Out of Style [inspired by "Style" from 1989]

Part 7: Look in Your Eye

Recap:

"Christ." His hands tangle themselves in my hair, and his hips start to move. I dig my nails into the skin on his hips, moved by his reaction.

There's almost nothing like seeing him like this, his head thrown back, all control completely given over to me. It's a rush. I move faster and he matches my speed. I slide my hands down his thighs, and that's when he stills.

"Stop." The word is a command. I pause, waiting. He grins, the expression cocky, contrasting with his now-black eyes. "This isn't ending that quickly."

I pull back and sit on my heels, giving my knees a break from the hardwood floor. I raise an eyebrow. He crouches down to my level, looking me in the eye.

"Oh, love. You have no idea what I'm going to do to you. We're just starting."

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     I think I just had a hot flash.  Is this what menopause feels like?  Do hot flashes usually make you shiver?

      I stare up at him.  He crouches down, places a hand under each of my arms, and pulls me up with him.  

     He's basically naked.  He should feel and look ridiculous.  Instead, he's just standing there, holding onto me lightly, acting like he's the hottest thing in the world.

     Well, I reflect, maybe he is.  The thought brings a small hot flash of its own.

     My inner musings are interrupted when his mouth crashes down onto mine.  He's rough, his lips dominating, his tongue working magic.  I reach up and grip his hair.  His arms slide down, stroking my arms, caressing my back, and pulling my hips against his.  My jeans feel like the only barrier between us.  My breathing speeds up, and he groans into my mouth.  

      "I love you," he murmurs.  And he says it like it's a prayer.

      I let go.  I give up, letting the wall come down between us.  I let him lead.  He must sense it, because he leans over and picks me up bride-style, carrying me toward my room.  I slide my hands down to his neck and stroke the fine hair there.  

      When we get to my room, he kicks the door open.  It hits the wall with a bang, but I'm pretty sure neither of us care.  He puts me down on the bed and then covers my body with his.  He touches his forehead to mine, eyes closed.  "I keep expecting to wake up."

      I place my hands on his chest and push him back slightly, just enough so I can meet his eyes.  "What do you mean?"

      He's got his torso propped up on one forearm, and he uses his free hand to trace a line from my temple to my jaw.  "You.  I keep thinking this is a dream."

     I don't know what to say to that, so I don't.  I kiss him, and he kisses me back.  I raise my hips to meet his, and a growl rumbles through his chest.  I'm lost in a blur of kissing and touching, our hands exploring each other like it's the last time we'll get the chance.  I lift my legs up, find the top of his jeans, and push them all the way down.  He rolls to the side and kicks them off.

     "Stop," I say, before he has a chance to come back.  My body feels weirdly cold without his.

     "What's wrong?"

      "I want to look at you."

      He grins at me, eyes still dilated.  "Look as much as you'd like."

     I do.  I straddle his hips, and start with his face.  I move my finger along his jaw, trace his lips, and press a kiss to his neck.  I move my hands down his chest, pausing to taste.  I look up, and see him watching me.  I smile, and brush my lips down.  I skip over the area I'd explored in the living room, and gently kiss his inner thigh.  The next second, I'm on my back and he's on top of me again.

     "My turn."  His voice is low.  Heat shoots through me as he unwinds my scarf, carefully lifting the back of my head to remove it.  He tosses it to the floor, and moves onto my sweater.  He pushes it up, inch by inch, kissing and biting as he moves up.  When he reaches my bra, he pushes the sweater up and over.  

     He's got his legs on either side of mine, and I can feel him pressed exactly where the heat he's causing me to feel is pooling.  I try to raise my hips up, but he pushes down with his.

      "Patience, love."  He moves his head back to my chest and bites me through the lace material of my bra.  

     My hips buck up.  I can't help it.  His biting turns to sucking as he strokes me with his tongue.  I don't remember raising my hands to his shoulders, but my nails are digging into them.  He lifts his head and smiles.

     "Do you like that?"

      I nod, not sure if I can speak.

     "Tell me, love."  He croons.  "Tell me you like what I do to you."

      "I love it," I whisper.  The smile drops from his face, and my sweater's yanked over my head.  He unhooks my bra and sends it the way of my scarf.  And then his mouth is on me, stroking my formerly neglected breast with his tongue.  He nips, and heat floods through me.  I can't hold back the moan, and his hips grind into mine when he hears it.

     "So.  Fucking.  Sweet."  He's trailing his lips down my stomach, his words vibrating against my skin.  He stops when he reaches the top of my jeans, and slips his tongue in between the fabric and my skin.  I try to move my hips, but he's got them pinned with his hands now.  

     He looks up at me and smirks.  "These are in the way.  What do you say we get rid of them?"

     He's talking about my jeans.  He slides a finger in the spot his tongue has just vacated and pulls the fabric away from me.  The room's air feels cold on the spot that's still wet from his mouth.  I nod, and he has the button undone and the zipper down in seconds.  He presses a kiss to each of my hips, and then he starts to pull down my jeans.