into my hair, behind my head, pulling me even closer. He tastes familiar in a way I didn’t expect, and I open my mouth to taste more, feeling his tongue glide against mine, deepening the kiss. I feel unexpectedly at ease, my nerves draining out of me as I melt and swirl, dizzy and light-headed. His fingers untangle from mine and he brings his hand up my arm, brushing his fingertips up and down my skin in soft patterns. I place my hand on his chest, realizing fleetingly I’ve never touched him there. This is new uncharted territory. He feels strong and sturdy, a contrast to the soft knit of his sweater.
He leans into me and I feel myself fall back, lying slowly down onto the bedspread, on top of the flowers. He settles his body onto mine, sinking me into the mattress, and I shift so we line up perfectly, touching everywhere. He gasps, pulling his lips from mine for a moment, and begins planting soft kisses on my cheek and over my neck. I giggle as I feel his tongue lick a sensitive spot below my ear, and he pulls away. I open my eyes for the first time, really looking at him, feeling dazed as he comes into focus, his green eyes soft and slightly glazed.
“Ticklish?” he whispers, and I nod. He smiles. “I never knew you were ticklish there.”
“Me neither,” I whisper back, and he leans down to capture my lips with his once more. I move my hands tentatively down to the bottom hem of his sweater and then reach inside, touching the soft skin of his stomach. There’s a trail of hair leading from his belly button down below his belt, something I’ve noticed briefly over the last few years but have tried not to look at. Now I take my time, running my fingers through it, feeling the hard muscle of his stomach underneath. He leans away from me and pulls off his sweater and then his shirt, throwing them somewhere onto the floor, and I study the muscles of his arms, taking my hand from his stomach to touch the triangle of freckles on his shoulder.
He raises himself up onto his arms so he can study my face. I bite my lip, self-conscious that he’s looking at me so closely, studying me as if I’m a girl, a real girl, one that he wants to be with. He moves his hand to the hem of my shirt, holding tentatively on to the fabric there.
“Can I?” He pulls it up slightly to reveal a strip of my stomach.
“Oh, right,” I say, flustered. I pull the T-shirt over my head, tossing it onto the floor to join his discarded clothes, and lie back down. I’m wearing my own bra this time—not one of Danielle’s—so it fits much better, although there’s definitely less cleavage.
“So what next?” I ask, my voice hoarse, as if I’ve just woken up from a nap. “I’ve never . . . no one’s ever seen . . .” I stumble over the words. “I’ve never taken my bra off with Dean.”
“Do you want me to?” he asks, his voice low and strained. He reaches a tentative hand up to the fabric of my strap, running it between his fingers. He pulls the strap down, letting it fall past my shoulder. “Tell me to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper, and he reaches underneath me for the clasp. He fiddles with it for a minute, unable to get it open, and I reach back and do it for him, pulling the bra away before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. He smiles and leans down to kiss me again, covering my body with his. The feeling of skin against skin is electrifying.
“Keely,” he whispers, pulling me tighter against him. He reaches a hand up to touch my chest, slow and gentle, and I find that I don’t mind it, find myself actually enjoying it. I reach for the clasp of his belt buckle with tentative fingers and slowly pull out the leather strap. He moves his hands off me and reaches down to help, unzipping his jeans. He has to sit up away from me to pull them off, and they get stuck around his feet.