Adam was awake, too.
"So," I said ...
half-embarrassed, half-aroused, and, just to round things out, half-scared, too.
"Are you up for a trial run?" "A trial run?" he asked, his voice all rumbly with sleep.
The sound of it helped a lot with the halves I was feeling--virtually eliminating embarrassed, reducing scared, and pushing aroused up a few notches.
"Well, yes." I couldn't see his face, but I didn't need to.
I could feel his willingness to participate in my trial pressed against my backside.
"Thing is, I've had different things happen with these stupid panic attacks.
If I stop breathing, you could just ignore it.
Eventually I start breathing again, or I pass out.
But if I throw up ..." I let him draw his own conclusions.
"Quite a mood breaker," he observed, his face on the back of my neck as he wrapped an arm more fully around me on top of the covers.
I tapped his arm with my finger, and warned, only half in jest, "Don't laugh at me." "I wouldn't dream of it.
I've heard stories about what happens to people who laugh at you.
I like my coffee without salt, please.
Tell you what," he said, his voice dropping even lower.
"Why don't we just play for a bit--and see how far it gets? I promise not to be"-- amusement fought with other things in his voice--"dismayed if you throw up." And then he slid down in the bed.
When I flinched, he stopped and asked me about it.
I found I couldn't say anything.
There are things you don't tell someone you're still trying to impress.
There are other things you don't want to remember either.
Panic tightened my throat.
"Shh," he said.
"Shh." And he kissed me there, where he'd caused me to shy.
It was a gentle, caring touch--almost passionless, and moved on to somewhere less ...
tainted.
But he was a good hunter.
Adam isn't patient by nature, but his training was very thorough.
He worked his way back to the first bad spot and tried again.
I still flinched ...