Yesterday, I’d walk up a few stairs every so many hours, preparing to enter her room unannounced and speak with her. Then I’d chicken out. I didn’t know what to say. I said all my truths the other nights.
Seeing her nearly naked before me did something to me. It was more than carnal lust coursing through my veins, but a need to show her that she is beautiful. Her body. Her mind. I want to prove to her heart and soul that she’s incredible and baring herself to me was too much. It’s as if she was begging me to accept her while daring me to look away, and I did it. I walked away because there was no way I could touch her tenderly and not want to possess her completely.
And she can’t handle my touch. The kiss to her scars proves it.
“I’m watching the beginning of the State game.”
“Football?” she questions.
“This is a religion,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “Go Green.”
She looks back at me.
“You’re supposed to say Go White.”
She continues to stare at me.
“You didn’t go to college, right? But didn’t you ever go to a football game?”
Ella tweaks a brow and shakes her head.
“Sacrilege. Today, you football.”
Her brows twitch, but a smile curls her lips. I might have hurt her feelings by walking away the other night, but I’d have hurt her more if I stayed. She’d never forgive me because she isn’t ready. Until she lets me at those scars and accepts that I’m not going to hurt her, we can’t go further than kissing.
And I miss kissing her.
“I’m making chili. Want to help?” I reach into the lower cabinet for a large pot. “Do you know how to use a knife for anything other than stabbing innocent cookies?
“Very funny,” she mocks, putting her hands on her hips. She wears leggings again today with a long loose sweater with a low-neck collar. Her hair is down, just how I like it, but she’s twisting it into a knot near her nape as she steps up to the island.
“Your choice. Peppers or onions?”
“I guess peppers,” she says. I flip a knife in my hand and hold out the handle to her. I extend it to her and then tug it back. “You aren’t going to stab me with it, right?”
“No, Ethan,” she says, softening her voice, and I hand over the chopping tool. We work in silence. It’s nice to have someone in the kitchen with me. I put the game on my laptop while I prepped. By half-time, the chili should be ready, and I planned to eat it before the flat screen in the living room. My eyes drift to Ella, and I notice she’s making a hack of things.
“Here,” I state, coming up behind her. She freezes, and I remember one of her rules—no sneaking up behind her.
“Shit.” I immediately step away, coming to her side, and holding up my hands. “I forgot.” My voice falls, and I feel the tension rising.
Shit, shit, shit.
“It’s okay,” she says, keeping her eyes lowered to the green pepper before her. “Show me what you were going to do.”
“I wanted to help you with a technique for chopping.”
Giving me a half smile, she tips her head with permission. “Step behind me.”
Suddenly, I’m the anxious one because I don’t want to freak her out or do anything to scare her. I place my hands on her shoulders so she can take a minute to feel my presence behind her. Drawing in a deep breath myself, she follows suit. After two more deep inhales, I slip my hands down her sweater-covered arms and place my palms over the back of her hands. She leans into me, which I didn’t expect, so I press her forward with the tilt of my hips. Her breath hitches, but her ass pushes back at me.
Dammit. I’m instantly hard.
“The best way to chop something…” I begin. Keeping one hand over hers, I maneuver the knife. “…is to gently rock the knife. Slide the pepper forward. Ease into the cut. Find a rhythm, like this.”
Our collective hands move together.
“Down, up. Down, up.” I repeat the motion with my instruction, finding the movement sensual. My voice drops as my cheek comes closer to hers. My head is on the right side of her body as we’re both right-handed. “That’s it, princess.”
I rock my hips forward.
She presses back with her ass.
Then she releases the knife and spins to face me. My body hardly moves, and I flatten both my palms on the island, trapping her between myself and the countertop. She stands before me, chest heaving. Her breasts rub against my State T-shirt.
“Ella,” I groan, finding it hard to keep my body off hers. She grips the collar of my shirt and turns her head, giving me her cheek.
“Please,” she whisper-begs. I press off the counter. My hands delve into her hair despite the knot at her nape, and my lips lower for the scar. With slow, measured kisses, I press at the puckered skin.
Down, up. Down, up. Down, up. The pace matches the rhythm of my hips as I methodically rock against her. I’m so hard. This is what she does to me, but I don’t want to make her come. Not yet. I want to assure her that she does not repulse me. I’m not going to reject her, which is what she thought the other night. I want her to accept my kisses.
Working down the scar, I move along her jaw and against her neck. I tug the loose collar of her sweater to the side, revealing as much skin as I can. It isn’t enough. I’ve seen her naked. I know how far this trail leads. Leaning back, I push up the sweater and lower my face to kiss every cut, every gash. My lips move down to the edge of her bra.
Ella stiffens, and I lift my head, standing back upright to my full height. I’m staring into her eyes when she speaks.
“I’m trying,” she whispers. “I want this. With you.”
I continue to read her as best I can. Fear and desire clash with genuine longing in those green orbs.
Patience, Mum had said. I can give Ella that.
I nod to accept her decision and place my hand back on her neck, ready to bring her in for another kiss when the oven timer goes off.
The reality of our position hits me.
The timer’s buzzing. The ground beef’s sizzling. I’m rock hard, and Ella laughs.
She freaking laughs. It’s better than anything. My mouth crashes hers, wanting to swallow that sound, wanting to taste it at the back of my throat. She chuckles against me, cupping my face.
“Maybe we should slow down a second and finish the meat.”
“I have meat for you to finish,” I say, before catching myself.
“Is everything with you about sex?” she asks, a chuckle still on her lips.
“This was not about sex,” I answer, my tone more serious. “So, it’s not.” For the first time ever, I want this to be more than sex.
Her hands continue to stroke along my jaw, fingertips scraping at the scruff that needs a trim.
“I like this on you,” she states of the thicker facial hair.
“I like you,” I state, unable to help myself, and I give her one more quick kiss before returning to our lunch preparations.
+ + +
“I do not understand the rules of this game,” Ella grumbles next to me as we sit on the couch, bellies full from the chili and all the toppings of sour cream, cheddar cheese, and lots of salty corn chips.