FourteenAmeliaThe rest of the evening went off without much incident. Johnnie made some more phone calls; some of them he took in front of me and some he excused himself into the hall for. We fetched my bag from my car. I took a shower. I got into bed. Johnnie stayed up on his laptop doing who-knew-what. We didn't speak much. He either didn't notice the sudden decline in my mood or he was letting me have my space. Either way, I was thankful for it. He came to bed sometime late, the sunrise a whisper across the sky. My body, unaccustomed to someone getting into a bed while I was in it, jolted awake violently, my heart slamming hard in my chest before I could even register where I was, that I was safe.
"It's me, angel. Go back to sleep," Johnnie murmured into the crook of my neck as his body slid around mine.
I knew I should have told him to move away; I knew that I needed to keep him at a distance both metaphorically and literally, but it felt nice to just be held. It felt comfortable and easy and safe. So I let out the breath I was holding and I did what I was told; I went back to sleep.
I woke up in the morning, Johnnie's body still behind me, his heavy arm draped over me. I looked down at it for a long moment as the last traces of sleep slipped away, trying to memorize every tattoo stabbed into his skin. I did this for a long time before I realized what I was doing and gently lifted his arm and slid out from under it, going to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I was creeping around the side of the bed, ducking down to grab fresh clothes out of my bag when I was tagged from behind, a strong arm wrapping around my belly and pulling me backward until I was sitting on his lap as he sat off the edge of the bed.
His face went into my neck, planting a kiss there that sent off a flutter of butterflies in my belly. It was too early; I hadn't had a chance to slip my guards back around me yet. "You get up early," he said and it sounded like an accusation.
"You go to bed late," I countered as his hand slid slightly upward and the bottoms of his fingers were resting just under my breasts.
"Working," he said simply as his hand moved up to brush my hair out of the way.
"On stuff about Luis? Did you find anything out?" I asked, grasping at anything that would pull my focus away from how his warm breath on my neck was making me go melty inside again.
"Don't want to talk about that now."
"I don't think..." I started, but didn't finish because suddenly, his hand was covering my breast and squeezing.
"That's a good idea. Don't think. Just feel," he said, his thumb and forefinger rolling my nipple until it was a straining, almost painful peak. My head fell back on his shoulder as his other hand drifted up to engage my other breast in the same exquisite torture. My back arched into his touch, my breasts feeling oddly heavy as a rush of wet pooled between my thighs. His head tilted down and his tongue ran the length of my neck as one of his hands moved a trail down my belly and pressed between my thighs, stroking me over the material of my pajama pants. My thighs parted in invitation and his fingers moved up to slip down under the waistband of my pants and panties until his fingers stroked over me- light, teasing, like he had all the time in the world, like it wasn't driving me half-crazy.
His finger moved downward and pressed inside, making a low groan escape my parted lips. His thrusts were every bit as needy as his exploration of my clit. He pulled outward, then pressed two fingers in, making me flinch.
"Shh, relax angel," he murmured and I exhaled a breath, leaning back against him. His fingers got more insistent, thrusting, then twirling, crooking upward to find my G-spot. But he never gave me enough to push me over that edge, just enough to leave me teetering there, caught at the cusp of oblivion. I felt myself tightening around him and he slowly pulled away.
"No..." I whimpered helplessly, slapping my hands down on his thighs.
"Stand up, baby," he said softly, pushing my hips forward until I reluctantly followed orders, turning to face him as his hands moved up to snag my shirt and started pulling the material up. My hands moved up to grab his wrists, stilling the motion. His head tilted to the side, his eyes intense. "I want to see you, honey." Maybe it was the softness in his voice or the honesty in his gaze, but my hands released his wrists and moved up over my head so he could slide my shirt free, leaving me standing there naked from the waist up, the urge strong to wrap my hands around my breasts. But then his fingers were sliding across them gently, adoringly, and the thought slipped away as his hands went to the waistband of my pants, snagged it and my panties, and pulled down. I stepped out of the feet and Johnnie sat back slightly, shaking his head at me as I fretted about what I was supposed to do with my hands.
"Johnnie, I..." I didn't know what to say, but I needed him to stop looking at me like that, like he could do it all day, like there was nothing he would rather do.
"Perfect, Amelia," he said, pushing off the bed to stand up, his body just inches from mine, his fingers trailing up my bare sides before pulling me against him, our bare skin touching from hips to shoulders, sending a shiver through my body. His fingers trailed down my spine, drifted over the flesh of my bottom, then moved to rest at my hips as his lips came down to mine, soft, pressing there for only a second before pulling away. "We can stop now. I know this is quick," he said, again being the good guy. And, somehow, that was why I knew I didn't want to stop- because he seemed like he would be happy either way; because there was no expectations; because I knew there was not another man on Earth who would be half as considerate as he was being right that moment.