Margo Fawn & the Contagious Missing Delirium - 1

33. WARM ENOUGH OR HOT ENOUGH?

CHAPTER 33

WARM ENOUGH OR HOT ENOUGH?

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He didn't change his posture and position while I unbuttoned the only two tiny silvery buttons at the top of the cardigan. The wetness was like glue that I couldn't get it off sooner, that it got stuck at the doused sleeves. As I hauled the sleeves over my head, struggling to keep my heartbeat balanced on the narrow ridge between his intent look and his adamant posture that were both tethered to trouble. Either way, I knew I would slide off the ridge. He pulled the sleeves over my head, tossing it to the couch. He lifted me up again. His hands were secured around my waist. As a reflex, I circled my hands around his neck. My feet weren't dangling from the table anymore, it was afloat and I had to wrap my legs around him. My entire-self was adhered to him.

Gripping his strong grip around my waist, his lips pressed against mine, parting my lips and though my eyes were closed, I knew he climbed the stairs. In what appeared to be not more than just two seconds, he put me on his computer table, not taking his lips away and somehow managed to push the chairs away and fit in that space with me. I was so caught up in the moment as he moved and pushed me swift and slow at the same time. He knew the difference when and where he had to be delicate and hard. I was still gasping at his swift movements and his grip around my waist hadn't lessened a bit. He suddenly pulled away and looked at my red blouse. It was wet too. Oh! God! It was just a touch of wetness but I knew he wouldn't let it go.

"Take it off," he said, breathless, and testily pointing at my blouse.

I was raging now. "What?" I scoffed. "You are joking, right?"

In a split second, he slid his hands under my blouse and I let out a yelp. Though swift, his fingers were cautious to just take off my blouse and not to gain any advantage. He tossed my blouse away and he took off his t-shirt in a liquid movement of his steeled muscles. His intentions were just so clear when he slid me into his polyester t-shirt.

"Is it warm enough?" he asked, standing in front of me, shirtless and hot.

How could I not be warm enough? "Yeah." I nodded, feeling my cheeks warming up and my chest rising and falling with a blazing swell.

"Good." He leaned in again.

"Aren't you cold?" I muttered but it came out all breathy.

"Not anymore," he said as his breath fell over my neck.

He placed his lips over my neck, sending a shock that reverberated an undulated tingle through my body and I sucked in a sharp gasp, holding the table's edge tighter. I was pretty sure my palms would have the shape of the table engraved in them.

"Margo...," he whispered. Still his breath hovering over my neck. "Try listening to me once in a while."

"I won't. I want you to get impatient with me. Like this," I said, bold. Not wanting to waste another damn second. "I like this impatient hot chocolate version of you."

He moved an inch back with a double take to look at me, shocked at my response. He pressed his lips through a smile over mine, a little firmer this time drawing in all the air left betwixt us and I loved getting breathless by him. Each of his movements moved something inside of me, but I couldn't get enough of him. 

I wrapped my legs around his hips, pushing my body against him. My hands felt the heat of his body and any traces of cold that I had in my body wasn't there anymore. I was on the verge of breaking into sweat. As I pushed my body further against him at some point, I think I bit his lower lip and he didn't mind it. He held my ear softly with one hand and his other hand was loitering up and down my torso, slow and stirring, gripping me occasionally and I couldn't take it. It was too ticklish and I stopped his hand and I pulled away.

"Don't do that." I was holding his hand against my waist.

"What?" he asked with a frown. In a sudden realization, he wriggled his hand free and he again traced his finger along my side. "This?" he asked and I wriggled.

"Yeah... it tickles," I squealed a little.

He chuckled along my ears. "That's the whole point." His whispers along my ears were feathery and I tilted my head to one side, granting him access to my ear and neck. He placed a kiss on my ear lobe and I raised my shoulder in response to it.

"I'm sure I'm not your first kiss." I asked, in a stupid curiosity.

"What do you mean?" He frowned.

I put my hands around the narrowed part of his waist to hug him close. "I mean, have you kissed anyone before? or should I ask, how many have you kissed before?"

"What exactly do you want to know?" he asked with a grin. Cocky again.

I looked up at him. "I want to know about your ex-girlfriend. What was she like?"

"She..." He cleared his throat. "To cut it short...," he dragged. "She had undertones of Fiona."

"Uhhh... like being in places she shouldn't be, putting her nose into things that she shouldn't? That sort?"

"More like more flirty than Fiona...," he said. "She wasn't serious." His fingers were getting busy with my stray strands.

"But you were...?" I asked in utter disbelief at his choice.

"I was...," he paused. "Stupid, I guess."

"So she wasn't like me? I mean, I thought you had a thing for weird girls like me." As soon as I said that, I laughed at my own sentence.

He laughed too. "Margo..." He cupped both my cheeks. "She wasn't anything like you. No one can be like you or even remotely you." He was serious.

"Are we a serious thing?" I already knew the answer, but to hear the answer in his own words was what I wanted.

He looked taken aback. "With everything that has been going on with you and me, what seems not serious to you?" His tone was whacking.

I laughed. "Admit it."

"What?" 

"Sooner or later, you will," I said it with confidence.

"I don't know what you are talking about." He brushed it off, but we both knew what we were talking about.

"Now... where were we?" 

He didn't have to lean on me this time as I was sitting on the edge of the table, still with my legs around his waist and my arms around his shirtless, smooth skin. Not that he was going to move away, I just didn't want to let go of him. I didn't know if it was his heat radiating through my body or if it was my body producing that kind of heat. The only sound I heard was his breath and the only thing I felt was his skin over mine. Maybe he heard my breaths and my heart pounding. 

In rapid progression, he learned where exactly my body needed delicate pressures. He lifted me off again, swiveled around and sat on his bed. I never budged a little and I still had my arms tangled around him and I kissed him like it was the last day I'd be alive. He reached depths of me and his tongue and his fingers knew it all–knew which would make me quiver and which would make me ticklish. I wished I knew how to use my tongue like that, but I had been such a nun all my life. Thought of that made me smile and he smiled too. I wondered if he could hear my thoughts when he was all over me like that. His smile turned into a short laughter, maybe a longer chuckle.

"What is it?" I asked with my forehead pressed to his.

"What did you smile for?" he replied, mocking with a little head tilt.

When I parted my lips from him, I saw my lip stain over his chin. I wiped his smooth smooth skin and my fingers slid down his face like I'm running my fingers over satin. He wiped my smudged left-over lip stain over my lips and chin. He didn't loosen his other hand's grip around me, and I didn't untangle my legs from around him, either.

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