Harmony Ch. 02

Finally he reached out and barely traced his finger over the curve of her breasts, pert and lovely, her nipples dusky pink. He stroked one lightly and she sighed. He kept going, enjoying the slight change in her breathing as she woke. He let his lips graze her shoulder and she made a muted little noise. Her nipples were tight little peaks now, the skin around them marbled with little goosebumps. He laved one with his tongue and played his hand down her belly. She sighed again and threaded her fingers through his hair. He sucked on her breast and she moaned. His fingers danced lower to the cleft between her legs and she moaned again, moving a little against his hand.

He didn't hurry. He wanted this to last forever, and he kept stroking her at a languid pace, paying court now to her other breast, teasing its nipple with his tongue, feeling her growing wetter. He mapped the contours of her torso with his lips, slowly and steadily moving in and out of her.

"Oh," she breathed. Her eyes were still closed; he was looking at her so closely that he saw her eyelids flutter ever so slightly when he kissed the tops of her legs, the crease of her thighs. Her skin was so soft. The scent of her desire was maddening. He looked at her sex, that sweet, soft, mysterious place, foreign and feminine. Tried to remember everything he'd ever heard or read about its geography. Practical exam, he thought, smiling.

She drew a breath and said his name. "Calvin--"

He tasted her, a long, sweet sweep of his tongue, and whatever she was going to say became a wordless whimper, a helpless sound that was the most erotic thing he'd ever heard. I've got to make her do that again, he thought.

He explored her with his tongue, sucking, licking, trying different things and making note of when she swore or said his name (good) or cried out wordlessly (better) or clenched her hands in his hair (very good) or arched her back, writhing and moaning (excellent), and when he thought he knew what worked best he went all in until he felt like he was drowning in her, her scent and her taste and her pleasure. I love this, he thought, and above him she howled. He watched her face transformed in lovely agony before she gasped and rolled her head to the side, her hands relaxing her grip on his hair.

He was so aroused he couldn't speak. He swung himself above her, resting on one arm, stroking her hair with his other hand. Her face was flushed and when she opened her eyes she answered his unasked question: "Yes."

He didn't care that there were no condoms, didn't even think about it; later he would reflect that he understood now, why sex got people into so much trouble, because as she reached for him and he started to slip inside of her, he had no thought at all except that it felt so unbelievably good, even better than the day before. There was nothing between them now, and she was so warm, so wet, so tight around him. Oh, wow, he thought dumbly. Oh, my God. For a moment he felt so good he didn't even want to move.

She had never felt so exquisitely present; everything around her seemed amplified, from the sound of cars outside on the street and Calvin's breathing to the scent of him, to the sensation of the sheet beneath her and his warmth and the dampness of her lower back, her neck, the wetness between her legs.

"Yes," she said, reaching for him, and she, too, was thinking of nothing but that she wanted him, and as he entered her she gasped at the sensation of his bare skin against hers. No, she hadn't done this before, this was new; and she closed her eyes, savoring it like a decadent secret, like a diamond hidden in her mouth.

"Look at me," Calvin murmured, and she opened her eyes again. He was looking down at her. "I like it when you do." Then he began to move, slowly; no great hurry, she thought, make this last. Time meant nothing. There was only him, inside her, and his eyes, herself reflected inside of them as tiny mirror images, as he must be seeing himself in her own. His body under her hands, his back, his shoulders. He was so solid. So hard. Her orgasm built so slowly, so sweetly, that when it finally washed over her it was like a wave she had seen coming from far, far out to the shore. Only then did she close her eyes. Calvin kissed her, held her lower lip in his teeth. She felt him come. Oh, she thought as it ebbed. All this time, I had no idea. I think I was a virgin after all.

"Calvin," she said, half a sigh. She kept her eyes closed, reveling in the aftermath. He was nuzzling her neck. She could feel his muscles trembling, holding him up.

"Relax," she said. "I can take your weight."

With a sigh he let himself down. They lay like that for a long time, silent, her hands carding through his thick hair. Let this never end, she thought. Let me just stay here like this, stop time and just be here.

But he did eventually stir again, to ease out of her, and as he did she felt the soreness; she winced before she could stop herself.

He saw. "What did I do?" he asked, stricken.

"You didn't do anything," she reassured him. "I'm just a little sore. It's...been awhile." She smiled trying to tease him. "And you're not small."

But he still looked appalled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She stretched, free of his weight but missing it already. "It was worth every second."

"No more today," he said sternly, as if to a child, and she laughed.

They went out for brunch in Brookline, and though the restaurant was crowded, they might have been the only people in the world. For Calvin it was as if everything else dimmed in the light of her. He had never seen her like this, so relaxed and happy, her laughter flowing like a brook. Was it presumptuous to want to be the reason?

As they left, she said she had to get back, to check on Cynthia, to do the mountain of homework that she'd been ignoring for most of the week. He stood out on the street, ran his fingers across her cheek. "When can I see you again?"

She laughed. "You're not interested in playing hard to get, are you?"

"Not in the least." He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, we still have work to do."

"Ah, yes. Your as-yet-unnamed masterpiece."

"Our as-yet-unnamed masterpiece."

She bit her lip, as if suddenly shy. "I could probably meet you later this evening at the music building." Then she switched to her wicked-fox smile. "Strictly for working purposes only, of course."

"Absolutely. I'll be on my best behavior."

"Sure you will."

They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, grinning at each other; all around them, people went about their day, somehow unaware of the euphoria passing between them. "I have to kiss you," he confessed, leaning in to do it, and she let him; it went on longer than was strictly proper for a public display of affection, but he didn't care. They lingered like that, his hands on her waist, their faces close together. Even when she turned to finally leave, he stood where he was, watching her move away in the crowd, until he was following her by the vibrant color of her hair.

It was only on the walk back to his apartment that he remembered, with a small sense of disquiet, her hesitation, her reluctance, and the reason: "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

What did she mean by that? He had been working with her for weeks, had now spent the past day doing almost nothing but making love to her, but he still knew so little about her. Should he be worried about that? He had no idea what being in a relationship was like, what would be considered normal. But then, he figured, he'd never cared about being "normal" before about anything in his life; why should this be any different? All that mattered was Ginny.

It's just the start, he thought, and though he was tired--he had slept relatively little the last two nights--he also felt exultant. Unlocking the door to his apartment, he whistled the theme of Brahms 4. The two of us, we've only just begun.