"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
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𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚟
I lay her on the makeshift bed. Our kiss is slow and tender, unlike anything I am used to. I never want to take time for the other. I have never taken the with with anyone, but Maya, I can't imagine rushing through it. I can't imagine it to be fast and emotionless.
Maya's hands run through my hair, tangling in the soft strands as she pulls me closer. I cup her cheek, my thumb tracing her jawline as we both deepen our kiss.
She slips her hands under my shirt and runs them over my chest, her cold touch sending shivers over my heated body.
I move my mouth down her neck, softly nibbling and sucking on her skin, eliciting shivers of pleasure from Maya. She arches her back, pressing her chest closer to mine. Her nails dig gently in the back of my neck, trying to stay still. The combination of her touch and her soft moans created by the lack of oxygen due to our kiss, sends warm jolt of electricity down to my crotch.
I slide my hand under her shirt, and feel the heat radiating from her skin. I trail my fingers down her stomach, and feel how Maya's muscles tense, her breath hitches for a second.
It's contradictory; her moans of pleasure, but her tensed body. It's contradictory how her words tell me not to stop, but her body is screaming to be let go.
"Wait here," I whisper in her ear, before standing up and quickly walking to my backpack. I have some body lotion or oil somewhere, my physical therapist gave it to me last week.
I find the bottle, grab it quickly and walk back to Maya, who hasn't moved an inch, anticipation evident in her eyes. I sit beside her and place the bottle of lotion on the blanket, my gaze locks with her.
"What are you doing?" She asks, a little giggle escaping her lips.
"Lay on your stomach and shed your shirt," I reply, not giving her the direct answer.
Maya smiles suspiciously, her eyes filled with a mix of excitement and curiosity. She slowly rolls onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows and letting her shirt slide off her shoulders, revealing the smooth skin of her back. She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, sliding the straps down her arms and tossing it aside.
I can't help but admire the gentle curve of her spine, the delicate slope of her shoulders, the dimples in her shoulder blades, and the way her skin seems to glow in the soft light of the seated sun.
Maya's tense state is not just a result of our current intimate moment, I know that. It is deeply rooted in her past trauma, and I don't want to add to that. I pick up the bottle of lotion and open it, realizing a subtle scent of lavender that fills the air.
"Close your eyes," I softly instruct her, I try to fill my voice with reassurance. "Just focus on the sensations, let go of any tensions."
She nods, and obediently shuts her eyes. I pour a small amount of lotion onto my palms, rubbing them together to warm it before putting my hands on her back, starting the massage. I start at the base of her neck and move down her spine in slow, soothing strokes.
