The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 55 - Crash and Burn

I kiss him slowly, fearfully, taking in, little by little, all his pain, all his burdens and merging them with mine. I want to make this easier. I want to make him forget everything but me. His fingers instantly relax around my neckline as he kisses me back. I breathe him in and let his scent, his mixture of spice and honey and a hint of sweat, wash over me like a spell. I feel myself slipping as his hands move carefully over my shoulders, down and up my arms and then all the way down my back easing me into a blissful state, like when you lie down on your bed after a night out drinking and the whole room starts to spin. I finally give in to it and let the damn room spin.

My hands climb up his firm chest and enjoy how his muscles move beneath my fingers. They move up and around his neck and find their way into his hair, as our mouths move together seamlessly like the ocean waves. He groans and inhales at the same time, making a sound like a wounded beast. His arms tighten around me as his biceps flex ardently. He gathers me into him, eliminating the small space between my body and his. 

My heart pounds even faster as I climb higher on my tiptoes, wanting to be as close to him as possible. He senses my urgency and his mouth presses harder against mine. His hand goes through my hair and he tugs on it, gently tilting my head up for better access, reminding me of my many dreams about him. His tongue runs hot against my lips, tasting them greedily before spreading them apart and invading my mouth hungrily, setting me off into a wild frenzy unlike any other I've ever known.

It's just like our first kiss when we were similarly tangled in this very same spot. Only this time, everything feels like it's ten times more. My body feels like something imploded inside it and is sending shards of electricity to every single cell through my nervous system. Something so hot, that it's cold. So tender, that it's rough. Every single thread in my body is on fire. White-hot fire.

I arch my back and press my body against his, knowing perfectly well it's not physically possible to be any closer, feeling the burning frustration in my lower abdomen because it is still not close enough. My hands travel feverishly down his back and under his shirt, my fingers exploring every moving crevice that forms between his arching muscles. He bites my lower lip and I dig my nails into his back. His expert mouth moves away from mine and starts working on my jawline, then moves further down to my neck. I gasp for air with difficulty. I can't remember my own name let alone how to get my lungs to work. He tugs on the neck of my blouse and exposes my shoulder to make room for his ravaging kisses.

I feel my last speck of control completely slip away as his tongue and lips work their way around my chest and throat, his mouth sucking and biting at my skin, his hands ripping my blouse open in the process. I think I hear a few buttons fall to the floor. With every passing second, my brain finds it more and more difficult to focus on anything other than the hot strokes of his tongue, the soft brush of his lips, the electrifying trail of his fingers on my hypersensitive skin. I gasp as his mouth makes its way down to my stomach and his name escapes my mouth in a breathy whisper while my fingers pull gently at his hair.

At the sound of his name, Jeremy comes back up and looks at me meaningfully. His pupils are so dilated that his irises are just a thin, blue rim. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are wet and swollen and parted to make way for his rapid, shallow breaths. His firm hands pull me in again from my waist, not quite hungrily like before, but slow and seductive, as though asking for permission. 

I feel a rush go to my head and bite my lower lip mechanically, knowing that if he puts his mouth on me again, I won't be able to stop him even if I have the powers of all the Greek and Celtic gods combined. Looking into his eyes, I realise how defenceless I am, how uncontrollably reckless I'm being, and it's the best feeling in the world.

His hands move slowly up and down my back. The fabric of my crappy blouse has never felt so good against my skin. Jeremy looks at me intently but patiently. My chest is heaving and my mind is racing. I see my hands move up his chest of their own accord. They undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, push his shirt over his shoulders and let it hang loosely around his elbows. I brush my fingertips lightly over his chiselled arms, tracing a throbbing vein under his skin and then let my hands wander down his chest and abdomen till they get to his navel. He removes what's left of my blouse in one swift movement and his eyes travel hungrily down my body.