Page 87 of When In Doubt

“You good?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, just a little stiff.”

He frowns down at the offending hand before plucking it off my thigh, holding it so delicately between his I could almost cry. He starts to knead the joints, callused fingertips working into the fleshy part of my palm, running lines up my knuckles. I have to fight not to moan at the sensation, but I can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes when he starts rubbing firm circles into the hollow of my palm. He smirks at me, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

He continues working the joints, loosening each one up with deft movements. He pretends not to notice as my breathing grows heavier, but there’s no masking the tiny whimper that leaves me when he digs the tip of his finger into the base of my thumb.

“I-uh…” I stammer.

He just chuckles, drawing my hand up to his mouth where he kisses the center of my palm. I curl my fingers, scratching at the hairs on his jaw. Oscar takes this as an invitation to continue peppering soft pecks from my wrist up to my inner elbow.

Holy shit, I didn’t realize someone kissing my arm could feel like this.

His lips go up, up, up and I can’t do anything but give myself over to it, tipping my head to the side as he approaches the column of my throat, granting him better access.

I feel myself whine as he nips at my jaw. My hands find their way to rest on his biceps, knitting forgotten. Oscar matches my enthusiasm by banding an arm around my back, pulling our bodies flush together. I gasp as the space between us vanishes. He pulls back a little to take in my face, reaching up to push back a loose strand of hair.

It’s like he’s waiting for something, for me to make the first move, to show him that I want this. And I do. I want him so badly, I can hardly think.

I lean forward, tentative at first, and press my lips against his. The kiss starts slowly as he lets me find my way, mapping out the shape of his mouth. When my tongue presses against his lips he obliges, letting me in.

We kiss like that for long, languid minutes until my movements fumble and I lose my rhythm. Oscar isn’t deterred, though, taking over and guiding me as our tongues intertwine. It’s like music, the way we move together. I never knew it could be like this with another person, and it was always too scary to try. But nothing about Oscar makes me afraid in that way.

My fingers snake their way into his hair and he moans as I give the strands a soft tug. My belly flips at the sound and I do it again, eliciting another pained noise. He kisses me harder, like he’s trying to get back at me, and I’d giggle if I wasn’t otherwise occupied.

His touch roams, up and down my body, until he reaches my hips and pulls back.

“Is it okay, me touching you like this?” he asks, nudging his nose against mine.

I nod so fast I almost headbutt him and he lets out a loud laugh, but whatever he might’ve said gets lost to the hard kiss I press to his lips.

He strokes up and down my ribs once, twice, until his fingers make their make under my pajama shirt and against my skin, causing goosebumps to erupt.

“Is this okay?” he asks again as he shifts, taking hold of my hips and pulling me down the bed. At my nod, he follows, lowering himself over me. I look to the side and trace a finger across the strong forearm braced beside my head, caging me in.

He dips down, placing barely there kisses along my jaw, moving across as I turn my face until he takes my lips again. It’s heady and deep, each pull stealing my breath. I feel his palm creep under my shirt to rest on my abdomen and it feels like reassurance, like something to steady me, rather than a demand. I slide my hands across his broad shoulders to tug at his hair again, the way he seems to like so much. I get the growl I’m looking for and tug a little harder, giving the base of his skull a gentle scratch.

His mouth tears away from mine on a rough exhale and latches onto my throat, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there as his grip moves, one hand finding my waist as the other slides under my shoulders, surrounding me in a possessive hold. Butterflies explode in my stomach as I take in this man, looking so determined to have his way with me. I have to fist my hand in the back of his shirt, looking for something to anchor myself as my head spins from the sensation.

He continues his ministrations, murmuring praise into my shoulder, my neck, the hollow beneath my ear. I can feel his words in the scratch of his beard as he tells me how beautiful I am, how much he wants this, how much he thought of me while he was away. We break apart for a second and I try to gather my thoughts, anxiety starting to creep in at the edges of my awareness.

This is a lot.

Is it too much?

But it’s good.

I like it.

I think I like it.

I’m just a bit overwhelmed.

I gasp in a breath and Oscar growls in approval, not recognizing it for what it is. I work on grounding myself, staying here in this moment and not ending up somewhere I don’t want to be, but it’s hard when I feel like my consciousness is falling through the bed.

Do I want this? Am I just nervous? Everyone gets nervous, though, right? Especially with someone new?

I clutch at his shirt tighter, trying to gain some purchase in my muddled feelings. He must take this as a cue that I want it off, lifting for a second to tug it over his head and throwing it into the corner of the room in one swift motion before diving back down.