He turned and looked at me, and this time he didn’t pull his gaze away. It was almost as if he was unaware that his eyes were staring straight into mine. But I was aware of it and my breathing froze. Our connection sizzled silently in the space between us. Tears sprang to my eyes as I stared deep into that dark reflection of raw vulnerability, with a strong touch of self-loathing.
William was pure—and not just sexually so. His feelings, emotions, perceptions. Yet it seemed that all the darkness he had seen and experienced, he’d internalized to somehow be his fault. This warped logic was part of the misplaced burden he’d hefted onto his shoulders. And in this moment, I could tell he was troubled.
I placed my hand on his whisker-rough cheek. “They were wrong, what they did. You couldn’t help your reactions. You are not lesser than them.”
His cheek bulged under my hand, and he immediately pulled away and sat up.
I pushed up beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t need to be reassured like a child. I’m a man.”
I paused, unsure of what to say. I felt like I was walking into a trap. “I was empathizing, Wil. I feel badly that you were bullied. No kid should have to have that happen. Just like no kid should live in a city that’s being bombed.”
He sat for another long moment, still tense. I shifted to rest on my knees and put a hand on his shoulder. He jerked it away. “I don’t want to be touched right now.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“War is a tragedy. Autism is not a tragedy.”
I nodded. “I agree. Actually, in some ways, I think it’s a blessing.”
He looked at me sideways, probably trying to determine if I was being serious or not.
“I wish I could see the world the way you do sometimes,” I explained. “I wish I could have your sensitivity, even when it’s so intense it hurts. I wish I could focus my talents like you can. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to insult you.”
He turned his head and looked at my chin, then my nose, then my mouth. His gaze stopped there. “Jenna,” he said.
“Yes?”
“I want to kiss you.”
“Help me visualize what you mean. Would you kiss me on the lips…or on the cheek?” I answered, unable to resist the urge to tease him.
His eyes rested on my lips with unwavering concentration. “On your lips. My lips and your lips.”
Oh yes, please. I smiled. “For how long? Would it be for five seconds or closer to a minute?”
He hesitated but didn’t tear his eyes away. I licked my lips, just to torture him a little.
“And would our mouths be open or closed? Or maybe halfway open? Would there be tongue? How much tongue?”
Another long pause. “You’re teasing me.”
“I was just trying to be cute… Are you mad?”
He growled, reaching over to hook his hand around the back of my neck, pulling my head to his. And this kiss. This kiss.
Wow.
His lips caressed mine, then pushed open my mouth. Without wasting a moment, his tongue slid in with confidence. Our previous kisses had been amazing, but this one…
He kissed me like he’d been doing it every day of his adult life. Our tongues tangled and writhed, and my blood pressure shot up about a hundred points. I was hot everywhere. Arousal blossomed wet and scalding in my center, radiating outward with each movement of his mouth, each swish of his delicious tongue. He was quickly, coolly enslaving me.
Despite the fact that he just told me he didn’t want to be touched, I chanced that he might have changed his mind. I leaned forward, putting my hands against his chest, rubbing them down his front. His chest was hard, solid, strong—a blacksmith’s chest. I continued to touch him firmly like I knew he preferred.
Suddenly, I felt his hand slide against my belly, stroking with that same deep pressure. My stomach somersaulted and I sat up in front of him so we were facing each other, my legs across his thighs.
He was still kissing me, his tongue exploring my mouth with the intrepidity of an astronaut on a new world, more driven by the urge to experience new things than held back by the need for safety.
As his hand continued to stroke my stomach, I noticed that each time it inched closer to the bottom of my bra before lowering again. I ran my hands shamelessly over his nipples, rubbing them through his shirt, and was rewarded with his quickening breath.
I yanked my mouth from his and began kissing his rough jaw, then his throat, all the way down to the neckline of his shirt before kissing back up again. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath my lips and his hands slid over my shoulder blades, holding me fast against him.
“Wil,” I breathed. He didn’t answer but continued kissing his way across my jaw to my ear, then taking my lobe into his mouth and lovingly caressing it with his tongue. “Touch me…touch my chest.” My voice sounded shaky with my desire.
His hands on my back froze and his mouth found its way back to mine. We kissed again and his hand cupped my breast. Immediately, my nipple hardened under his touch. His palm rubbed against the already sensitive nub, sending shocks of heat from my breast clear down to my center, tightening that desire to a laser-thin focus.
“Wil,” I whispered between follow-up kisses.
“Yes?” he said.
“I have another breast. And you have another hand.”
I didn’t have to tell him twice. His other hand slid around my body and began to lavish attention on the neglected breast. When he rolled both his thumbs over my nipples, my back arched, pushing my chest harder against his hands. Every nerve ending in my body was pulled so taut you could play a melody off them like a bow dragging across the strings of a violin.
I needed to feel the heat of his body next to mine—that heavenly feeling of skin on skin. My hands dropped to his waist, slid under his T-shirt and across his flat stomach. His eyes snapped shut and his hands froze. I wasn’t sure if this would be the point where he’d pull back, so I pressed my advantage.
“Take your shirt off.”
He opened his eyes, looking again at my mouth, and his hands left my breasts long enough to tug on the neck of his shirt and pull it up over his head.
That didn’t take much coaxing.
I smiled, pleased at being one layer of clothing closer to the goal. “Now—”
But he was already reaching for my shirt, pulling it at the neck. I moved his hands to the bottom hem of the shirt instead.