Thin

by Alicia Michaels

  His lips were soft yet firm against mine, engaging me in a dance of movement—opening and closing, caressing and exploring. Then, his tongue seared my lower lip, gaining entrance to my mouth to tangle with mine. He moaned at the intimate contact, going back for more as if he couldn’t get enough.

  I let my own hands roam, allowing my fingertips to graze the line of his jaw, tickled by the stubble growing there. Gripping his shoulders, I marveled at the power emanating from him, the sheer, raw masculinity. The muscles of his chest tightened when I came to them, resting against his solidity and finding comfort in his strength, and the promise that his protective hold offered me.

  Before I knew it, he was moving me, propelling me backward until I leaned against a car. I didn’t care whose it was. The only thing that mattered were Royce’s lips on mine, and his arms braced against the door, trapping me between them—his hips pressing against mine to pin me against the hot metal.

  The urgency in his kiss melted away, replaced by a languid sort of exploration. He slowed his movements, nibbling lightly on my lips and brushing his mouth against mine with aching slowness, as if pausing to savor every second. I fisted his shirt in my hands and held on tight, as a feeling similar to floating on air buoyed me, making me feel lighter than I had in so long.

  Finally, he pulled away, though he didn’t let me go. His lips separated from mine, but his body still pressed me against the side of the car, and his forehead lay against mine. Our breaths raced together in the approaching dark, and I noticed that his pulse thumped hard at the base of his throat.

  “Well,” he said after another moment of silence. “I got the gist of what you were trying to say, but maybe you could say it some more, so I can really grasp it.”

  Laughing, I let my head fall forward onto his chest. “If I tell you any more, it’s going to create a very inappropriate situation out in this parking lot.”

  Grimacing, Royce glanced around as if to be certain no one had come out of the building and spotted us.

  “Point taken. Did you come all the way back here just for me?”

  Reaching up to stroke his cheek, I smiled. “Yes. You should feel special. I wouldn’t have done it for just anyone.”

  “In that case, maybe we can go back to my place and, uh … you know, discuss this some more.”

  Standing on my tiptoes to kiss him again, I nodded. “I’d like that.”

  The drive to Royce’s house seemed to take forever. I followed him in my car in bumper-to-bumper traffic, my fingers drumming impatiently against the wheel. For me, traffic couldn’t move fast enough. I hated that we weren’t in the same car, and that we couldn’t talk. I hated that there couldn’t be anymore kissing for the time being. God, how I wanted more of his kiss. My lips still tingled at just the thought of experiencing it again. Biting my lower lip, I gave my reflection a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. My eyes glittered from excitement, and my mouth was still slightly swollen from the pressure of his. Smiling, I refocused my gaze on the road, and the bumper of Royce’s car a few feet in front of mine.

  After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at an apartment building that stretched several stories high. I followed him through the parking lot until we found two empty spaces separated by a massive pickup truck. After I grabbed my purse and locked my doors, Royce joined me near the back of my car, glancing at me expectantly. Extending at hand to me, he waited for me to place mine in his. Threading his fingers through mine, he gave me a little tug, guiding me alongside him toward the building.

  I could feel my mouth stretching into that dopey-ass grin again, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. Everything about this felt new, exciting, and maybe just a little bit taboo. While I wasn’t a patient anymore, if someone from Willow Creek found out about us too soon after my departure, it could raise questions. It made me feel a bit guilty about springing my little ‘declaration’ on him in the parking lot, but he didn’t seem too worried about it.

  Once inside the building, he led me up several sets of stairs to the fifth floor. Pausing at the third door on the left, he produced his key and opened the door.

  Royce’s apartment was a lot like the man himself—masculine and clean. Black leather furniture was pointed at a small flat-screen TV in the living room, which also held a bench and rack of weights in the corner. The kitchen was small, but appliances lined up neatly on one counter told me he was at least an adequate cook. A short hallway lead to three closed doors, which I assumed led to a bedroom and bathroom. Another door stood open, revealing the home sculpting studio he had mentioned. I got a glimpse of a large work table strewn with scrap metal and tools before turning back to him.

  Royce dropped his backpack near the door, then leaned against it, studying me. I let my purse dangle from my hand, and stared back at him, suddenly uncertain of what to do or say. Thankfully, he took the reins out of my hands.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I realized the other day that if I wanted to find you I had no idea how. Then, I realized that I did want to find you.”

  A swelling sensation warmed my chest, and I couldn’t help but smile at his words. I’d wondered if he’d been thinking of me as much as I had thought of him. Knowing that he had was satisfying as well as validating.

  “After I got home, I started doing a lot of thinking about what’s next for me. I’ve made some huge changes in a short period of time, and it’s all very terrifying. At the same time, it’s exciting. But I got to thinking, and I realized …” I trailed off, and cleared my throat, feeling myself becoming emotional. I did not want to cry in front of him yet again. “I realized I wanted to share that with someone … and that someone was you.”

  He nodded, his gaze becoming pensive. “Aaron?”

  I shook my head. “No longer in the picture. You were right all along about me and him. He’s a good guy, but he’s not right for me. Not anymore. If I’d gone back to him, it would have been to please him. I’m ready to do some things that will please me.”

  A sly smirk curved his mouth as he crossed the room toward me. My purse dropped from my hand when he grabbed my waist and pulled me up against him. I melted in his arms, sighing at the feel of him pressed up against me.

  “I’m ready to do some things that will please you, too,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine.

  I trembled in his hold, reveling in the thrill of something new and uncharted. Instead of being nervous or afraid, I was anxious to move things forward. It felt like we’d been stalled—stuck at a standstill for the past ninety days.

  “I want to apologize,” he said, still holding on to me as if reluctant to let go. “If I hurt your feelings that night in the studio, when you tried to kiss me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I lost my head for a second, and it put you in a really awkward position. You did the right thing, and I know that now.”

  He ran his thumb along my jaw and lowered his gaze to my mouth. “Just know that it was not easy for me. I wanted it … believe me.”

  “Well, none of that is an issue anymore,” I said. “I can’t say my recovery will be perfect, but I don’t intend to become a patient at Willow Creek ever again, so you and I are free to be together. I mean, if that’s what you want. We should probably talk about how it’s going to work with you being here, and me being in Austin … oh, and I’ll be going back home to Louisiana for a while and—”

  Royce cut me off with a kiss. “We don’t need to talk about that now. You’re here, and I want you to stay. How long can you stay?”

  I let out a bark of nervous laughter. “Well, I didn’t actually plan this trip. I just kind of … got in my car and started driving.”

  Raising his eyebrows, he gave me a look of approval. “I like spontaneous Kinsley. And don’t worry about anything, we’ll hit the mall or something and get you clothes. As far as anything else you might need … my mom is one of those extreme coupon ladies, like the ones you see on
TV. She brings me care packages frequently, so I have more toothpaste, soap, and lotion than any single man ought to have.”

  “Then I can stay at least three days,” I said. “After that, I need to get back to meet my parents.”

  Nodding, he released me and loped into the kitchen. “Three days it is. Now, make yourself at home, and I am going to make you dinner. How do you like your steak?”

  “Medium,” I replied. “And if you don’t mind, making myself at home means I help in the kitchen. Otherwise, my OCD will just kick in, and I’ll follow behind you cleaning up everything you make dirty. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Royce laughed, reaching into the refrigerator and filling his arms with the fixings of a steak dinner. “You cook, and eat your steak at the perfect temperature? God, my mom will never forgive me if I let you slip through my fingers!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Three days passed us by far too fast, and the closer our time together came to ending, I found myself wishing for more. I knew I had responsibilities waiting for me back in Austin, and that it was unrealistic to think that things could always be like this for us—but for those few days, I wanted to pretend.

  After dinner that first night, Royce had offered me clothes to sleep in, and introduced me to the little stockpile I had dubbed “The Doomsday Closet”. According to him, his mother spent every spare moment she had hunting down bargains, armed to the teeth with coupons. When her stockpile of goods at home began to overflow, she would give the residuals to her son, who never ran short on toothpaste, body wash, lotion, or canned foods. After showering, I had joined him in the living room dressed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants—which I’d had to pull the drawstring tight on to keep them up.

  “I thought I had given up baggy clothes,” I joked when emerging from the bathroom, holding my arms out to show him how I swam in the stuff he’d given me.

  Motioning for me to join him on the sofa, he waited until I was in arm’s length of him to grab me and pull me onto his lap. I laughed, curling up against him when he leaned back and kept one arm around me, as if inviting me to stay. If he didn’t stop doing things like this, I didn’t think I’d ever let myself leave.

  “They don’t do anything to hide what’s under them,” he murmured, one hand following the curve of my waist. “I still see you.”

  Sitting up so I could look him in the eye, I smirked. “I think that’s what drew me to you. You’ve always seen me, even when I couldn’t see myself.”

  Growing serious, he reached up to stroke my face, his eyes tracing my features with thorough deliberation. “I think I see a lot of myself in you. You know what it’s like, and I saw you because I needed someone to see me, too. But then, there’s more than that. I don’t think it’s enough to simply see someone, though it’s a start. I believe that once you see someone, you have to accept what you see. You’re one of the only people who I’ve revealed the darkest parts of myself to, and you didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away, or give me pity. You just … understood.”

  Sitting up to straddle him, I braced my hands on his shoulders and lowered my head to kiss him. Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he met my urgency with his own, his hands tight in a possessive hold on my thighs, steadily inching upward. I moaned against his lips when his palms skimmed my hips, pausing to trace the curves of my ass, before giving me a little nudge closer. I gasped at the intimacy of such close proximity, shuddering at the feel of his hard body beneath mine. He took advantage of my open mouth and slipped his tongue in, engaging mine in a sultry ebb and flow.

  His touch moved higher, slipping beneath the T-shirt and setting my back on fire. I felt his fingertips stroke the straps of my bra, then score my ribs as they came back down, smoothing over the curves of my waist—still much slenderer than it used to be.

  Gasping, I disengaged from our kiss, shame washing over me as I realized even though I’d gained weight during my time in Willow Creek, I was still terrified of what Royce would think of how I looked beneath the oversized clothes. I was healthier now, but still lacked a lot of the curves I’d worked so hard to get rid of, but now sorely missed.

  Breath coming in heavy gasps, he reached up to grasp the back of my neck. Pulling me back toward him, he touched our foreheads together and pierced me with his far too perceptive gaze.

  “Look at me,” he whispered. “Stay with me. I care about you, Kinsley, and I respect you. Everything I know about you, I like, and I know I’ll like the things I don’t know, too. For instance, what might be beneath this shirt. You don’t have to be some perfect version of you for me to want you … all you ever need to be is you.”

  Sitting up straight, I maintained eye contact while reaching for the hem of the shirt. Royce’s gaze lowered, and I could feel his eyes tracing every inch of flesh as I revealed it—burning a path from my navel, up my stomach and chest, then my throat, and finally my face when it reappeared and I tossed the shirt aside. Bracing my hands on my thighs, I sat and stared at him, watching him react to me. I couldn’t help a surge of pride to find desire in his stare, and raw hunger lingering a bit deeper. I don’t think anyone had ever looked at me the way he did just now, and I found it intoxicating.

  Reaching up, he skimmed his knuckles up from the center of my stomach, tracing a path between my breasts, moving over my bra and leaving fire along my sternum. He caressed my throat, then the line of my jaw before lurching forward, his lips finding the hollow above my collarbone. I allowed my head to fall back, and his lips roamed up my neck, where his tongue found my pulse and circled over it. By the time he worked his way back downward, I was dizzy, grateful for his hands clutching my back and keeping me in place. He gripped the ends of my hair and gave it a gentle tug, leaning me back a bit as he began kissing his way farther down. Pausing at the center of my chest, he nibbled at the flesh just above the cups of my bra while his fingers tugged at the clasp.

  He tugged it loose, then tossed it aside without taking his lips from my bare skin. I reached down to help him out of his shirt, taking the time to trace the lines of his abdomen and chest, exploring the width of him from shoulder to shoulder. My eyes followed my fingers along the dark, inky lines of his tattoos, the tribal markings snaking out from the center of his chest in both directions, etching over his shoulders and down each bicep. I swallowed, biting back the urge to trace the markings with my tongue.

  From there, things began happening so fast, I could barely think straight. I became lost in sensation, drunk off the pleasure of touching Royce and being touched by him, of kissing him and being kissed, of wanting and being wanted. I wasn’t sure how long we stayed that way, losing ourselves in the seductive haze of exploring the new and exciting, but after a while, Royce pulled away.

  I opened my eyes to find that I was laying on my back on the couch, drawstring of the sweatpants pulled loose. Braced on his arms over me, Royce lowered his head and attempted to catch his breath. My head fell back on to the seat cushion and I tried to fight down disappointment and the urge to pull him back on top of me to finish what we’d started.

  “If we don’t pump the brakes a bit, we’re going to end up spending the whole weekend doing this,” he said, sitting up and pulling farther away from me. “And I don’t want you to think I asked you to stay for that, because I didn’t.”

  I wanted to pout, kick, and scream at having what I’d wanted so badly taken away from me, but as he stood and retreated to the bathroom, declaring the need for a cold shower, I had gotten over it. He was right, and I knew Royce and I would have plenty of time for the physical later. What we had was so new, and I didn’t want to rush it.

  By the time he’d returned, I had pulled his shirt back on and re-tied the drawstring around my waist. We’d spent the rest of the night stretched out on the couch with the television playing old sitcoms in the background while we murmured to each other in the dark—about our lives before we’d collided at Willow Creek, about our families, about whatever came to
mind. I couldn’t remember falling asleep, yet I woke the next morning in his arms, grinning from ear-to-ear and happier than ever to be where I was.

  The rest of our weekend passed in a blur. We went to the mall, where I bought a few clothes to get me through until Monday, and got my hair trimmed. On the spur of the moment, I had a few strands of my hair dyed dark blue—a spontaneous decision I’d never allowed myself to entertain in the past. Once it was finished, Royce took one of the blue locks between his fingers and grinned.

  “You’re one step closer to that Lisa Bonet look we discussed before,” he said.

  “Is that a good thing?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say, when I was a kid, I was obsessed with The Cosby Show and it wasn’t because I thought Cliff was funny. Denise was my ideal girl back in the day.”

  After leaving the mall, we’d caught a movie and lunch, then grocery shopped for dinner. I got to see a side of Royce I hadn’t experienced at Willow Creek—the carefree and fun side. I found that being with this version of him brought out a side of me I’d never known could exist. My parents and friends would have been horrified to see me having shopping cart races in the grocery store aisles, or taking Royce up on a dare that I couldn’t squeeze myself into the dairy case and close the door. By the time we got back to his apartment, my sides were sore from laughing so much. We spent another night together, this time in Royce’s bed, close but not too close … not as close and I wanted to be. Despite a few hot kisses and some make-out sessions that went a bit further each time, Royce exercised an amount of restraint that I found astounding. He seemed firmly set on proving to me that he didn’t want me for just sex. At this point, I was convinced, and was ready for him to stop being a gentleman.