I’ve imagined this countless times: our connection so deep that I forget all the reasons I shouldn’t touch her. Still, I hold back each time because wanting her feels selfish, knowing that good things don’t last. Yet here she is, real and warm in my arms, wearing my shirt as if she already belongs to me and has been here forever. I whisper, “You’re too good for me.” More to myself than to her.
Her hands cup my face, warm and steady. “That’s a lie. If you keep telling yourself it, your mind will begin to believe it,” she utters softly. “I think it already does.”
Fuck is she good.
Magic.
For a heartbeat, the world shrinks to the space between us. And maybe… just maybe… I don’t have to let everything slip away.
I breathe out, letting go of a small part of me that’s always prepared for loss.
My admiration for her grows stronger with each breath as I realize how extraordinary she is, but I feel the urge to run a million miles away from her, out of fear that I might tell her about my OCD. I’m too embarrassed to reveal that part of myself that I struggle with, and while I might be getting help for it, it doesn’t seem to be working as quickly as I thought it would. Will I be like this forever? If so, would Sapphire want to support me through it? I don’t want her to feel responsible for my mental health. My just-right OCD isn’t just about being neat; there’s the anxiety, the intrusive thoughts, and the reassurance-seeking that can often be misconstrued as mistrust and controlling behavior. I’m neither of those things in a relationship but my OCD can often bring out the worst in me and turns me into someone I don’t recognize. I’ve read many articles and studies on the condition, so I know that partners often want to fix or cure OCD when they can’t, which can leave them feeling frustrated and may lead to breakups if they don’t fully understand the condition.
Although Sapphire has always been patient with me, even when I tested her or said no to almost everything. I know how open-minded she is and I’m sure she wouldn’t run a mile in the other direction, but that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
I can’t share that right now. I’m worried about what she might think of me. Will she see me as less than this confident attorney I’ve been portraying for the last few years? I don’t know but I’m afraid to find out. I’m not ready for that. Maybe I never will be ready.
“Kiss me, Eli.”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth.” And I must smell like a champagne cellar master.
“And I didn’t remove my makeup last night,” she counters, smiling, her hands still cupped around my face. “Perfectly imperfect, remember?” She blinks slowly.
With each word, she tests my boundaries, making me do things I once did effortlessly, but now I hesitate, even overthinking my breathing, testing my sanity.
I move in and, to tease and draw out the tension, I don’t kiss her right away. Instead, I run my nose down the length of hers, then kiss the side of her mouth. Once, twice. Barely touching.
“That tickles.” She sighs, the roughness of my stubble makes her shudder, the warmth of her breath dusting the skin of my cheek doing the same to me.
Running my fingertips up the length of the soft skin of her thigh, she inhales and holds it as I reach her ass, which I’ve longed to touch and squeeze, pulling her closer to me.
I groan as she exhales a breath, moaning my name in a sensual whisper; it’s the word I’ve longed to hear. She tilts her hips back and forth with the need to chase her pleasure, her panties wet through with her excitement, soaking my boxers.
“I’m so hard for you, Sapphire.” The head of my cock pulses with need and desperation for her.
With her eyes half-closed, her chest rises and falls in anticipation, as I move to the shell of her ear and nip at her earlobe. Stretching her neck to the side, she invites me to move my lips to the delicate spot on her neck, just behind her ear, and she shivers again when I kiss, lick, and bite. All the while, she rocks against me, my fingertips now exploring the bare skin of her back under my shirt.
We moan out loud together, then she follows it up with a small whimper, leaving her lungs.
I make my way back to her lips, delicately ravishing her neck, peppering feather-like kisses across her jaw, moving closer to where she wants me to be, to give her what she wants: to be kissed.
With my hand still inside her shirt, I cup the back of her neck, gently tilting her head so our lips align.
She must sense my vulnerability, second-guessing my next move, and her face relaxes into a reassuring smile as I lick my lips in anticipation, her fingertips dancing over the bare skin of my back, luring me in like honey to a bee.
Her small nod is all it takes for me to cover my mouth over hers, gripping the back of her head tightly because she’s not close enough. I want to consume her, want her to consume me.
Together, we breathe heavily against each other, our lips pressed together in what, I hope, is the first of many kisses.
Threading my fingers into her hair, I use my other hand to pull her hips into mine, rubbing her against me, encouraging her to get herself off.
Her mouth drops open as a gasp leaves her mouth, and I take this as permission to slide my tongue into her mouth, her tongue colliding with mine.
More grinding, more panting, desperation rises as I moan into her delectable mouth which feels like heaven, our tongues twisting together in perfect harmony.
I thrust my hips upward, feeling the need to fuck, and if I’m not careful, I might come in my boxers from just a kiss because a kiss has never felt this good. So right.
We’re sealed together, our hearts pounding like sparks starting a fire.