“Turn around and look at him, or I’ll turn you around.”
“You’ll try,” I said.
“Fine, you want to wrestle, we can wrestle, but wouldn’t it be less embarrassing, and less childish, if you just turned around?”
I took a deep breath, let it out slow, and turned around.
Nathaniel was lying there on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. His face was what you noticed first. Those amazing lavender eyes with the remnants of the eye makeup still there, making them look darker, larger, as if they needed any help to be amazing. His eyes held such patience, a calm surety that I’d fix this. That it would be alright. I didn’t like anyone looking at me like that, because life had taught me that it usually wasn’t alright. That I couldn’t save everyone. That I couldn’t fix anything. His lips held a slight smile.
There was no anxiety in him. No fear that I’d run. He looked at me with the calm face of a saint staring into the face of God. Secure in his faith, safe in his knowledge, trusting in a way that I had lost so long ago. How could he look at me like that? Didn’t he know better?
He’d lived with me for four months. Didn’t he know by now that I was screwed six ways to Sunday, and he shouldn’t depend on me?
He ducked his head, almost a bashful movement, but it drew my gaze across the sweep of his shoulder, down the curve of his back. I’d only allowed myself to touch him below the waist once. When theardeur was very new. I’d covered his back and buttocks with bites, and he’d loved it, and I had fed, and I’d never let myself touch him that much again, until the last two days. That first time had been about feeding, and I hadn’t taken time to really see him, really enjoy him, because I’d looked at it as an evil necessity. Looking at him now, I felt guilty for ever thinking of him like that. He deserved better.
I’d made him put clothes on for months, at least shorts, even in bed. But he was entirely too comfortable nude for me not to have caught glimpses of him. Even last night, at the club, I hadn’t really let myself look at him, not really. Because if I’d allowed myself to linger on his body, I’d have lingered on the part that seemed to fascinate me most, and, no, it wasn’t what you think. His back had a slight sway to it, a curve that spilled to a lovely ass, but at the farthest line of his back, before it became not his back, were dimples. Maybedimple wasn’t the right word for them, but I had no other word to use. I stared at him now, let my eyes linger, rather than glance and look hurriedly away. I let myself see not that he was nude, but see his body.
I reached out to him and let myself do something that I’d wanted to do for months. I traced my hand down the curve of his back and came to rest just there, just at the end of his back, before the swell of his ass.
He shivered just a little under the touch of my hand, even though all I had done was lay my hand flat against his skin. Let the weight of my hand rest between those two dimples so low on his body. It was as if when the clay had been wet, God had placed his thumbs just above the swell of Nathaniel’s rump, as an extra sweetness, like the idea that a dimple near the mouth is the kiss of an angel before the baby is born, so those dimples on his body were like some extra grace.
I kissed, ever so gently, each of those smooth hollows, like tiny shallow cups in his skin. Each mark was the size of my lips, as if they were meant for me to kiss them. I laid my head in the curve of his back, rested my cheek on those marks of grace, so that my face was slightly up tilted with the swell of his body, leading my eyes down the curve of his rump and his distant legs and feet, but for the moment I was content where I was.
I used his body as my pillow, and just as my mouth fit to those kissable dimples, so my head fit neatly in the curve of his body, as if I were meant to rest there. Nathaniel’s breath went out in a long sigh, and his body seemed to settle into the bed, as if some tension that I hadn’t even seen had run out of him and left him able to rest.
I trailed my hand across the curve of his ass, and he made a small sound for me. I trailed my fingers lower, tracing the line of his thigh. It wasn’t that his legs were off-limits in the way that other areas had been, but I realized that I’d divided his body along a line at his waist, like some boundary in a war. Above the line was us, below the line was forbidden. His thigh was lush and smooth-skinned, and firm with muscle.
I brought my hand back up his leg and allowed my fingers to trace circles on his derriere. Those small movements drew small, quick, sounds from him, almost sounds of protest.
I asked, and my voice was as lazy and soft as my touch, “You’re almost making pain noises, does it hurt?”
“No,” he said, and his voice showed a strain that his body didn’t even hint at. “It’s just that I’ve wanted you to touch me for so long.
It feels… amazing to have your head resting on me, your hands on me.
God, it feels so good.”
I let my hand trace, very delicately, along the crack of his ass, so that if there had been any little hairs I could have played with them, but he was smooth, utterly smooth. It made me wonder if other things were as smooth.
I brushed my fingers down the line of his ass again, tracing the separation between the cheeks, until I found that first line of warm flesh that was neither ass nor more, but a line of soft, silken skin.
I put a finger on either side of that skin, the softest of pinches, and slid my fingers up and down. Nathaniel writhed under the touch. His hands struggling against the sheets as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
I raised my head from his back and kissed my way up his cheeks until I could lay my head one side of him, like a pillow. I caressed my hand down his thigh again, and this time I made circles behind his knees, and kept going, until my fingertips could play with his ankles.
He laughed and struggled against the bed again, like he had when I touched much more traditionally intimate places. There are so many more erotic areas on the body than the small list that most people make. I raised up from the pillow of his body, so that I could pay more attention to his ankles, drawing my nails lightly across that apparently sensitive skin. He writhed for me, his upper body coming off the bed, and his breath shaking out in something between a sigh and a laugh. I sat up so I could run my fingers across the bottoms of his feet, and he sighed, “Oh, God.” I touched the front of his feet, very lightly, and he kicked his feet, as if it were almost too much.
Not everyone’s feet are that sensitive for foreplay, but when someone’s feet are, they really are.
I gazed up the line of his body, while he lay gasping against the sheets. I’d barely started. So many choices, I bent over his ankles and licked along the round bone, tracing the skin with my tongue, in thick, wet, circles.
He made protesting noises and started to kick his feet, but I grabbed his foot with both my hands and held him against my mouth. He made a sound that was almost a scream and gazed down at me, along the length of his body. There was something in his eyes that was wild, and tender, and amazed.
I bit down on that shallow flesh, not hard, just a graze of teeth, but it rolled his eyes into his head and folded his shoulders onto the bed, as if he’d swooned.
I moved back up the bed, so that I could lay my head, not on one cheek, but across that part of his body, so that it was indeed my pillow. The feel of his cheeks spreading under the side of my face made me close my eyes, and have to relearn how to breathe for a moment. I spilled my hand down the line of his body, until I found that silken skin again. But this time I used it like a line to trace to something else. I found what I wanted, and the skin was so soft, softer than anything else I’d touched on his body. His testicles were trapped underneath his body, thick, and round, and delicate. Only part of them were trapped where I could touch them, and the combination of his body weight and the excitement had made them swell, so that the skin wasn’t as loose as it would have been otherwise. I’d wanted to play with all that fragile loose skin, but it was already pressed tight around him. To pull on it now might be more pain than pleasure.
No matter what Nathaniel liked in that area, I wasn’t ready for it.
I slipped my body over his legs and pushed them farther apart, so that I lay between them. I laid my mouth against the inside of his thigh, but stopped before I could decide whether I was going to kiss him, lick him, or bite him. I stopped because I could see Jason over the slope of Nathaniel’s thigh.