Chapter Text
[the green in your eyes like the leaves in the summer / makes me love you even more]
/
1
the first time you kiss her the room is spinning. you’re in kelley o’hara’s kitchen in los angeles, this dingy little apartment she’s renting for the month. you’re drunk, and christen’s drunk, and you’re both young and you’ve kissed lots of girls and you’ve met christen just a few times. you understand that she’s beautiful, have understood for years—but it’s different when she’s here, laughing at some dumb joke some boy said, touching the inside of his arm.
she’s not yours, never has been anything close, but you introduce yourself and she rolls her eyes because she’s known you for a while, but you smile and she smiles, and then she’s complaining, slurring a little and leaning close to you—telling you that her goal in the ncaa final wasn’t offside and you won by a fluke; that she’s still a little bitter, and you’re pretty sure she’s kidding but there’s a little pain in her eyes and you really don’t like the way your chest aches at it.
you’re drunk, and she’s beautiful and close and young—and so are you—so you square up and grin— ‘wanna kiss and make up?’
her brows knit together for a moment, and your stomach bottoms out in mortification, but then she seems to settle into herself a little. she leans forward and her left hand rests at your hip and she kisses you, right there, just like that.
she tastes like vodka cranberry and the room spins and you touch the back of her neck, beneath her braids.
you kiss for a while, until kelley comes in whooping in drunk joy when she sees you. you break apart, and christen laughs, and it’s nothing; she’s your friend, and it’s nothing.
/
2
the second time: it’s quick; a hello on the cheek when you get to the bar after a day at camp. she smells like coconut and vanilla and lavender and her lips are soft. you think about it for a long time: the warmth, even as the night grows cold.
/
3
you find out for sure that christen likes girls over breakfast at camp one day, because she says it, just like that—‘yeah, i like girls’—while you’re at the same table as pinoe and ash and they all start to laugh, declare it ‘the gay table’ even as christen tries to say that you should expand your label to be more inclusive; this only makes pinoe laugh harder and her smile is big and bright. they shoo away alex when she comes and tries to sit next to you, causing even more laughter. you feel some of the long-ago shame bubble up inside you, but you smile too, blame it on the lack of coffee, feel out of place and confused and not enough—not proud enough, not holy enough, all at once. pinoe kisses christen’s cheek dramatically and so she laughs and kisses yours, and it doesn’t solve anything; it isn’t a prayer of absolution, isn’t falling in love so big you don’t care—but it makes you laugh. you lean over and kiss ash’s cheek the same way and she grins, wraps an arm around your shoulders. ‘thanks, toby,’ she says, and you roll your eyes at the nickname and settle into yourself a little more, pinoe’s proud grin and christen’s relaxed shoulders easing the ache in your chest.
/
4
you win a gold medal; your second, which seems unbelievable until christen hugs you tight. you know it had hurt her to be an alternate, that it hadn’t made sense—to you either, because she’s ruthless and elegant and mindblowingly fast. but her smile is so big, her eyes crinkled in joy; she kisses your collarbone, a little randomly, glancing, as people cheer all around you all over again. your medal is heavy; real.
/
5
it’s freezing in paris, even worse in sweden. you’ve been talking more, texting all day and skyping at night. it’s easy to be around her, even virtually: she’s so calm, so kind, so certain about things. you walk out onto your balcony when you see it’s snowing, delighted. it’s late, and shirley is asleep in your bed, and christen is your friend. she’s beautiful, and she’s queer, and you love her—sure. your girlfriend is in your bed and christen is in another country—but she walks outside, the small patio at the back of her little house in sweden, to be in the snow with you; even though she’s freezing, even though she must hate it.
‘it’s beautiful,’ you say, and you mean the hush of the city and the dimmed lights and the warmth from the cracked door; you think you also mean her.
‘yeah,’ she says. ‘i’ll admit it.’
you laugh. ‘controversial words.’
she rolls her eyes, then you see her check the screen of her computer. ‘shit,’ she says, ‘sorry, tobes. my computer’s on 2% battery. i don’t know why, i think i need to take it into the store.’
‘that’s okay,’ you say. ‘it’s late anyway.’
she frowns. ‘sorry.’
‘chris,’ you say, try to hate how tender you feel— ‘it’s really okay. please don’t apologize.’
she sighs. ‘it’s just nice to talk to you, is all.’
‘yeah,’ you say. ‘but we have tomorrow. and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after th—‘
‘okay, okay,’ she says, laughing. ‘talk to you tomorrow, then.’
‘alright,’ you say, take one last look at her, snowflakes catching on her curls, wild and soft. ‘sweet dreams. love you, chris.’
she grins, brings her hand to her mouth and blows you a kiss. ‘love you too tobin. sleep well.’
you end the call immediately, try to ignore the furious beat of your heart or how cold your hands are. you close your computer, slide into bed behind your girlfriend.
‘everything okay?’ she asks, mostly asleep.
‘yeah,’ you tell her, willing it to be true; willing yourself to be honest, and faithful, and brave. ‘everything’s okay.’
/
6
she’s one of your best friends, by now. maybe your best friend, if you’re being honest, sometimes; you have alex and allie and cheney and arod and kelley and you have your sisters, but they’re usually loud and full of energy and they always want to do things.
which is fine, usually you love that and it’s always been simple for you to go with the flow, but being with christen, talking to her about everything, quiet in the middle of the night when you’ve both gotten to camp and you’re jetlagged and always convincing her to sneak out to the nearest field so you can play together; barefoot with one shitty stadium light flickering over the goal—it feels a little like church, or praying, or watching the sunrise over the ocean.
‘how’s sweden?’ you ask, trying to take stock of her, this new person that you relearn every few months, the same person you’ve known for years.
she frowns; it’s late. ‘good.’
‘you look thrilled about it.’
she rolls her eyes, lines up and hits an absolute brace into the upper left 90. ‘it’s just—i felt so settled there. renewed. like, no one can watch me play, or judge me, and it’s just football. but when i come back to camps, i just—‘ she shrugs, hits another perfect ball into the back of the net. ‘do you ever worry you’re not good enough?’
‘at soccer?’ you ask, fish the balls out from the net and start juggling one. ’no.’
she makes a little noise of disbelief.
‘but at literally everything else?’ you flick the ball up, catch it on the back of your neck, let it roll down your arm until you catch it on your foot again. ‘yeah. i’m pretty sure i’m only good at soccer.’
‘that’s not true at all,’ christen says, quickly, her shoulders straightening.
you’re not self conscious; you’re too tired and you know her too well, but you’re a little embarrassed. ‘okay, well,’ you say, ‘you’re genuinely smart, like actually, and you’re good with people even though you claim to not like them, and you’re—‘
you’re flustered; you fumble the ball, and christen looks a little startled.
‘what?’
‘you’re just—‘ you sigh, plop down next to where christen has sat by the goalpost; your heart is pounding in your chest but you just grin, roll the ball between her hands. ‘you have to know you’re beautiful, right? like, really actual model beautiful.’
‘oh.’
‘there’s no way all the boys in sweden don’t tell you that all the time.’
she shoves your shoulder.
‘you must love a whole country of lanky blonde extremely white people.’
she laughs and finally looks at you.
‘the girls there aren’t half bad,’ she says, and a thrill of something like jealousy—that you will never allow yourself to name as such—shoots down your spine, even though you have no right.
‘you’re killin me, chris.’
she laughs, takes your hand and laces your fingers together, lying back in the grass.
‘thanks for coming with me tonight.’
‘i was gonna come here anyway,’ you say, because she’s so soft and so close.
‘okay.’
you’re sleep deprived and when the world is just football and christen, everything makes sense; it makes you feel brave: ‘sometimes it feels like what i want most in the world, when i see you, is to make sure you’re happy.’
‘tobin.’
you shrug. ‘i’ve just always felt like that. i don’t know why. you’re just—you’re you, chris. you deserve to be happy.’ she looks like she’s about to start crying so you squeeze her hand with a little laugh. ‘i’ve been bad at my job because you’re clearly miserable frequently,’ you say, then stand up, but it’s teasing and she throws the ball at you and you scream like you’re terrified of it, taking off across the field—just to make her laugh.
eventually, you walk back to the hotel together, bone tired and finally ready to sleep. you walk her to her room, then say, ‘i’m gonna keep trying,’ when she wraps you in a hug, kisses your shoulder. ‘one day, i’m gonna get it right.’
she swallows, doesn’t break your embrace, whispers, ‘one day i think you will.’
you smile, back up and do a stupid little spin trick down the hall before turning back to her. ‘night, chris.’
‘sleep well, tobin.’
/
7
you wake up early one morning to pee and you hear her crying. you don’t ask what it’s about: moving back to the states, camp, someone she likes—you know she has anxiety and depression because she’s told you that and, so, you don’t ask.
you’re half asleep but you just get into bed behind her, hesitantly, until she grabs your arm and pulls you toward her, snuggles back against your chest.
it’s instinct, maybe, or fate or love or god—the way she fits. you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply, in your nose for a count of seven; hold it for four; let it out through your mouth for eight, just like she’d taught you. eventually her ragged breaths even out, sync up with yours. you’re both in shorts and t-shirts, and you try not to pay attention to how soft the skin of her legs is, how her shirt has ridden up and you can feel the jut of her hip against your hand.
you don’t say anything, just wait until her breathing has evened out and then kiss the back of her neck, just once: penance and worship. she doesn’t stir.
/
8
it’s her first time visiting you in portand and you had agonized over the furniture filling your apartment. her place in chicago is so nice: grown up, clean, bright and full of soft touches of character; you’ve never known how to be like that. you’d facetimed your sister from west elm and alex had helped you set everything up where she thought it made sense. it’s kind of sparse but it’s the first time you’ve ever had a home that’s just yours that you think you’re really going to stay in.
it’s not home yet, not really, but christen smiles so wide when she sees it, and her fingers flit over the spines of a few books you have—mostly ones she’s told you to read—and then your camera; she picks up a candle and smells it, closes her eyes.
you love your girlfriend, you do. it’s just, more and more, you think you love christen too. you always have, from the moment you met through kelley, but it’s changing, growing deeper, more rooted in want and dreams and sometimes when you touch your girlfriend you think of green eyes and it hollows you out in the middle.
‘this is beautiful, tobes.’
‘yeah?’ you check, your voice rough.
she kisses the tip of your nose, grinning, a silly, happy gesture. ‘yeah.’
‘a home, you think?’
she puts the candle down, squeezes your arm. ‘yeah,’ she says. ‘i do.’
/
9
absentmindedly, you kiss the inside of her wrist when she sits down beside you on her couch and offers you the bowl of popcorn.
/
10
‘i can’t believe i let you talk me into this,’ she grumbles, sitting on the exam room table, holding an ice pack to her forehead.
‘it’s new york city!’ you argue, trying your hardest not to laugh at her extreme pout. ‘it’s tradition.’
she rolls her eyes, then groans. ‘i can’t believe i could have a concussion. we spend our whole careers trying to avoid them and here i am, in an er because i went ice skating with you, even when i knew it was a bad idea.’
‘i’m sorry, chris.’
‘you don’t look very sorry.’
you’re sure you don’t, because she’s so cute, still bundled in her scarf despite the fact that you’re inside.
she sighs, about to go on another rant because she’s cranky and definitely in pain; there’s a purple bruise swelling just above her eyebrow. but then the doctor comes in, talks you through the steps of what to look out for to make sure she doesn’t have any complications; her x ray is fine and she doesn’t have any symptoms of concussion, but you just wanted to be sure.
you take care of the discharge papers and make your way back to your hotel. she’s sleepy in the cab, from the cold and from the small amount of pain medication they’d given her; you wrap your arm around her and she rests her head against your shoulder. you lean down and kiss her bruise, very, very gently, and she takes your hand.
/
[i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me / it’s quite all right to hate me now / we both know that deep down the feeling’s still, deep down it’s good]
/
11
it takes you out, the way her eyes are red-rimmed from crying and how you feel like you can’t breathe.
‘i don’t want to ruin our friendship,’ she says, quietly.
but you’re still a little stuck. ‘you love me?’
she lets a big breath out, slowly, then nods.
‘me?’
‘yes.’
‘i have a girlfriend.’
her jaw clenches and her face gets stormy before she smooths it over, clearly something that you’ve missed her do over the past months, because apparently she’s had feelings for you for a while and you had no idea.
‘i’m sorry, chris, i just—‘
she nods. ‘yeah.’
you love her more; you love her more than anything, sometimes, you think: football and god and family and somehow she’s all of them, all wrapped up into one. ‘i’m sorry.’
she’s crying now, in front of you, and it breaks your heart; you’re heading into a world cup this year, and you have a girlfriend, and you never thought christen—christen press—would think of you like this.
you want to say it back: i love you too, i love you so much, i’ve been in love with you since the moment we met, but you can’t. not now. not like this.
you hug her to you, even though she tries to resist for a split second. you feel one sob wreck its way through her frame and you have never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as you want to kiss her; you brush your lips over the corner of her mouth and it only makes her cry harder.
‘i gotta go,’ she gets out, roughly, and you know she’s not yours to ask to stay.
/
12
things aren’t the same, after that; how could they be? you feel so awkward and so guilty, all the time. you pray about it, and one day you end up falling asleep in the same bed, even though you’re not supposed to: an unspoken rule now.
christen is up watching an episode of grey’s anatomy and you put your head in her lap without thinking, like you’ve done for years now. she cards her fingers through your hair and you’re falling asleep almost immediately; it always works like this, and she always knows when you need it. she kisses your forehead and you think this, this is all i want as you fall asleep.
/
13
your chest burns when you see christen post a picture on instagram of her and her friend; her high school boyfriend, and she’s smiling at him like—
you take a deep breath and scrunch your eyes closed and try not to feel it—
she’s smiling at him like she smiles at you.
she texts you, a little while later: how are you? miss you
you’re being petty and immature and unfair but you can’t help it: fine. have a good time with nima. you send back.
you see the three little bubbles pop up a few times, then nothing. you grant her this.
a few days later she kisses you on the cheek when she says hello at camp. she’s a grown woman and she is not yours.
‘hey, chris,’ you say, gently, and she smiles, and it feels like all is forgiven.
/
14
you dream of her in flashes: her fingernails down your back; her eyes skewed shut; the tremble of her thighs; kissing down her stomach and the way she’d taste: like the ocean, like july—endless.
/
15
you break up with your girlfriend and she cries and you feel gutted; you know you haven’t cheated physically but you’re pretty sure you’ve been cheating emotionally the entire time, in some ways at least. when you explain everything to shirley it feels like the most cowardly you’ve ever been.
and then you room with christen, with her neurotically neat suitcase and her tiny sleep shorts and her news podcasts and her coconut body oil—and you avoid really thinking about all of these things because you have a world cup to win.
but then: you do, and it feels like the sky breaks open when the final whistle blows. in the chaos of the locker room later, she laces your fingers, kisses the top of your hand.
/
16
it’s your 100th cap, and she can tell you’re nervous before the game because you can’t stop fidgeting and it’s usually bad—it’s always been hard for you to sit still—but then you blurt out, ‘do you want to come to my celebration dinner?’
she smiles, squeezes your hand, kisses your shoulder. ‘your family loves me more than you, you know.’
you laugh. ‘oh, i know.’
‘i’d love to come, tobin.’
‘cool,’ you say, squeeze her hand back.
‘and,’ she says, smiles, ‘i’m really proud of you.’
you blush and look away and it’s insane to you that you’ve played for this team 100 times; the biggest dream come true, because you love football and it’s what you’ve always wanted.
you realize, with a lot of clarity in that moment—now, maybe, you want something more.
/
[i remember the time you told me / love is touching souls / well surely you touched mine / i could drink a case of you, darling / & i would still be on my feet]
/
17
the dogs run off a little near the outcropping of a small patch of grass along the dirt path, and you’re trying not to breathe hard after running up the switchback, because christen doesn’t seem winded at all, but she turns to you with a grin.
‘i’m one of the best football players in the world,’ you argue feebly.
‘you’re slow,’ she says, very matter of fact.
‘no,’ you say, put your arms above your head to prevent a side stitch. ‘you’re just fast.’
she grins. ‘excuse me, i need that on video.’
‘no chance in hell, christen.’
she laughs delightedly, and your heart swells because you did that; you made her happy.
‘i’ll never admit defeat.’
she rolls her eyes and bumps your hip, then stays close to you. you’d spent the last few days in los angeles, there’s a victory tour game coming up and your friends are here, but she’d stayed with her parents and asked you if you wanted to and you’d said yes. you’d slept in her childhood bedroom in her childhood bed, tangled together each morning, and snuck onto the roof with a very expensive bottle of wine she’d taken from her parents’ wine fridge and you feel young, all over again.
you lean into her further, and she’s just in a sports bra and leggings and you wish you’d just worn a sports bra too instead of the tshirt that you’re sweating through.
christen turns to face you, and she’s so close, and her grin changes into a soft, small smile, one only for you; one you’ve known for years now. the sun is setting over the ocean below the cliffs, bursts of orange and gold, turning the teal water more colors than you would’ve imagined. she told you this spot in palos verdes was her favorite before you left on your run; you try to study everything about her in that moment, wanting to remember it all: the slope of her shoulders, how her skin is bathed in gold, how green her eyes are with the water behind, the soft babyhairs that fight their way out of her ponytail, the freckles across her nose.
you love her and you square your shoulders and she steps closer to you, just a tiny bit, and her eyes flit down to your mouth. you bring a hand, slowly, so she could back away, to cup her jaw, and she lets out a shaky breath, but then she asks, ‘can i kiss you?’ so quietly, a whisper ghost between you.
‘yeah,’ you whisper back, barely a breath. you forget, for a moment, all the hurt, all the shame: coming out to your parents; not having a church to go to; the way that, years ago, someone had yelled terrible words at you when you were just walking down the street holding a girl’s hand.
when you kiss, it lights a fire in your belly, something that you realize will keep you warm for years and years. it isn’t fireworks, or earthquakes. you feel her bite your bottom lip with her teeth, turn your head a little more so you can kiss her deeper, slide your hands into her sweaty hair while hers work their way down your shoulders to the small of your back.
when you kiss her it feels like every single good prayer you had been brave enough to whisper has been answered; it feels like god is in you, god is in her.
the waves crash below you, the same as always; the sun continues to set. you walk home with her hand in yours, study her darker skin, the veins creeping purple, keeping her blood inside. you kiss her again, and again, and she laughs into your mouth. there are flowers along the cliffs, bright yellow even in the waning light—all around you.
/
18
you’re downstairs in the huge kitchen, sitting at the island while christen operates their fancy espresso machine. you watch her, with abandon now: how she brushes her curls over one shoulder; she’d slept with them in braids, like she always does when it’s curly, you’ve noticed, but taken them out when she woke up, smiled at you shyly even though she’s done this for years in front of you when you room together. her tiny sleep shorts, the gold of her skin, her careful fingers, the way her shoulder blades are so sharp you can see them through her old stanford t-shirt.
she eventually brings you a mug of coffee and smiles at you. ‘i can feel you staring, you know.’
‘well, i’ve done it for years,’ you say, which is embarrassing but she blushes so you try not to dwell on it. ‘you just never noticed.’
her face falls a little, which isn’t what you intended at all—you’re here together now, and you weren’t ready for her years ago, not grown up enough, not smart enough—and you shake your head, tuck a curl behind her ear.
it’s easy, easier than it’s ever been with anyone in your life, for her to step between your legs and then kiss you. it hits you, square in the chest, that you’re never going to want to kiss anyone other than christen ever again, and it would be scary except for you know the little birthmark on her back, and the way she dog ears pages of books she likes, and how she hates if you leave socks lying around on the floor. it would be scary except for it’s not, because you’re in her parents’ big kitchen and it smells like coffee and she tastes like toothpaste and you’d woken up next to each other this morning, the same as so many times before but different.
‘finally,’ christen’s mom says, laughing as her dad says, ‘well, good morning.’
this isn’t how you planned to tell them, obviously; christen had a whole speech, and you kind of want to sink into the floor, you’re a little mortified to be making out with their daughter in their kitchen—but then cody claps you on the back.
‘welcome to the family, tobin.’
stacy rolls her eyes, shares a small, warm smile with christen, who squeezes your hand.
/
19
there are so many firsts: you go to pick up some groceries for stacy at the whole foods a few miles away and you put whatever junk food you can find in the cart every time christen looks away, or goes off to inspect avocados, or reads a list of ingredients on the back of the box.
she glares at you every time and eventually spins around after she’d carefully put overnight oats into the cart. ‘tobin, stop,’ she says, but she’s laughing and she pins you up against the shelves and you grin.
‘i’m in love with you.’
it slips out, just like that, while you’re in a hoodie and shorts with the number twenty-three on them, in the middle of a grocery store.
her eyes search yours for a moment but then she kisses you, deeply and softly and like you have a long, long time. someone eventually clears their throat and christen laughs into your mouth and you back up and then a few boxes of granola bars topple off the shelf and fall onto your head, and christen only laughs harder.
you load the groceries carefully in the trunk, later, and hold her hand on the winding drive home.
/
20
it’s thanksgiving, and she’s not where you are and you’re happy—you’re with people you love, and there’s good food and good wine and so much laughter—but it aches, all the same.
you facetime her, and you can tell she’s had wine because her cheeks are rosy and she bites her lip when she sees your face.
‘i’m so grateful for you.’
she looks like she wants to reach out and touch you through the camera; you understand the feeling. she blows a kiss again, clumsy and a little uncoordinated, and you pretend to catch it in your hand, put your fingers to your lips.
/
21
you planned this trip to hawaii months and months ago, and you’re still jazzed even though it’ll be kind of awkward now with kelley as a third wheel—but if there’s anyone who’s going to be thrilled to be the world’s most annoying third wheel on the planet, it’s kelley, so it’s fine, really.
your flight is early; christen wakes you up with a kiss to your collarbone, then the underside of your jaw, the sky lightening, just the slightest bit, outside.
/
22
‘wow, that was an amazing pose, christen,’ kelley says, almost doubled over in laughter. your abs hurt too, because christen is sitting in a chair and keeps kicking her leg out and saying ‘party time!’ you’d let her take two tiny hits of the joint you and kelley were sharing and this is the result—you know weed sometimes makes her anxious but not now, apparently, hanging out on the private stretch of beach outside your shared house.
it’s nighttime, later than you probably realize, but it’s still warm and perfect outside.
‘do it again, chris,’ kelley says.
‘only if you say the magic word,’ she says, winking in your direction.
‘please,’ you drawl out, admiring the stretch of her stomach and the long lines of her thighs.
‘no.’ she shakes her head, grinning. ‘the second p-word.’
your brain is floating and your mouth is operating all on its own when you immediately say, ‘pussy.’
kelley doubles over in laughter and christen snorts and there are tears in her eyes when she finally gets out, ‘no, party!’
you lean over in your chair and kiss her, just once—it’s messy and terrible because no one can stop laughing and kelley smacks you on the back when you try to deepen it and for a moment it’s like you’re all just kids again.
/
23
new orleans at night is beautiful. you’re drunk, and christen is drunk too, and you’re warm and with your friends and you take her hand gently after a little while; she’s smiling at abby and kelley’s antics but it’s a little strained, her eyes not crinkling in the right way.
you lead her out of the bar and she takes a deep breath when you get outside, just off the busy sidewalk in a little alley tucked behind the building.
you put your hand on the side of her face and check her eyes gently. ’you good?’
she nods. ‘it’s just—loud.’
‘yeah.’ you get out your phone, text alex that you and christen are heading back to the hotel, and not to worry. you offer her your hand again with a little flourish and her smile reaches her eyes. ‘wanna get out of here?’
it feels good to hold her hand as you walk along the busy streets, meandering and happy. she shivers and you shrug off your jacket, place it over her shoulders. she turns to you with a smile and says, ‘thanks, tobin,’ and you nod like it’s nothing, like it’s something you’ve meant to do for years now.
you grin when you see a little gazebo in a small park, tug her hand. there are fairy lights hanging all around; it’s beautiful. you take out your phone and put on some gentle song, look her in the eyes. you let go of her hand and then immediately offer yours again—‘may i have this dance, lady press?’
she rolls her eyes but she takes your hand. ‘i’m really fond of you, you know.’
‘yeah,’ you say. ‘don’t know why, but i’m counting my lucky stars.’
she kisses you, then, and the speakers on your phone are tinny but the song floats away, the spanish moss on the trees swaying back and forth in the night breeze.
/
[eat the fruit that feeds your spirit / on your knees now baby eat it, eat it / do you close your eyes & think about me / like i think about you]
/
24
you’re barely coherent because you have two fingers inside of her, curling hard, and your thumb on her clit. you’d made her come twice already: once, almost on accident, against your thigh; once, with purpose, with your mouth. your whole body is still trembling with the force of it all; she’s soft and smooth and so incredibly beautiful.
her skin strains along her collarbones and you look at her and then you bite there, a little rough because she seems to like that, told you beforehand—when you were careful, when you asked her if she had any triggers, when she touched your face so gently as you did—she told you this is what she likes.
‘god, you feel so good,’ you say into her skin, feel her clench tighter around you. ‘you’re so good.’
she moans louder than you’ve ever heard her and you want to ask if that’s something she likes to but she’s coming so hard, so wet around your fingers, her back arched off the bed and her hands gripping the sheets.
you stroke her through her orgasm, help her come down gently. when she taps your wrist you take slide your fingers out of her, put them to her lips and she groans again as she takes them in her mouth, and it’s literally probably the hottest thing you’ve experienced in your life.
she tugs on your legs, and you spread them above her face, put your hands on the headboard and try not to shake as she sucks your clit into her mouth before flicking it a few times with her tongue.
‘oh my god,’ you say, look down and see her staring up at you, and you think you might cry you’re going to come so hard. you’re careful not to grind down too much into her face but she pulls on your thighs and it’s a little filthy, the way she doesn’t stop you from coming all over her mouth.
you lie down next to her, after, and she kisses you without wiping her mouth first and you groan. ‘i can’t feel my legs’
‘me either.’ she laughs. ‘that was so much better than i even imagined.’
‘oh, so you’ve thought about this before?’
she rolls her eyes. ‘for years.’
you let out a big breath at that quiet statement. ‘me too.’
she wipes her mouth, then, on the back of your hand, leans over to kiss you softly.
‘happy birthday, baby,’ you say, kiss her back.
/
25
people count down around you and she tastes like champagne.
‘happy new years, chris.’