Aisling Weaver is kind enough to post prompts every Friday on her site. Just for fun I thought I’d give it a go.
I used to hate when he would pin me down. It felt too vulnerable, too weak, and I would stiffen up. And not in the way that he’d intended.
He was just affectionate, I reminded myself. Tactile. He liked to wrestle, and nothing turned him on more than when we ran around together on the rugby field, pretending to just be friends while we worked up a sweat.
The way he’d fuck me when we got home on days like that…
“Hey, where’d you go?” he asked, there on top of me, his cock against mine, his face so close that I could feel him breathe. I could count the pores on his nose and the see the texture of his irises.
I could feel his hands on my shoulders. His knees on my thighs.
Suddenly, all the thoughts of his body, sweaty after a game, retreated again to the other thoughts. The bad ones.
I could feel other hands. They hurt.
It was just a flash. A memory. Something I had gotten past. Or at least that’s what I told myself.
I forced myself back to the here and now, to lying on my bed beneath my lover instead of helpless in a field.
“Nowhere,” I croaked, forcing a smile as I focused on his eyes. I felt like I might vomit. “I’m right here.”
“No you’re not,” he insisted, one hand letting my arm go, and I felt blood rush back to the skin there. Tenderly, he touched the side of my face, leaning down to kiss my lips. I couldn’t quite bring myself to open them, just like I’d never managed to open up in other ways. To tell him what it reminded me of when he held me down this way instead of gritting my teeth and waiting for him to let me go.
Still, the kisses came, soft, sweet ones all along the corners of my mouth and up my cheeks. Remembering the difference between then and now, my body began to relax, my free hand coming up to touch his where it was still heavy on my bicep.
“Let go,” I whispered.
“I will.” He nodded and pressed his lips to just below my ear. “Someday, I hope you do, too.”