June 22, 2014
His lips are on mine and I am sweating. I don't think it is possible for one person to have this much body heat. I can imagine someone scanning Nick’s body with one of those infrared heat guns and every single section being lit up in lava-inducing red blotches.
Where Brian’s body had warmed me only when he was on me, Nick’s body is setting me on fire even though our lips are only touching. His hand touches my neck and I am sure it is going to leave a physical burn as the sheer feel of his fingers sends electricity soaring southward. I pull away slowly.
I am not sure how Edge of Tomorrow played out. I missed the entire end. Nick had barely kept his hand off my leg at the restaurant afterwards. It had taken up residence on my side as we bummed around the hotel room. Then, as soon as Ben had gone to bed so had we like two teenagers home alone.
Now here I am staring into his eyes.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I explain. He props himself up on his elbow.
“We’re married, Court. I think we could get away with doing a little more.”
He grins. My mind has firmly been fixed on the ‘little more’ part of the scenario since I kissed him at the theater.
“You have to remember,” I say calmly and methodically, every word weighed carefully. “In my world, I just slept with Brian. Like days ago.”
“I’m willing to ignore that fact,” Nick laughs.
“But, I can’t. I’m not this type of girl. I’m not attracted to you.”
“Oh, really? Because I swear it seems like those little throaty noises that I totally like aren’t coming out of you because I am forcing enjoyment of my kisses.”
My face flames. “I’m not of right mind or body.”
“I could offer an examination and then provide my expert opinion.”
“Nick!” The thought holds more appeal that I can admit. I won’t admit it. I won’t.
He laughs. “What’s that thing people say? When in Rome? Well, you’re not in Rome. Maybe you’re in a time loop like Tom was in the movie, except your time loop keeps putting you in my bed. I’d say that’s a lot better than getting your body blasted with shrapnel.”
“I’m worried about what I'm going to get blasted with,” I shoot back before realizing how incredibly wrong it sounds. “I mean--”
Nick is already laughing. I am losing badly. His hand wraps around my leg at the knee and he presses against me. “Do you really want to know?”
I purse my lips. “I hate you.”
“Now, now,” he says softly. His lips press against my cheek and begin to move against my skin. “You don’t mean that.”
I groan. I don’t mean it. My problem is that, unlike with Brian, I am not drunk. My mind is going through every single scenario and repercussion. I can’t let myself go and just let actions take over. It doesn’t happen that way in my world. It--
“I think,” Nick murmurs again. I feel his hand graze the side of my breast before slowly making its way across. “That you are adequately stacked up in the body division here. And…” his hand slides down and over my hip. “Here…” his hand shoots back up to my other breast and squeezes the silicone-y, yet sensitive flesh.. My toes curl. “Here…” His hand is sliding its way along my ribs, his hand reaching my back, making it arch. His pointer finger runs the complete length of my spine. “Here…”
He is a magician, except instead of pulling a bunny out of a hat he is totally wearing me down. His touches are sending me back in tiny increments. As he runs his thumb along the heel of my foot, I am on my back, sinking into a mattress that probably cost more than the car I drove back and forth to work. His blonde tousled head soon hovers over me, his eyes smoldering. I open my mouth to give him another insight into my inner workings, but he presses his finger to my mouth and shakes his head.
“Watch me for three minutes and then you can speak,” he orders. My lips move again and he smirks, cutting me off. “Three minutes.”
I clamp my mouth shut and watch him. I can’t deny I am curious. He straddles my body and yanks his shirt over his head.
The body that he reveals is nothing short of amazing. I have seen every single stage of Nick play out in magazines over the years. For the most part, I am constantly reminded of a doofus with a little tummy. Even after he lost all the weight, he gained enough back to have a little stomach.
But this...this is a body I could fold my laundry on for the rest of my life. The abdomen is flat, the abs defined. A light smattering of blonde hair dips below his boxers, of which there is a noticeable strain. He takes my hand, his eyes drawing mine back up and locking into my gaze, and presses my palm into his heart. I want to close my eyes, but I can't look away.
This is not the beginning of sloppy drunk sex. I feel my hand being pulled down, my fingers trailing along every perfect ripple. I want to tell him how amazing he looks, but I remember I can't speak.
I'm breathing hard like Peg Bundy at a Chippendales show. I am a sad excuse for a level-headed metaphysicist. Nick brings my hand back up and the tips of my fingers are on his Adam's apple, then his chin, then his lips. He taked my fingertips into his mouth and kisses each one,
I am doomed. This is slow torture. At least Tom's movie deaths were quick but this little death is sprawling through me at a pace that makes me want to scream and plead.
He lingers on kissing the last finger before pulling away, dropping my hand and smiling.
"Three minutes, Thank you for your coop-"
My lips are on his and I am pulling him down on top of me. He plants his hands on either side of me, his whole body melding into me so exactly that it almost feels like we are already having sex even though most of our clothing is on. The feeling is something that I truly didn't believe existed in real life. If I feel like this now, what does that mean for the real act?
My logic tries with that question to break through but my hands, now slid under Nick's waistband and grabbing his ass, have a totally different agenda. He thrusts against me and I bite my lip so hard I almost taste blood.
“I want you Court,” he breaths. “This is the longest we’ve gone since we’ve been married and I...I need you.”
There is no air in the room. It has been sucked out and converted to a heat-making substance inside my body. I’m thinking that if time travel is possible that self-combustion from lust may indeed be something to fear.
“I want you, too,” I whisper. I don’t think my voice has the ability to go any louder. His finger hooks on the waistband of my shorts and slides them down in the centimeter of room he’s given our bodies. He kisses me long and hard before wrestling the clothing away from my ankles.
He does not come back to my lips. Instead, his lips find my hip bone and the inside of my thigh and my brain is full of nothing but empty air as primal instinct take over and my last fleeting thought is that it has to be illegal to fill this good. It is so good that my ears are ringing…
Except it is not my ears. It is my phone.
I ignore it. I have no choice. My body performs to Nick like a perfectly mixed chemical reaction. There is no doubt that everything he has told us about our relationship is true; he knows immediately where to touch to send me spiraling dangerously towards the brink, only to pull back enough to keep me hovering in a delicious, angst in-between that I’ve never before experienced that makes me want to beg for it to happen and yet not wanting it to be over. He is the spark that will send the whole thing off and I am totally in his hands, my hands gripping the sheets. I realize that if this is my reaction now that him within me will probably be my doom.
The ringing intensifies at the same moment I am pushed over the edge.
“Oh my god, Nick. Oh my god, oh my god.”
Instead of the cocky look that I expect on his face he gives me a soft smile and his body covers me again. He buries his face into the crook of my neck. The ringing dies.
Then it starts up again. Whoever calls is persistent. My right hand snakes into Nick’s hair. I lean my body to the left to silence my phone. I do not want this time to be interrupted. I now want Nick Carter more than anything in this world. More than--
The ringing stops and the phone vibrates as I turn it on silence. Before I can put the phone down, it vibrates quickly. I see the display that reads ‘1 new text message.’
I make the mistake of reading it. Just five words, but enough to bring me crashing down.
IT’S TIME TO GO HOME.