621. - Lucien
I am faster. It's not much of a challenge, because my legs are just much longer than hers, but I still pretend. I end up almost catching her just when we get to the elavator; my fingers brush her wrist, but I pull my hand back before I actually grab it. Emma, nearly tumbling against the elevator doors, whips around to face me with nothing but question in her eyes.
Eggshells. We should probably try throwing those out.
I want to. I want to go back to when I would grab her wrist, pull her against me and not let go until I had her well and trapped against the elevator wall, lips crashing down on hers in an all-consuming kiss. But I'm afraid to. The question doesn't get asked, the answer silently accepted, but she still takes my hand when we get into the elevator.
There's a slight buzz to me from several glasses of red wine, which seem to have had the same effect on Emma. Her eyes are unusually bright, her cheeks pink, her smile so contagious I can't help but copy.
The moment the elevator doors slide close, she startles me by pulling me close with surprising force. I look down on her with a grin, half-amused, half-worried. Her eyes bore into mine.
"I am initiating." She states, enunciating every word with exaggerated clarity. "That means I am okay with this."
Before I can ask what exactly she means, she's come up to her toes to kiss me. It's not a passionate kiss by any means, but still far more than we've shared in a very long time. Her words echoing in my head are why I go along with it, my hands on her waist, body arching into hers.
I am not sure how far she wants to go, how much freedom the words I am initiating actually give me. I let her take charge, hoping that it takes some of the tension off, and it seems to do just that. The kiss doesn't really progress much further than that, though it continues until we've reached the top floor. In that brief second before the doors open, we can only stare at each other completely breathless.
She's grinning, and her cheeks have turned an even deeper pink. "I've missed that." She admits quietly, and I chuckle.
"So did I."
We're out on the balcony; neither of us wanted to end our last night in Nice early, and we still had a bottle of wine to finish. We wrapped ourselves in sweaters and blankets so we could enjoy our last hours in this city on the balcony. "I want to try something." Emma suddenly announces. I've learned better than to question this, so I just follow her movements as she shifts until she's on her knees on the bench, facing me. There's nerves in her eyes, but also a certain kind of defiance. I wait patiently.
Only moments before her lips touch mine do her eyes flutter close. Much like in the shower, I freeze in place. This time, however, it doesn't last. When Emma moves even closer to me, fingertips brushing my cheeks, I move with her. She has the lead in every single moment, and she takes it, too. The alcohol seems to have given new confidence; her hands are on my shoulders so she can steady herself as she stradles me. My head tips backwards to follow her lips, my hands slowly sliding up her back. She shudders, and I pause again, waiting for permission. When the kiss does not get broken, they start moving again.
Out of nowhere there's her tongue against my lips; a quiet, suppressed moan escapes me. I freeze again, but when Emma pulls away she's grinning. With my face trapped in her hands, she tips my head back until it reaches the wood of the bench. The way she stares me down causes my heart to hammer so fast I fear it may explode. "Let's go inside." She whispers.
Emma gives me verbal consent several times. Still I cannot shed the feeling that I've grown whiskers, monitoring her every move and every sound. They're both overly sensitive as not sensitive enough. I'm hovering over her on the bed, exactly where I've ached to be for a while now. Her hands are in my hair, pulling it. One leg is wrapped around my hips, ensuring that I don't move too far away. One hand drops, tugging on my shirt in a demand. I comply. Kisses to her neck, her scent in my nose and panic in my brain. Is she really okay with this? Is this just because she's had alcohol, is she going to regret this in the morning? Nails over my chest make me moan, but that's all my body has to offer. Not a twitch when she reaches to pull off her own top. Has she noticed yet? My overthinking goes into over-overdrive.
What if she only thinks she's ready? What if come morning, she's going to regret it? Will she figure it out halfway through and give me that look of fear and pain, however brief, like she gave me when we just got home from the hospital? Her hand finds its way between my legs, and the moment it palms me through my jeans, I yank myself free from her.
Nothing. She must have noticed to, because there's a crease of not understanding between her brows. Is there also relief? Am I just telling myself there is? I look down on her with dread, never quite meeting her eyes. I don't dare to, afraid of what I'll find.
"Fuck." I whisper to myself, squeezing my eyes shut. It does nothing to shut up my thoughts. I try pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes, begging for my mind to stop spinning. "Fuck."
"Luce..." She starts, but it's also where she ends. I move away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed. With my elbows on my knees, I hang my head in my hands, still desperately trying to shut myself off. Behind me, I feel Emma shift. Then there's her arms snaking around my chest from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. "Come on, babe... It happens sometimes. Come back to me, we'll keep try-"
"Don't." I cut in, abrubtly standing up. It leaves her alone on the bed, looking defeated. I bet she's blaming herself. I curse myself. I shouldn't have. Why did I have to moan? Why couldn't I keep my hands to myself? I push my hands through my hair, pacing the small area besides the bed as if that's going to allow me to get a grip.
"What's wrong?" Her voice is small, and I know she doesn't mean harm, but it makes me feel worse.
"Eggshells." I say breathlessly. "Fucking eggshells everywhere."
"But I told you I'm okay."
"It doesn't matter, Em." I half-snap, angry not at her but at myself. "No matter how many times you're going to tell me you're okay, I'm never going to believe it. Not if I may be the cause of hurting you, of making you cross lines you don't want to cross yet. I could never forgive myself if I make you look at me like you did in those first few days, and have it actually be my fault."
"Lucien," She reaches for my head, but when her skin touches mine I yank it back like she's shocked me. Her eyes widen with hurt, and most of me is immediately filled with regret. Yet there's also a piece of me, a very selfish piece, that whispers now you know what it's like. I can't seem to shake it.
"Don't." I plead quietly. "I... need a moment." And without awaiting answers, I grab my cigarettes and escape onto the balcony.
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