Tell Her You Love Her: Step Eleven: You'll Tell Her Them, Too...
Hello, everyone! Here’s step eleven! WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT! Enjoy.
Tell Her You Love Her
Step 11: You’ll Tell Her Them, Too…
“Namjoon,” I sighed, pulling his long, lean body into mine, “Please—.”
My face was warm, flushed with desire or embarrassment—I still wasn’t certain about which. White-hot flames licked up my body with each kiss, each lingering brush of skin. It was a miracle I hadn’t caught fire—yet.
I had never, ever felt anything like this in my life. Had never known the pain, the ache—the agony of needing someone to just complete me.
Every time the bruised flesh of his lips met mine, I felt my senses crescendo to new heights. I was the towering skyscraper going up, up, up into clouds and sky and sunlight, unafraid of getting burned, or even worse, plummeting.
The pealing of bells sang in my ears, awakening some primal need within me—a part I never knew was chained away. Well, whatever it was, the shackles were loose. It was free. I was free. I came to life there in those devouring arms, in those tender fingers, in that hungry mouth. I found me. But, more importantly, I found him.
Somewhere in the canyon ripping through me—life as I knew it—there was Namjoon, waiting for me with the darkness of trees, with the rippling of lust, with my beating heart in his mouth. I swear I was losing my mind. That raw, undiluted passion pressing into my bone, straight into my blood, and then the impulse of each brain cell, until I was lost in illusion and fantasy.
His voice was husky, “Please, what?”
I couldn’t answer. Not with those hands and eyes, and God those lips sinking into me, tearing away the sentient part of me to reveal some uncaged, wild, feral animal inside. My fingers dug into the mattress, trying desperately to buoy me to some part of this world.
Is this real?
As if in answer, his swollen lips brushed down the column of my throat, holding onto that thread that was tethering us to sanity—to a semblance of reality and all of its consequences. But I was gone, lost in feral fantasies. There was no string left for me. Hell, I am fairly certain I forgot my damn name—I know that I forgot about my life. My friends. My lovers.
It was just me and Namjoon. Swimming in forbidden waters. We circled round and round the stormy water until those waves were surging right for us. I was drowning in it—that magnificent, powerful desire.
Why did I wait so long to do this?
My mind never reached an answer. I’m not even sure that it finished the question before his lips nipped at my ear, his tongue running the perimeter of the hardened tip, to the fleshy lobe, and finally back to my neck. I felt his breath on my collarbone, his body sliding over mine, our clothes begging to be shrugged away, to lie forgotten somewhere far, far away.
I found my voice on a sharp intake of breath, his teeth doing unimaginable things to my shoulder. “Ah—please…please. Too—too much clothing.”
And I was going to New York with dreams of journalism. Right. I couldn’t even form a complete sentence! What was circulating in my brain? What drug had stupefied me?
A soft, sensual laugh escaped his plush mouth, those long fingers sliding his own shirt over his head. My cheeks warmed instantly. I had, of course, seen my best friend without a shirt before, but this was different. It meant something new.
A promise; an oath between lovers. The gate that had been locked for so long trundled open, waiting for me to cross—to step over that threshold and erase the line.
Glittering onyx eyes met mine expectantly, flashing in bars of moonlight. I bit my lip, nervous swarms of butterflies wheeling in my belly. The heat of my cheeks was a wildfire that spread to my neck and chest as my hands trembled over my tank top. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see how truly nervous I was.
So I averted my gaze. But he was there to pull me back, to lead me toward that gate once again.
“Let me,” Namjoon purred, his hands covering mine.
They were so warm, so sure. The crown of his head met mine, craning me up to peer into those breathtaking eyes as he carefully, so carefully, slid the cotton of my top away. Inch by inch I felt myself being exposed to his steady, bright gaze: the swatch of stomach above my shorts; the tiny, decorative bellybutton; the staircase of ribs; and, finally, the lace covering my breasts.
I felt every insecurity rack me in the gut. I’m too fat. I’m too ugly. I’m too…
“Goddamn—you’re beautiful, you know that?”
Those sharpened knives dove back into their respective drawers to be revisited at another time. For now, Namjoon had control of my securities, my confidence—my heart. I loosed a breath, tremors still raking down my body as his chest brushed mine. His eyes found my darting pair, and he smiled—no predator sensuality, just a chaste, warm smile that held me still, his palms cupping my cheeks.
“We don’t have to do this, ok?” I nodded and began looking down again, but he gave my face a gentle squeeze. “Just tell me when to stop.”
But I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to live in this glorious moment for an eternity, not the blink of a mortal life. I wanted this piece of him for myself. It was selfish, and needy, and possessive, but it was so true it pained me to think that it really was just a brief, passing moment of human life.
That epiphany set off something inside of me—some sort of primal aggression. One that sent me clinging to him, breathing him in greedy gulps, consuming anything I found within. His eyes widened, utterly shocked by the shift. Who is this girl?
I felt—more than moved—my mouth collide with his, teeth singing painfully as they crashed, and my tongue swept the aching porcelain, delving into his sweet, sweet mouth. Memorizing the sinuous cavern, I felt his arms encircling my waist, holding me to his molten heat, the shock dissipating.
His hands were rooting through my sun-kissed hair, touching my nape with such sexual prowess I nearly melted away. My own hands clawed at the golden skin of his shoulders, his arms, his back—anything I could find purchase upon. The dance between mouths and tongues, and dominance, and lust raging on within this fleeting moment.
We may not have an eternity, but I sure as hell am going to make this last as long as possible…
Aggression subsided, as uncertainty, awkwardness, and embarrassment took the reins once again. My lips halted in their pursuit down his jaw and neck, unsure of how to proceed. I was letting logic cloud instinct. Fear of the unknown had me caught in its web, frozen in its phantom fingers. Blinking, I stared at the planes of his chest, marveling at how the white-wine glow of starlight lit each muscle, each line, to absolute perfection.
Barrels of uncertainty fell over me. How can I please this perfect being? How can I touch him? How do I touch him?
But then I saw those eyes. Those eyes that glittered like tiny universes. Those eyes with their nebulous glow. Eyes that beheld me in the same way I did him. With love, with admiration, with fear and disbelief—with the heat of earth’s scorching core.
Just do it.
“Do you want to sto—.”
I dove into those lips once more—departing through the swinging gate; past the point of no return. I was vulnerable—totally exposed in those twisted sheets, writhing along a sea of gold. An ocean made of secrets and sighs and skin. Finally, only our flesh parted us, and then it was like we were one—like we were really, truly apart of each other. One breath; one, single, throbbing, beating heart.
“Are you ready?”
The precipice loomed before me. A dark, indefinite ravine. Should I jump? Or will I stay here, hanging onto this edge. Onto my safety. Onto my sanity.
My throat worked down a nervous lump. My blood rushed in my ears until it was the only sound in the sticky room. Namjoon’s groans and my breathless sighs disappearing in hazy little clouds, hiding behind that harvest moon.
I had dreamed of this moment for so long, had waited patiently to embrace it. I envisioned how he would taste, feel, touch, but now that I was here, teetering on this cliff, I found myself hesitant, afraid of that endless fall.
Will you catch me, Namjoon? Or will I splatter over the jagged stones left behind? Will you leave behind more scars for someone else to kiss, to caress—to coax back into a cage?
His eyes were watching, waiting—waiting for me to make up my mind: to stay or jump. Jump with him. Cross that line in the sand.
Fingers brushed my cheeks, steadying his impulsive, naked hips. The tip of his sex pressed into my thigh, and it was all I could do to breathe, to remind my lungs what that even meant.
Goodnight, love. I love you—always. Sweet dreams. —Noah.
“I can’t—I can’t do this!” I cried. My palms were pushing that perfect heat away, pushing that gate firmly closed. I wriggled free from his grasp. A petrified child cowering in the corner of my bed.
“You have to leave.”
“Please, don’t do this. Please, not aga—,” he begged. Those hands fumbled for the girl he’d awoken on the lawn.
She was fading. Fast.
“Now.” My voice was a flat, dead thing in my throat. The air was polluted with it, suffocating us—choking me.
How could I have forgotten about Noah? How could I do this to him?
Because you love Namjoon.
Ebony eyes flashed, nameless emotion flickering within those glowing embers as he scuttled away, collecting his clothes with inhuman speed. He was at the doorway before I’d even lifted my head from my knees.
“What happened…what happened to your dream?” The back of his tee-shirt shifted with the word, moving with his strangled cry.
I found my own voice to be brittle, threatening to crumble with each strained breath. “It’s complicated, Namjoon. Noah—he—.”
One muscular arm braced itself to the doorframe. His shoulders racking with sobs at the mere mention of my boyfriend’s name. Cries clawed their way up my throat for Namjoon, for our lost dreams, for Noah, for my betrayal.
And then, my best friend said in his smooth, calm voice, “I understand.” And just like that, he was gone. A fading white dot on my stairs, on the concrete, in his car, driving back to his reality while I sat broken in mine.
“You’re still my dream,” I whispered, rocking onto my heels, salted cheeks cold against the warm summer night.
My phone vibrated, lighting with one message to remind me that, “yes, tonight was real, and you royally messed it up. Nice going.”
Namjoon’s name. I winced, but allowed myself to read the words typed on the screen: You’re still my dream. When you remember that girl that said the same to me, find me. I’ll be waiting. Goodbye. Good luck in the Big Apple, I always knew you could do it, bucket. I love you.
I never replied before I left for my new journey. I left behind the tension, that night, and Kim Namjoon. But I brought along the baggage of guilt, anger (with myself), and Noah.