He nuzzles my skin, his face so low he's pretty much in child's pose, and presses his lips against my ankle. Tiny kisses up to my calf. I exhale slowly and deflate into the couch cushions. I yield.
Wait, is that what I'm doing?
Am I giving in?
No, a second ago I was grabbing him, asserting my dominance, taking control.
Now I'm letting him prove himself to me. That's what this is.
He begged and now I'm showing him mercy, allowing him to worship me like a goddess.
A strange little tingle runs up my spine at the thought, but at the same time, I have to rein in the sarcastic voice that wants to pipe up in my head to question my sanity.
Derek has pushed my skirt up to my thighs by now. His breath is hot on the soft flesh there, so close to the line of my panties, sending a spike of desire through me. My toes curl inside my sneakers and it occurs to me, faintly, that Derek didn't reprimand me for not taking them off when I entered the apartment. I can't remember the last time this didn't immediately irritate him.
*You know he's different,* the insidious little voice in my head whispers, *do you like him better like this? And what does that say about you?*
I shut those thoughts down as Derek kisses and nibbles along my inner thigh. I squeeze my eyes closed until I see spots of brightness dance in the dark and bite my lip. I am tense and hot and shamefully aroused by the prospect of what's about to happen. Will I regret this? Maybe. Does that mean I'll put a stop to it? No.
Future-Skye can deal with present-Skye's moral failings, she'll figure something out.
My fingers card through Derek's hair as his breath gusts through the thin fabric of my panties.
His lips press a lingering kiss just above the edge of the waistband, and my breath catches. My grip on his hair tightens, pulling him closer, silently begging for more even as conflicting thoughts tumble through my mind. The heat pooling low in my belly drowns out the faint, reasonable voice trying to remind me how messy I've let this situation become, how wrong it could go.
Derek looks up at me from where he's kneeling, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and the smoldering fire in his gaze is almost too much to bear. He could be kneeling in front of an altar, some medieval shrine where human sacrifices are made. The thought sends another ripple of unease through me, but it's drowned out by the thrill of it, the way his lips skim over my skin as though he's waiting for my judgment.
"I missed you so much," he murmurs against my thigh. "I don't know how to live even a minute without you, Skye. I don't want to anymore. Whenever you leave, it's like all the oxygen is gone."
I can't respond; I don't feel like there is anything I can say to him. Instead, I tug gently at his hair, guiding him back up toward where I really want him, and his hands slide up my thighs.
"Derek..." My voice comes out breathy, barely audible, but it's enough. He moves, his lips trailing higher, his hands going to the waistband where they come to a rest as he cast a look up at me, asking permission without speaking.
Once again I wonder if I should stop him. Not because I don't want this—because I do, I do—but because of the way his hands tremble slightly as if I am a goddess that could smite him as easily and quickly as I could crush a bug.
But then his mouth finds the place where fabric meets skin, and every coherent thought I had evaporates in an instant. My back arches slightly, and I bite down on a moan, my fingers clutching at his hair, the familiar texture a welcome lifeline and reminder that this is real and he is mine.
Derek pulls my panties down slowly, this random pair of black cotton hipsters, practical, cheap and deeply unsexy. He takes his time, gaze flicking up to me, his movements deliberate, and the tension in my body builds to an unbearable height. I can't tell if it's the way he touches me or the way he looks at me—like I'm both the storm and the shelter—but I feel like I'm unraveling under his hands, all my doubts and worries evaporating in the heat of the moment.
He peels it all away and buries his face between my thighs.
I gasp. The sensations are overwhelming, threading into my nervous system, setting it on fire. All I am is where he touches me; the rest of my body might as well not exist. When did he get so good at this? So eager?
I try to push the questions away, to focus on the moment, but they linger, gnawing at the edges of my desire-flooded mind. Why can I never fully shut off my inner doubts and nagging? Is this who I am at my core? An insecure, anxious wimp?
Derek licks and nibbles and while the sensations are definitely there, the wet, slobbering noises invade my thoughts. Instead of succumbing to the feeling, my treacherous brain latches onto them and when I hear myself moan in response, even I'm not convinced. I sound fake to my own ears.
I'm too in my head and so I tug on Derek's hair and shift my thighs, signalling for him to give me a break.
When Derek finally pulls back and looks up at me, his face flushed and his lips slightly swollen and glazed with saliva and, frankly, me, I see a flicker of confusion in his eyes—so brief I'm not sure it was even there before he blinks and it's gone.
"I love you," he says and licks his lips as if the wetness on them is his favorite flavor of ice cream, like he can't get enough. "Everything about you."
I cup his face in my hands, brushing my thumb over the stubble on his jaw, and he leans into my palm like a touch-starved shelter dog. "Derek," I start, unsure of what I even want to say. "Maybe this is going too fast?" Phrasing it as a question and not a statement is not a power-goddess move, but my pounding heart doesn't allow me to think clearly. I don't want to lose him, I'm frustrated with myself for being a big fat wimp.
"No." His hands grip my hips tightly as he presses his forehead to my stomach. "Please, Skye, don't say that. I need you so much. I've messed up, but I'll be better. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." He kisses my belly button, then looks up at me with big puppy eyes. "Anything, you know that. Whatever it takes."
"Anything?" I search his eyes for hints of deception or even just apprehension, but there's only fierce determination.
"I'm serious. Anything you want, I'll do it. Just name it."
"You have Emily's number in your phone, right?" I hear myself say, my heart doing double-time in my chest. I have no idea where I'm going with this, but there's a sick thrill running through me. All of a sudden, I feel powerful again.
Derek's eyes widen a fraction. For a second, he looks like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.
"I'll delete it! I'm so sorry! I should've--" Rushing to reassure me, he's all but tripping over his tongue.
"No," I interrupt him, my skin tingling as I wind my fingers into his hair again. He's still kneeling between my legs. "I don't want you to delete it yet. I want you to call her first. Right now."