Page 51 of The Write Place

He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, his shoulders stiff. He stares at the carpet and continues quietly. “I don’t want to be friends, Mac. I want to be fully yours if you’ll have me.”

“But—” I start, but he cuts me off, meeting my eyes.

“I’m not leaving. Well, I have to go back to New York when this is over to tie up some loose ends, but I’m not moving back there. I decided that the night I took you to dinner. You said my happiness was a good enough reason to leave the city. You made me feel like I mattered. I realized that night that I’ve never been happier than I am here, so I started looking at places that weekend.”

I don’t say anything for what feels like a long time. I feel like I haven’t breathed since he started, and I almost can’t process what he’s saying.

I’m silent for so long that he looks at me sheepishly, almost the same way he looked at me the night we met after admitting he wanted to kiss me. “If you could say literally anything right now and put me out of my misery, I’d really appreciate it.”

But I don’t say anything. This speech of his has moved me so deeply and affected me so thoroughly that there’s nothing to say. It’s not lost on me that the feeling rumbling inside me is the same feeling of romantic sensuality I experienced while curled up under my dorm room blankets reading Playing House, and I can’t even begin to describe that to him right now, so I raise myself to kneeling, bring my hands to cup his face, and kiss him.

He immediately relaxes with relief under my touch, bringing one hand behind my head and weaving his fingers up into my hair. My bun falls and my hair cascades to my shoulders. He moans a little as his fingers weave through it, finding purchase and using it to tilt my head to deepen the kiss.

His other hand grabs my thigh and swings my leg over his so I’m straddling his lap. I lower myself on top of him and I can feel the hard length of him through the thin layers of our clothing. I gasp slightly, and he smiles against my lips.

“Okay,” I admit breathlessly. “I make that noise. You were right.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “It’s my favorite sound.”

My hand trails down to the hem of his shirt. I feel him swallow as I gently pull on it. “May I?” I ask. He swallows again.

“Please,” he whispers. I pull his shirt over his head. His hands both land gently on my thighs. I can tell he is holding back, so I lay my hands on his chest, running them over the muscle and hair and sighing at the feel of him. As if this is a signal for him, his hands move to press against my back under my hoodie as he draws himself up and kisses me hungrily.

Then his hands are everywhere—on my back, my waist, my legs. They settle firmly on my ass as he adjusts me so he can press his hardness against me, his lips never leaving mine. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he flips us so I’m laying on my back and he is hovering over me, moving so his thigh is between mine and lowering himself for another hungry kiss. He kisses down my jaw to my neck, and a moan escapes me. I can feel him smile against my skin, his breath warm. My hands come around his back and I gently press my nails into his skin. A guttural sound escapes him. He rests his forehead in the crook of my neck as if he needs a minute before he continues.

His hands slide further up my hoodie, and he pulls away to look at me. “My turn?” he asks, tentatively tugging the hem up. I nod, and in a swift movement, he pulls my sweatshirt and tank top as one over my head and tosses them to the ground. He kneels over me, his gaze lingering on my bare chest and my short shorts. Instead of shrinking, I feel emboldened by his intense stare.

“You’re exquisite,” he breathes, barely audible. “I couldn’t write you if I tried.”

“That’s because you refuse to write romance,” I tease, but his expression doesn’t change. He leans in closer, lips pressing against my collarbone.

“I couldn’t do you justice even if I did,” he whispers, and I shiver slightly. He kisses down my shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. His thumb grazes my nipple and I gasp again. My back arches slightly as I press myself into him, and he takes the opportunity to move his hands around my back and pull me closer. He kisses his way down my chest. He bites my nipple lightly, and I moan again as his tongue licks over the small hurt.

I reach for him as he leans in to kiss my lips. My hand brushes down over his boxers and I can feel the hard length of him under the thin fabric. He shudders, pulling back and kneeling over me again. My eyes rake over his near-naked body, taking in his lean features. He is muscular, but not overly so. His body is hardened from exercise, but not from manual labor, and I find I much prefer his look to that of the washboard abs on the cover of that novel. My eyes reach his face, and he is studying me, his expression unreadable. I move to reach for him, but his hands grasp mine, fingers threading through mine as he pulls me to him, sitting me up on the bed.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, bringing our clasped hands to his chest.

“Yes. Enthusiastically,” I assure him, searching his still unreadable expression. “Are you?” For a second, I’m afraid he’s changed his mind, and this has gone farther than he meant it to, and it is all going to tumble into a big awkward mess, but he kisses my knuckles and lifts his eyes to mine.

“Fuck yes,” he murmurs, and my relieved giggle is a little too loud. He laughs at it, though, and then presses me back into the bed, kissing a line down my torso all the way to the band of my shorts, hooking his fingers underneath when he comes to it. He pulls them down and I lift my hips to help him. He discards them on the floor, then presses my thighs open, laying me bare and completely exposed for him. Again, I’m struck by how empowering this experience is as he stares at my core, his gray-blue eyes glinting in the light from the lamp.

He lowers his head between my legs, flattening himself against the bed, and he takes a steadying breath. His fingers gently pull me open for him as he licks up my center, and I inhale sharply.

“Daniel, no,” I gasp. He stops immediately, looking up at me.

“No?” he questions, not an ounce of frustration in his voice. In fact, I think he sounds concerned.

I’m trying to get control of my breathing as I whisper, “I mean… you don’t have to do that.” His face softens, and he drags a finger through my folds, brushing against the most sensitive spot between my thighs and making me moan quietly.

“But what if I want to?” he asks, leaning in to lick me again. I fist the sheets, trying not to buck my hips too harshly into him. His finger finds my opening, and he pushes against it lightly as his tongue continues moving over me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hands still grabbing at the sheets, and nod. “I’ll take that as a yes.” His voice rumbles through me as his finger threads into me. I feel it move in and out a few times before he hooks it up toward my belly, and then I’m completely lost. My back arches as his lips meet my clit, his tongue flicking out to taste me. I think I moan his name, but I’m not quite sure what my body is doing anymore.

I open my eyes and look down my body at him, and when I see him watching me, I’m completely undone. My body shudders in waves of pleasure as I feel my muscles clamp and release around his fingers. When my body calms again, he withdraws his hand and kneels over me. I also shift to kneeling, pressing my torso to his. He pushes against me, his hardness apparent. I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips. I slip his boxers over his hips, and he springs free. Without breaking the kiss, he works his boxers off and throws them on the pile on the floor. I reach down and take him in my hands, stroking slowly, pressing the tip of him against my waist. His hands reach around my back, settling again on my ass, gripping and pulling me closer to him to deepen the friction.

He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine, moving a hand to my cheek, his eyes shut tight. “Mackenzie.” His voice is low and rumbling. “I want to be inside you.”

“Do you have anything?” I pray that he does.

“Yeah, of course.” He moves to his bag and pulls out a foil-wrapped condom. He comes back to kneeling on the bed and starts to open it.