Catching Raven

by Smith, Lauren

  “I can’t. I feel like I’m being put on display.”

  “That’s because you are on display.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “I thought you liked having all eyes on you,” he gently prods.

  “Yeah, but there’s a time and place for it.”

  “Would some music help?”

  “Immensely.”

  “Okay. Don’t move.” He turns on the stereo and plugs in his iPod. “Any requests?”

  “Do you have anything by Prince?”

  He actually has the audacity to laugh.

  “You belong in a different decade. Nobody listens to Prince anymore.”

  “Prince is an icon.”

  “Prince is a has-been.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re deranged.”

  “How about some Bon Iver?”

  His band choice trumps mine. I nod my approval.

  “Which song?”

  I pick “Holocene.” He hits play and lowers the volume to set the mood.

  “Better?”

  “Much. Do I look okay? For the portrait, I mean.”

  His gaze softens. “You’re a masterpiece.”

  That remark effectively shuts me up. It’s cheesy, but it’s heartfelt.

  He moves back around to the easel and picks up a graphite pencil. “Stand as still as possible. This will take a while,” he warns.

  “’Kay.”

  “And keep your eyes downcast.”

  “I thought you wanted them on you?”

  “Changed my mind.”

  Who am I to argue with the artist?

  As the minutes tick by, I grow more and more relaxed. Watching him in his element, even if it is out of the corner of my eye, is a major turn-on. The sketching goes on for an hour before he switches techniques. When the first glob of paint hits the canvas, I soak up the peaceful sound of the brush strokes. The fumes are great, too. Anytime I go someplace new and register the familiar scent, I always picture Eric. Painting—art in general—will forever be associated with him.

  Even though I’m topless, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one baring myself. He’s putting himself out there, too, only in a different way.

  SEVEN

  e r i c

  She is utter perfection. There’s no better way to describe it. And her imperfections are what make her that way. Her courage never ceases to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got her figured out, she throws a curveball and knocks me off my game. Like her willingness to go topless—never saw that one coming. Despite her attitude and wardrobe sometimes suggesting otherwise, she’s pretty reserved. It’s part of the reason I was so uncomfortable asking in the first place.

  I don’t know why I’m the only person she’ll take these risks with, but I’m glad she does. I’ve seen it time and time again; the stifled good girls are the ones dying to be set free. My guess is it’s because rules and boundaries hinder experiences, and Raven had an abundance of them growing up. With me came a whole ’nother world she hadn’t been exposed to, and vice versa. We naturally adhere to each other. Like paint to a canvas.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asks softly.

  It’s the first time she’s spoken a word in over an hour. We’re two hours into the session and she’s starting to get antsy. To tell you the truth, I’m astonished she’s lasted this long. Patience is not her strong suit. I’m pleased with how well the portrait is coming along. The biggest obstacle is capturing her spirit. I want to do her justice.

  “You.”

  A series of emotions dance across her profile, but none of them provoke her to dig for more information.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “How excited I am to see this painting.”

  I keep my eyes trained on the canvas to mask how I’m feeling. “I hope you like it.”

  “I know I will.”

  Her confidence eases my trepidation.

  “I must say, you look—”

  She cuts me off with a loud din.

  “What?”

  “I told you no side comments. Zip it.”

  “I like you bossy.”

  She blushes and looks down, shifting back and forth on her feet uncomfortably.

  “Stand still,” I remind her.

  “I’m trying. How much longer do we have? I’m starving and I have to pee.”

  “Not long. You’re almost done, I promise.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll need to put the finishing touches on everything before I hand it off. Should be ready in a few days.”

  “You’re giving me the portrait?”

  “Duh. It’s your birthday gift.”

  “I thought the experience of you painting me was supposed to be my gift.”

  “Nope, that’s an added bonus,” I wink.

  She clears her throat. “Have you ever done this before? Painted other women without their clothes on?”

  “Yes,” I answer truthfully. “But none of them made me feel as nervous as you do. Watching you...it’s distracting.”

  That’s an understatement. I feel like a Parkinson’s patient. Trembling hands aren’t conducive for painting. Deep down, we’ve always known how we felt about each other, but it rarely gets voiced, especially by her. That is until she whispers….

  “I know the feeling.”

  Those four words hang in the air, filling up the vacant space inside me. When my heart and hands can’t take the tremors anymore, I turn off the stereo and decide to call it a night for the painting portion. I snatch her bra and top up off the floor and move to stand directly behind her. My chest is a breath away from brushing up against her bare back. She stiffens and uses her arms to shield herself protectively.

  “Here you go.”

  She maneuvers around to grab them both out of my hand. “Thanks.”

  I should leave. Really, I should. But I can’t. Not until she tells me to. I reach up and use my hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck and upper back. Without thinking, I bend down and drop a single kiss between her shoulder blades. Her body shivers.

  She turns her head just a fraction and parts her lips. “Eric…” she whispers as a plea.

  I don’t know if that means “stop” or “never stop,” so I follow my instincts.

  My fingers lightly trace the contours of her back, igniting a forbidden trail of lust and desire. Her warm skin feels like satin beneath my touch. She lets her head fall back against my shoulder. Her eyelids flutter closed. I lean in and press my lips to her neck. She moans her appreciation. My arms wrap around her torso and pull her flush against me. I want her to feel what she’s doing to me.

  “Drop your arms, baby,” I coax.

  Her breathing becomes shallow. She releases her bra and shirt, then winds her arms around the back of my neck, revealing a gorgeous set of curves. My hands grip her waist and slowly glide up her stomach, all the way to her chest. I grab two handfuls and squeeze, then spin her around to face me. Her heated gaze locks onto mine.

  “Eric, what are we doing?”

  “I have no idea,” I confess. “I’m just doing what feels right. Go with it.”

  For once in my life, I must’ve said the right thing. She grabs my face and crushes my lips to hers possessively. Raw passion and years of pent-up sexual tension pour free. My fingers tangle in her hair, holding her to me as if she could be ripped away by a tide. Kissing her is the most natural thing in the world. The emotional release feels like we’re coming up for air. I’ve been suffocating for far too long. Begs the question: Why haven’t we been doing this all along?

  Her fingers seize the hem of my shirt and tug upwards. I take a step back and help her out, then swiftly bring her lips back to mine. Her naked chest feels so good pressed against mine. My legs move toward the bed, taking her with me. I’m extra careful not to stumble into the easel. My heart’s beating a million miles a minute, and my thoughts are racing at a similar pace. When my calves reach the edge of the
mattress, I fall backwards. She collapses on top of me, her hair fanning our faces. I roll us over and scooch us up while showering her with sporadic kisses.

  Before I can take this any further, she hits the brakes.

  “Wait a second,” she pants, pushing against my chest. I stop my advances and stare at her face. “There’s something you should know. I’ve never done this before.”

  I push off her body, keeping my weight suspended. “What do you mean?”

  She avoids my gaze.

  Suddenly, it all becomes clear. “You’re a virgin?”

  She nods meekly.

  I’ve never been with a virgin. Talk about dropping a major bombshell. I make a real effort not to let the concern show on my face. Can I handle this? Can I go there and cross that line? There’s no turning back if I do. Everything will change. Am I prepared for what that entails? If I’m being honest with myself, the answer is unclear. What about Raven? Is she ready?

  I can’t even begin to tell you how badly I want to be her first. The mere thought alone coaxes the territorial, chest-puffing Neanderthal in me to oblige. It’s not all about the conquest, though. Far from it.

  I cup her chin and force her to meet my gaze. “Then we’ll take it nice and slow. Deal?”

  She studies me with apprehensive eyes. “I’m worried that I’m not going to be as good as the other girls you’ve slept with. I’ve never made it past second base. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I know what I’m supposed to do, but I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Does that make any sense?”

  Her vulnerability is disarming. Just when I thought I knew everything. “Rave, I’ve wanted you for years. Years. And now my greatest fantasies are becoming my reality. The anticipation alone is going to do me in, if you know what I’m sayin’. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t want to be just another girl.”

  “You aren’t,” I assure. “You’re my girl.”

  She threads her fingers through my hair and gently pulls me back down to her lips. I drop my weight and mold her into the mattress. We’re a mess of tangled limbs and jittery emotions, rushed kisses and reverent touches. She’s anxious to take this further, and I’m terrified she’ll stop.

  With shaky hands, she reaches down to unbutton my jeans. Her eyes flicker to mine. I nod, silently urging her to continue. She tugs the zipper and wrestles them down as far as she can. Chuckling, I push myself off the mattress and kick them to the floor. Who needs pants, anyway? I think Thursday Movie Night should include a new pants free policy for both of us. I’m enforcing this right now. I crouch down and slide hers off until we’re both left in our underwear.

  Glorious.

  I love this new policy.

  I fish out a condom from the top drawer of my dresser and dive back onto the bed.

  “C’mere,” I order, rolling her on top so she’s straddling me. I sit up and wind a lock of her hair around my finger and kiss a path from her collarbone to her chest. When my mouth meets her nipple, she gasps.

  “How do you wanna do this? Do you want me on top?” I murmur against her skin.

  “Yes. Please. Whatever. Anything,” she says breathlessly.

  “So that’s a no, then?”

  Leave it to me to throw in a stupid comment.

  She rolls her eyes. “You talk too much.”

  I laugh. My relief couldn’t come at a better time. We can’t both be a bundle of nerves or this will be a lot less memorable for her than I want it to be.

  “My bad,” I force her to lie back on the mattress. “Feel free to shut me up.”

  I don’t have to ask twice.

  I grab two fistfuls of her underwear and leisurely pull them down her legs, breaking the kiss to toss them over my shoulder. Calmly, I place her hands on the waistband of my boxers.

  “Your turn.”

  Her fingers slip inside and gently tug, revealing all of me. I kick them to the floor and take a deep breath. Humidity and wet paint fumes pollute the air. Second to Raven’s cooking, it’s my favorite scent. Our fingers interlace, making this a thousand times more personal. Hand holding before sex? This foreign concept is seriously blowing my mind.

  The gesture puts her at ease. It’s nice to see her confidence returning. I lift her hands above her head and trap them, then lean forward to recapture her mouth. The gradual build is tantalizing. The slower I kiss her, the faster she breathes. I squeeze her hands in response. With her chest brushing up against mine, all I can focus on is feeling every inch of her body moving fluidly against mine.

  When she’s ready, I rip open the wrapper and slide the condom on, pumping myself a few times. I lean down and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “You sure about this?” I ask, checking for any trace of self-doubt.

  “Absolutely.”

  I drop my head and exhale my relief, then shift my weight accordingly. “Spread your legs.”

  She complies.

  “Grab my torso and take a deep breath.”

  Her hands grip my sides. She inhales. When the first breath of air slips from her lungs, I sink inside, causing her entire body to tense. I freeze mid-thrust. The sheer pain in her eyes slices me to the core.

  “You okay?”

  Her jaw clenches. “No. God that hurts.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  Honestly, that would be the most detrimental and disappointing thing to happen in a long time, but I have to ask. I want this to go right for her—for us. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

  She shakes her head. “Just go slow and let me get used to it.”

  I nod and ease further in. She winces. Her fingernails dig deeper into my skin. Inflicting pain on her is self-mutilating. I’ve never had something feel this right and this wrong all at once. I run my nose along her jawline and try to distract her with kisses.

  Gentle but firm, I rock my hips into hers, giving her all of me. She wraps her arms around my neck for comfort. I rest my forehead against hers, watching the pain in her eyes gradually fade away and restore with desire.

  Once her body fully adjusts, she reciprocates, establishing a rhythm. It’s surreal and overwhelming. Soon I forget about everything and concentrate on chasing the pleasure.

  “Better?”

  She nods and rakes her fingers through my hair. “Don’t stop.”

  Not planning on it. A sheen of sweat covers my skin as my body continues to worship hers. Each time I move, I lose another piece of myself in her. I don’t care. She can have all my pieces. She’s the only person who I could lose everything to and still manage to feel whole.

  “You feel extraordinary.”

  She groans.

  My head drops to watch our hips meet. I’m connected to her in every way and it’s still not close enough. What the hell have I been missing? Tingles burst in the base of my spine and heighten the experience. Before I get a chance to warn her, I’m shuddering into bliss. With a few more deep thrusts and the skillful use of my hands, she wraps her legs around my torso, arches her back, and follows me there.

  Sated and out of breath, I pull out and roll over to stare at the ceiling, basking in the temporary high. The silence is comforting. The void inside me is subdued, at least for now.

  I get up to remove the condom and rejoin her on the bed. Without the slightest hesitation, I reach for her hand. I’d never be this open with anyone else. She twists her head towards me, a huge grin sweeping across her face.

  “What?” I smile, still staring at the ceiling.

  “Nothing.”

  I squeeze her hand affectionately. “Tell me.”

  She curls into my side and rests her head on my chest. Her fingers lightly stroke my abdomen. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  I kiss the crown of her head. “How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty sore.”

  “There’s Advil in the bathroom if you need it. Help yourself.”

  She’s too lost in
thought to answer.

  “What’s up?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Sounds exhausting. You know what else is exhausting? Mind reading.”

  She pinches me.

  “Ouch.” I flip over onto my side and scoot down so we’re eye level. “Fine, I’ll play along. What are you thinking about?”

  She caresses my temple. Her hand floats down to my cheek, tracing small circles with her thumb. “Why don’t you ever talk about your past?”

  My face falls. The state of euphoria I’m currently in vanishes. What the fuck? Is she really going to broach that subject after what just transpired between us? I swallow the rising panic and attempt to brush it off.

  “Because it’s boring and there’s nothing to tell. Why are you bringing this up all of a sudden?”

  She shrugs nonchalantly like it’s a simple, harmless topic. “Because it’s the one area of your life that I know so little about.”

  “Barring my old therapist, you know more than anyone.”

  “But it’s still not much. It’s surface details like your dad running off and your mom losing custody. You’ve never told me why those things happened.”

  “And it’s going to stay that way.”

  She stops stroking my face. “You don’t have any intention of telling me? Ever?”

  “Why would I?”

  She quickly disentangles from our embrace and props herself up on an elbow to stare down at me. Her face is a mixture of confusion and hurt. “Why wouldn’t you? I tell you everything. Do you not trust me enough to let me in?”

  “It’s not that,” I reassure. “I just don’t see the point. It doesn’t serve any purpose. The past is in the past. It’s been dealt with a long time ago. I have no desire to rehash any of that shit and run the risk of tainting what we have.”

  I raise my hand to brush her cheek with the backs of my knuckles, but she swerves out of the way. She pulls the bed sheet up to shield herself.

  “Eric, it does serve a purpose. Your past is part of who you are. It doesn’t define you, but it shapes you. I’m not saying you need to divulge everything right here and now, but you can’t seriously expect me to be in a one-sided relationship. That’s not fair. If we’re giving this a real shot, and I’m putting myself out there, then I expect the same in return. Do you really think that’s too much to ask for?”