thuds.
“I like you more than I did five seconds ago,” he says, his cheeks coloring.
“Are you blushing?”
“Maybe.”
“Because you like me,” I tease. “You want to kiss me,” I sing out, like the old kids’ song. But then I realize he can’t hear the tune and might not get it.
“I do want to kiss you,” he says. “But we went too far too fast, right?”
I shake my head. “I was just emotional. It was a big thing for me.”
“Why did you get up and leave?”
“Because you were getting all freaked out by my crying.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“No, the only thing that freaked me out was when you got up. I wanted to hold you through it.”
“Don’t most men get freaked out by crying?”
He laughs. “No, because I wanted to cry too. It has never been like that for me.” He wraps his palm around two fingers and makes a fist. “Being inside you felt like where I was supposed to be.” He leans over and kisses me, his lips soft and tender. “All the time I spend with you is the best I ever had. Naked. With clothes on. It doesn’t matter. I want it all.”
“So, what do we do now?” I wiggle my toes.
“You want to play strip poker?” he asks. He waggles his brows at me.
“All I’m wearing is a t-shirt.”
He lifts the edge of the shirt. “No panties?”
I laugh and tug the shirt lower. “No.”
He brushes my hands away. “Let me see,” he says.
“No!” I cry out, but I’m laughing and he knows it.
“Telling me you’re on my couch with no panties is like giving a little kid a Christmas present and then only letting him play with the wrapping paper.”
He lifts me so that I’m straddling his thighs, my legs spread wide. I brace myself with my hands on his shoulders.
He goes still and I let my weight sink down on him.
“So, the crying earlier, you weren’t regretting what we did?” he asks.
“No. I don’t regret it.”
“And you didn’t really think we went too fast?”
“I thought we went too fast for an emotional connection, maybe? I don’t know.”
“My emotions are connected.”
“Mine are too. But I’m not in love with you.” I grin. Isn’t that what every man wants to hear?
“Yet.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Give me a chance.”
“Okay,” I whisper, and then I kiss him.
Ryan palms my naked ass, squeezing it roughly, rubbing his palms over my cheeks as I kiss him, and then he jerks me forward so that the ridge of him is pressed against my naked skin.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asks out loud.
I nod and then bury my flaming face in his neck. He stands up and hitches me higher, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His steps are quick and determined as he carries me into the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and opens a drawer, pulling out a condom. I scoot back a little so he can pull his boxers down and I watch him roll the condom on.
“Are you too sore?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
He scoots back on the bed so that his head is on the pillow, and I follow, kissing his chest lightly and then his belly. His stomach contracts as I move around, and I look at his bobbing dick and lick my lips.
“You don’t have to,” he tells me as he palms the back of my head.
“I know. I want to.”
“Next time,” he says, as he grabs me under my arms and lifts me up so that our faces are level. I spread my legs around his hips, and he nudges at my entrance. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I sink down on him slowly, watching his face as I take him inside me. His mouth falls open and the rush of his groan hits my ears. I revel in his pleasure, that I can make him happy. But this is about so much more than hearing him find pleasure. It’s about feeling it.
With a quick jerk, he pulls the t-shirt I borrowed from him over my head and I lift up, resting my palms on his chest as I rise all the way to the tip of his cock. Then he grabs my hips and slams me back down. He cries out a guttural curse. Then he freezes.
I’m fine, I tell him without words. I rise and fall, matching the frenzy of his hands on my hips. He sits up and pulls me forward so that he can tongue my nipple. With teeth, tongue, lips, and heat, he takes me higher, while I ride him roughly down below. He arches to meet me, and I’m sure he won’t be able to get any closer and it can’t feel any better, but then his fingers slide between my lower lips and strum my clit. He slows my hips a little with the palms of his hands, guiding me. “I’m going to come too fast,” he says out loud.
He pinches my clit gently between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it. And the combination of him moving inside and his ministrations on my clit have my movements growing jerky and unwieldy. I suck in a breath and stare into his eyes as my orgasm washes over me. I stop moving, grinding down as hard as I can on his cock, pressing against his fingers, which haven’t stopped moving yet. I brace my hands on his chest and ride it out, and he stares into my eyes, and then he looks down at that place where we’re joined, wraps an arm around my back and flips us over.
I squeal as I land flat on my back. Then he’s moving over me, slow and measured, and I’m so sensitive that I can feel every slide and every grip, rubbing me from inside, taking me to a new state of pleasure. I close my eyes, squeezing his cock inside me, and he catches my face in his hands and says, “Look at me.”
My eyes open under protest, and what I find staring down at me startles me. Ryan’s eyes are full of something I understand, because it’s how I felt the first time we did this. It’s not just my body opening up and taking him inside. It’s also my heart.
A tear runs down the tip of his nose and drips onto my cheek. I pull him closer, and he wraps his arms under mine, his hands on my shoulders, his face in my neck, as he chants, “Yes yes yes yes yes.”
Then he comes apart in my arms. He burrows in, splintering into pieces, and I take all the shattered bits into me. I take him into me. I take all of him, and I’ll be damned if I ever want to give it back.
When his thrusts begin to slow, I wiggle and he stops moving. He sits up a little and stares into my face. “I understand,” he says.
“I know.” I brush a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
“It’s not too fast?”
“No, it’s not.” I run my hands up and down his naked back, which is sweaty and wonderful.
“It’s not too much.” He sniffles.
“It’s just us.”
“Just us,” he repeats with a nod.
“Just us,” I say again. He falls down beside me and pulls me to lie on his chest. I sink into him and wrap my arm tightly around him. I can feel him shift and remove the condom and he throws it in the wastebasket by the bed.
His fingers stroke down the length of my hair and I close my eyes. He holds me tightly, like I’m precious to him, as I fall asleep.
Ryan
I wake up in heaven with the feel of a warm mouth wrapped around my dick. I look down and see a brown head of hair. “Lark,” I say.
She nods, one side of her face pressed against my belly, her hair wild and out of control as she tests how far she can take me in her mouth. I never want her to stop. But she does. Damn it.
She lets my dick pop out of her mouth, and gets up on her hands and knees to look up at me. I want to cry when she lifts her hands to talk to me, but I want her to talk to me at the same time. And then again I don’t. Because I just woke up and I came twice last night and I’d really like to do it again. In her mouth.
“I’ve always wanted to try this,” she says, and then she grins at me.
“Don’t let me stop you,” I say, biting back a grin as I adjust my pillow, sitting up a little taller so I can watch her.
“It’s so soft,” she says, and she wraps her hand around the base of my dick.
“I’m offended,” I say and I pretend to pout.
“Why?” She laughs, her shoulders shaking.
“You called me soft.” I point to my dick. “That is not soft.”
She laughs again and licks me from base to tip.
I tap her on the shoulder. “In your mouth?” I suggest. Enough with the tongue action. It’s not an ice cream cone.
She wraps her lips around the head of my dick and gives it a quick suck. “Like that?”
“Yes, please.” I can’t take the grin off my face.
I settle back to watch her. Her eyes meet mine as she gives it another lick, like she’s an owl and it’s a lollipop, then she grins. “You look awfully comfortable.”
“I’m a man and my dick is hard and it’s in your mouth. I’m in heaven.”
She laughs around my dick, then she hollows out her cheeks and gives it a hard suck. She lays the side of her face on my stomach so that I can’t see her smile anymore, and I thread my fingers into her hair, palming the back of her head. She nods, telling me silently that it’s okay if I guide her. I push her head down a little, encouraging her to take a little more. Holding my breath, I thrust into her mouth and wait for her to say yes or no. Some women don’t like it. Some do. I have no idea what Lark likes, and ne
ither does she. Until now.
Her hand circles my dick at the base, and she brings it up to meet her lips, and then goes back down again. Oh, shit. That feels really good. So good that it’s only seconds until I feel like I’m going to come.
I pull her hair gently to get her to stop, but she shakes her head and sucks harder. She wants me to come in her mouth? I can’t ask her if she’s sure because she’s facing away from me. “Lark,” I say out loud.
She nods again, and sucks harder. My balls feel like they’re going to crawl up my throat. Then she starts to hum. I can feel the vibration of it against my belly, and that’s all it takes. I come, holding tightly to her hair as I take small thrusts into her mouth, and she takes it, sucking hard, swallowing so hard I can feel it in her throat. Suddenly, she pulls back and I finish on my stomach, getting her hand wet.
She sits up, looks at me with a grin on her face, and holds out her wet hand. I start to jump up to get her a towel, since I just made a mess, but she waves me away. She goes to the sink, cleans up, and then runs butt-naked back to bed. She hands me a towel so I can wipe my stomach and then she dives under the covers.
I clean myself up and then I use my thumb to wipe the corners of her lips, which makes her blush. She just swallowed when I came in her mouth and now she’s blushing? “I think you’re amazing,” I tell her. And not just because she just let me come in her mouth. It’s all of her.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re a guy. All of you think blow jobs are amazing.”
“Well, that does cloud our brains. But you…you’d still be pretty special even if you didn’t just do that.”
She scrunches up her face. “Did I do it right?”
I wipe her lip again, even though it’s clean. “Well, if that happens, you did it right, you know?”
I pull the covers down and she grabs hold of them again, keeping them up by her chin. I kiss her until she turns to mush, and then I give the quilt a tug, and she lets it go. “You’re so beautiful,” I say, running my hands all over her stomach and hips, then I move to her boobs. “So pretty. I might never let you out of bed.”
I toss the covers over my head and move down. She doesn’t stop me. And in a few minutes, she’s kicking the covers down herself, grabbing my hair and pressing my face into her pussy, and I’m loving every second of it. She clamps down tight on my fingers as I push her over the peak, and I don’t let up until she makes me.
Holding Her Hand Page 11