CHAPTER488
I yawn as I wander from the elevator into Arrick’s apartment, covering my mouth and dropping my oversized school bag on the floor by his coat rack in the entrance come dumping ground, for shoes. His jacket and sneakers are already there, and I can hear the soft strumming of a guitar as I wander around the little wall that conceals the elevator from his lounge area.
He is sat on the couch strumming his acoustic guitar, oblivious to my arrival and I stop and watch him for a moment with a huge smile splaying across my face. It’s been eons since he played his guitar and I reminisce warmly over how many times he has played to me. A little shiver of joy that the boy I loved is making a slow comeback. He looks amazingly sexy with it on his lap, strumming it while concentrating so hard on what he’s doing. He looks so at peace and not a single expression on that calm beautiful face.
It has been over three weeks of dating him and we are getting into a routine slowly, going out together, having fun and spending more nights together than apart. I left my friends from our Friday dinner and caught a cab here to wait for him as planned, but he has beaten me home after drinks with his own friends at a nearby bar. Sometimes we still do things apart, I still feel like I should be holding something back a little, not quite ready to fully throw myself at his mercy again, and he doesn’t complain when I ask for a night to do my own thing. Obviously, he still understands where I am at.
I slide off my flat pumps and discard my cardigan with my jacket, moving across to come upon him from behind so he won’t see me until I run my fingers over those large shoulders that just scream to be touched. These past weeks I’ve been braver about exploring that body when I cuddle up to him and discovered he has no boundaries in where he lets my hands roam. As long as it’s not down into his pants of course, which he is making sure is off-limits and things stay unheated.
Arrick pauses, looking up and seeing me smiling down at him, catches my face as I lean over and gives me an upside-down kiss, crazily molding our mouths and managing a very erotic bit of lip sucking that makes me giggle. I run my fingers over his face as I pull away and push my hair back behind my ears.
“Hey, beautiful.” He goes back to his guitar, pulling it back onto his lap as I come around and sit beside him, curling my legs under me in my dress so I can get comfortable to listen. I loved nothing more than watching him play in my teens and cannot express the happiness at seeing him back to this after two years of putting it away because of Tasha. I get a little mental high five at the fact he is back to playing again. A sign that he is happier, more relaxed in his own skin like he used to be.
“Sing for me.” I urge him, smiling softly when he glances my way; all awkwardness I felt at the beginning of starting this relationship has fully dispersed in the last few weeks and too feel more like I used too, able to be myself around him for the most part, even with the silly squabbles and disagreements that mean nothing. We still have those, yet they are never about anything serious or important.
“What do you want me to sing for you?” He strums a few notes as he tunes his guitar again, while I think back to all the songs he used to play well and suited his husky voice.
“The Creep, by Radiohead.” I sigh at him, memories of that song one night, two years ago when we were snowed in at a skiing lodge with no power and only warm beer and friends to get through the night. Arrick played this song to me when most were almost asleep or chilling by the log fire. I was haunted by the memory of how perfect that moment was for a long time after. Arrick smiles down at his guitar as though reliving the same memory, looking my way for a moment.
“I almost kissed you that night. I remember looking at you after this song and thinking how much I wanted to kiss you. Moving in close without even thinking about it and telling myself I was drunk and being an idiot.” He frowns as he strums another couple of notes, eyes still on me and looking at me like he very much wants to kiss me now. All his subtle little tells showing and eyes all hazy.
“You never told me that before.” I tilt my head to one side and regard him as he starts to play softly on his guitar, moving into that familiar pose, hunched over and tapping his foot in time as he strums the tune of Radiohead’s “Creep” gently.
“Guess I put it down to a moment of stupidity, I tried to play it off as being alcohol-driven.” He shrugs nonchalantly and carries on regardless. Smiling as he looks down at the strings and then back at me.
“I remember you moving in close and moving hair from my face, I didn’t think you would ever kiss me again, so I never thought that’s what you were doing.” I replay the moment, seeing it differently now I know what he had meant to do, and it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
“I don’t remember kissing you before that; I know you told me I did. I guess it’s true what they say about being drunk. Your real feelings come through when you let your guard down, and it seems I have a habit of kissing you when under the influence, or at least thinking about it.” Arrick slides his guitar off over his head, much to my disappointment, but only moves it to one side slightly so he can lean into me and kiss me fully on the mouth. Softly at first and then moving in against my face and deepening it to an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue finding mine as passion spikes. Clearly reliving his memory but finishing it with a new ending and I’m not complaining; his kisses are always divine and have my toes curling no matter how many times he does it. I’ve lost count over the past three weeks, sometimes it’s a haze of being kissed by him endlessly and this one is another five-star butterfly maker. His hand traces my jawline and down my throat tenderly, erupting a million tiny sensations across my skin.
Arrick has avoided letting our make-out sessions get beyond this level of passion for the last couple of weeks, always aware of taking things too far and it is starting to get to me. Not sure if I am ready to get more physical, but his lack of pushing any boundaries is making certain that I will never know unless we try. He is being tender, cautious even, and infuriatingly gentleman like.
When I’ve tried to heat things up he breaks off and separates us, cooling it all back down right away. A part of me loves the fact that he is this considerate, and this is just his way of respecting me, taking care of me, but on the other hand, I want to feel whole, and capable of having a normal relationship. Part of me is afraid that he’ll get so used to this weird something, stuck between platonic and not, and we will never move further. I want the whole package; I want to feel like I did in the first moments of that night when he brought my body to new heights of pleasure.
Like every other time, when blood starts to warm up and kisses become breathless and frenzied, he breaks free, letting me loose and pulls his guitar back between us, back to strumming softly and calming himself down with a little space. I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling while listening to him, knowing it’s pointless getting upset about it, even if it irks me. He’s only being the guy I love. He’s only thinking about what taking it further can do to me and I can’t be mad at him for that. His protectiveness is one of his most endearing traits.
He hasn’t settled on a song yet and still seems to be tuning his guitar. The alcohol I consumed at dinner with Christian and Jenny is making me sleepy and emotional, and when his phone starts ringing, I tense.
I’m not sure who it is, he takes calls and texts from his family and friends all the time, but my gut says it’s Natasha. The woman has texted and called sporadically over the last couple of weeks; tearful long drawn out sobbing conversations and hour-long texts begging him to go see her. He hasn’t, but he tries to placate her, soothe her tears, and generally tries to get her off his phone without being cruel.
It drives me crazy and is the one thing I am not honest and open about to him. I sulk, I pout and push him away when she calls, and we have had minor squabbles about it in which I always say I am fine and no it’s not upsetting me, that I’m being an ass for the sake of it. He just seems to think it irritates me a little, rather than the fact it shreds my insides to fucking pieces when I know he is still connected to her in some way."
