A Many Splintered Thing / Day 19: She wanted him to reach for her. She wanted it badly. But he didn’t and she smiled in the dark.

Curious to see what my constant readers think of this... XOXOSommer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dahlia
She stood there, it felt as if her mouth was sealed shut. Her voice dead in her throat, but her heart—oh, her heart—was very much alive.
She blinked in the gloom, trying to make out the shape of him in the bed. He sat up and that helped.
“Dahlia?”
“I’m trying to decide,” she said.
He laughed.
“Shut up,” she said, but there was no real heat in her voice. The rebuttal was more to give him a take on her mood. What was going on inside her. It was only fair, after all. She was standing in his room in and old football jersey and nothing else.
She was infringing on his territory though it had been her house, just hers, for over a year.
“I’ll shut up but you need to come here. You’re freaking out the dog.”
The dog got up when she was mentioned and walked into the bathroom. Dahlia watched her shadow move. Then she heard Alice flop down on the tile and sigh.
She almost laughed. Almost.
He didn’t prompt her again. He didn’t say a word. But he didn’t lie down either. She could see him there, sitting up, his torso blocking out some of the light that barely managed to sneak in from the outside. She heard the wind again and shivered.
“I thought—“ She bit her tongue. That sentence had no ending. She had no idea what to say. She knew why she was here. So did he. Did she really have to invent something?
“I’m sure you think a lot. You’re one of the sharpest women I’ve ever met,” he said, finally.
“You just met me!” she snapped. But she took a step toward the bed.
“I don’t take long to assess people,” he said. “Comes from being a cop’s kid.” There was a long pause where she heard the tick of the hallway clock marking time. “Comes from being a punching bag, too.”
“About that,” she said, seizing the lifeline. She took another step toward him and then said simply, “We have a few things in common.”
“I had a feeling. But I’m not asking you shit. I was out of line. I should never have asked in the first place.”
Another step. Her knees were about six inches from his mattress and she could make out the sharper edges and softer valleys of his face illuminated by the meager light.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. You tell me what you want when you want. Period. And if that means you never tell me, then you never tell me.”
She wanted him to reach for her. She wanted it badly. But he didn’t and she smiled in the dark. It would be easy to read it as a rebuke but she recognized it for what it was. Caleb putting it all in her hands. It was all up to her. If something happened or nothing happened it would all be based on what she wanted.
She was in control.
He respected the scars. He respected her exit from the kitchen earlier.
He respected her.
Something in her chest seemed to swell and warm and lift. She moved forward fast now. The doubt had fled and as soon as she was in motion, as soon as he could see her coming toward him with intent, he raised his hand and reached for her.
She caught his hand even as he turned it to grip her wrist. He pulled her forward and she felt like she was flying. It was a short burst of speed and then his other arm came up to catch her. He fell to his back her on top, but his hands were in her hair, tangled in it, tugging it, holding it tight so that they were locked in the kiss that started the moment she was close enough for their lips to touch.
He cupped the back of her head, then, holding the other arm around her waist and kissed her so hard she had trouble taking a deep breath. His cock was firm beneath her and she wriggled against him, feeling the pressure and the friction on her clit. The sensation slammed right through the center of her and she regretted the hours she wasted lying in bed thinking.
She straddled him, sat up and looked down at him. Dahlia could barely make him out but she could feel Caleb looking back.
“I wish you hadn’t pulled the blackout blind,” she said. “I feel like we’re two blind people about to fuck.”
He reached his arm up, his much longer than hers she thought randomly, and pushed back to grasp the end of the blind. It dipped before snapping back and shooting upwards. It finally coming to rest at half-mast. Lights from the property lit the room. Everything was painted in grays and blues and whites.
He was gorgeous. And when he smiled at her she had the feeling he was thinking the same of her.
She wriggled again and they both groaned. He reached for her and she caught his hand. She pushed it back and pulled the jersey over her head. She tossed it on the floor and then found his hand again. Dahlia placed it above her breast where the scars lived. She ran his fingertips along the raised places before ending the motion by filling his palm with her breast.
He thrust up from beneath her and she felt him against her sex again, hard and ready. He tugged at the ends of her hair to pull her down for another kiss and she paused, not letting him. Then she simply said, “Caleb, please.”
He’d understand or he wouldn’t. It was as simple as that.
He stilled and then just as she felt her heart fall, disappointed that he didn’t understand, he took her hips in his hands. Then they were in motion. She went from astride his big body to under him. He kissed her again, a single hand resting across her throat. Trapping the pound and bang of her pulse beneath his cupped palm. Trapping it so that it sounded in her ears like war drums. He released it only when she nipped the tip of his tongue with her teeth. His hand slipped along her body, exploring. He circled each breast, pinched each nipple, dragged a single fingertip down her belly, pausing to stroke her navel. He moved lower, sliding his fingers along each hipbone and over her lower belly. He parted her nether lips, all the while kissing her shoulders and close to her breasts, but never, Dear Jesus, never sucking a nipple or even licking it. When he finally rubbed his thumb over her pounding clit, her mind shut down. When he finally closed his hot mouth over her nipple, she felt her body shudder.
He slid a finger deep inside her, curving it so that it hit all the tender, sensitive places she needed. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, adding a second finger to the first inside her. His teeth clamped down on her nipple and he tugged.
Her entire body flooded with endorphins and fire. Everything felt alive. From her toes to the roots of her hair. Had white light shot out her fingertips she wouldn’t have questioned it. She was lit up from the inside. She was moaning—she heard it now—and then he kissed her, his fingers thrusting deep, curling, moving and she was coming.
Harder than she had in a long time. Harder than she’d anticipated because it shook her right down to her never endings.
Dahlia turned in his arms, moving her body against his. She reached for his boxers. She whispered in is ear. “I didn’t bring a condom. Do you have one? I—“
“We won’t need it,” he said. “We’re good.”
“I don’t fuck a new partner without—“
“I mean,” he said, kissing her very softly. “We’re done. I can’t. Probably the whiskey.”
He was lying. She knew he was lying. She reached out and dragged her fingertip along the hard ridge of his cock. “Oh yeah?”
He wrapped his arm around her. “Stay with me, Dahlia. Let’s sleep.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She had no idea what to say. Or what to do.

photo credit: Miss Cartier via photopin cc