Page 48 of Our Secret Moments
We’re just staring at each other, both of our shoulders leaning on her bedroom door. She licks her lips, still holding two fingers lazily against my mouth. I don’t know what she’s doing, but I would do just about anything for her at this point. If that means letting her stare at me while I look back at her, so be it.
I watch her carefully as her eyes travel across my face from my hair down to my chest. I would have never known just how much eye contact could mess me up inside before I met her. She has this gentle, caring nature in her eyes. It’s like she’s seen too much, knows too many things and has too many thoughts and feelings that she doesn’t know what to do with them.
“You’re really hot, you know that?” she whispers, the words passing through her lips in a soft whisper, crashing against the shore in my brain. I take in a sharp breath. “Like, just so fucking sexy.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” I say in a sigh, “it’s time for bed.”
She shakes her head at me, closing her eyes slightly and probably giving herself a headache in the process. “No, I’m being serious,” she mumbles, slurring slightly. “You have really nice eyes.” She runs a finger between my eyes and slowly moves it down the bridge of my nose as I keep my eyes locked with hers. “And your lips….” Her voice grows quiet as she runs a finger against my bottom lip. It takes all that I am to not stick my tongue out and finally taste her. “You don’t want to know the places I’ve imagined your mouth being.”
I try to be strong, but Catherine makes me feel fucking weak. She’s staring up at me, her hand somehow finding its way to my neck as she winds her finger in my hair. I can’t be with her like this. Not when I want her so badly and she’s clearly still drunk. She needs to go to sleep, and I need to go home.
That’s it.
She tilts her mouth up to mine, almost as close as we were at Oliver’s house, but far away enough that she doesn’t take up every thought in my brain like she usually does.
“I want you to come to bed with me,” she whispers, her lips dangerously close to mine now.
“Catherine,” I warn.
She blinks up at me, her eyebrows drawn in, those soft brown eyes pleading. I take the bait like the dumb bunny I am and push open her bedroom door.
As expected, everything is so neat and tidy here. Her white bedspread is made, no clothes spill out of her closet and her desk is organised with neat piles stacked up next to thick textbooks. The only thing that is a mess is her overflow of books in one corner of the room. She steps through the door properly and I shut it behind us.
“Listen, you’ve got to keep things PG, or I can’t stay,’ I whisper.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed. I laugh a little as her eyes wander around the room. I stick my tongue in my cheek, trying my hardest not to laugh. She’s a cute drunk. Too fucking cute.
“Okay, where are your pyjamas?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips, not wanting to rifle through her clothes without warning.
“In there,” she says, her voice suddenly breathy. I follow her weak point to her bedside drawer and pull out shorts and a tank top, the soft material of them almost falling through my hands. I hold them out to her, waiting for her to nod slowly.
She’s not making any move to get dressed herself, so I kneel down in front of her, placing my hands on her thighs and she looks down at me, her eyes glossy. I don’t think I’ve seen her this quiet. She always has something to say. Something for meto listen intently to. I pull on the hem of her shirt, signalling that I’m wanting to help her get unready.
“Can I help you take this off?” I ask, my voice thick and heavy. She lets out a gentle sigh until she finally nods. I pull up the shirt slightly, but she still doesn’t move her arms. “Arms up, sweetheart.”
She blinks at me a few times, her eyes clearly heavy with sleep before she lifts her arms above her head slowly. I work her free of her shirt until she’s sitting in front of me in nothing but a peach bra and jeans.
My breathing instantly grows erratic. I’ve seen her in nothing but that tiny bikini only a week ago, but this somehow feels different. The soft glow coming from her lamp shines across her skin, giving her an almost dreamlike look. She’s still looking at me, studying me, waiting for some kind of reaction so I give her one.
“You’re so beautiful, Catherine. Just so fucking pretty.”
She doesn’t react the way I thought she would. Especially after the way she was complimenting me a few minutes ago. Her lips part slightly, her eyes clearly etched onto my mouth that I end up sucking in a breath.
You don’t want to know the places I’ve imagined your mouth being.
“Come on,” I say, guiding her to stand up so I can work off her jeans after helping her into her tank top. She stumbles into me slightly and when she’s upright again I kneel down in front of her. I’ve gotten too comfortable being on my knees in front of her, but fuck me if it doesn’t turn me on. It feels like I’m worshipping her, and she needs to be worshipped.
I unbutton her jeans and slide them down her thighs in a smooth motion, keeping my eyes trained on her legs and nowhere else until she has to step out of them, causing her to hold onto my shoulder for support.
When I reach for her shorts, she still doesn’t say anything until she silently slips into them. “Are you not going to talk?”
She shakes her head. “You’re on your knees in front of me. My thoughts are not very PG right now.”
Fuck me.
This was a really bad idea, knowing just how much I want her, how badly my body wants her. I ache just by being in her presence. I swear I fuckingyearnfor her. How pathetic is that? Especially when she’s only telling me how she feels when she’s drunk and horny.
But drunk words are sober thoughts, right?