Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [57]
I had to smile at him, and that was one of the best things about being with Jason. He always made me smile. No strings, no love on the line, just good friends who had managed to be lovers and still be friends. It was good.
He put the condoms on the bedside table, then climbed onto the bed, still smiling. The smile changed as he moved closer—his eyes growing more serious, the smile sliding away to leave his face almost empty of expression except for the intensity of his eyes. His eyes were all blue skies, spring skies, but as he leaned in toward me the blue had deepened, so that his eyes were the color of summer, and nothing as soft as spring.
He hesitated, then half-leaned in for a kiss, his body still to the side of mine. “The look on your face, Anita,” he breathed.
“What look?” I asked.
He smiled, but it left his eyes that serious, deeper blue. He leaned in and answered with his mouth just above mine. “That look.”
He kissed me. Gentle at first, then it grew, and as the kiss grew, he let his body fall against the side of mine, so that the nude front of him was pressed against the long, bare line of my side. The sensation of his groin against my thigh made me thrust into the kiss with hands and arms and mouth. Either he understood, or his body simply responded, because he grew harder, and pushed against my thigh, while he thrust deep into my mouth and I thrust back. The kiss became another way of fucking, gaining its own rhythm as if we both knew what we were mimicking. Our bodies grew with the kiss, so that he began to thrust against my thigh in time to our mouths.
He drew back, laughing breathlessly, pulling his body inches away so that he was no longer touching my thigh. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to go like this.”
I had to try twice to find enough air to say, “Then we have to stop, because that’s not how I want you to go.”
He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand playing lightly over my bare stomach. If I’d been just a little less metaphysically powerful I’d have had some really serious scars for him to play with, but the weretiger that had tried to gut me hadn’t left any mark at all.
“You’ve gone all serious on me,” Jason said.
“I was just thinking that if I were a little less powerful, there’d be scars for you to play with on my stomach.”
He touched my face. “Don’t think about what we’ve lost, Anita. Think about what we have.”
I smiled at him, because he wanted me to. “You mean don’t think about the fight that would have gotten me the scars, and don’t think about who died to save me.”
His face went soft, serious, tender. “Now you’ve done it.”
I opened my mouth, and he touched a finger to my lips. He shook his head. “If you keep this up, you’re going to have to help me get back in the mood.”
I smiled with his finger still against my mouth. He moved, so I could say, “You still look in the mood to me.”
“Girls have such an unfair advantage,” he said, “you just look down and there we are.”
“I like that about boys,” I said.
He gave a soft laugh. “I’ve noticed.”
He leaned into me again, showing that he was still erect, but not quite so hard. “My mood’s gone a little soft, so no serious thinking. I want you thinking only about now, about me.”
I searched his face. His body was happy, but his mood was more serious than normal. I guess I should have expected that, but Jason was my cheerful lay. The sex, at least, was uncomplicated. The pillow talk afterward could get downright therapy-deep, but the sex, never.
“That’s a serious face again,” he chided.
“I was doing what you asked, thinking about you.”
“Why so serious then?” he asked, frowning a little.
I slid my hand through the short silk of his hair, just at the base of his neck, ran my hands up through the utter softness of it, and drew him down toward me at the same time. “You have the softest hair of anyone I’ve ever touched.”
“Softer than Nathaniel’s?”
“Yes,” I said. I tried to bring him down for a kiss.
“Fibber,” he said, and pushed against my hand so he didn’t come closer.