taste | e.d

sixteen part 1

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•••

All he has to do is remove my sweater and that will be it.

All of me will be exposed, at his mercy.

But Ethan stopped touching me all over. He downgraded to keeping his hands at my waist, his fingers warm against my skin, pulling me close.

I'm not complaining—kissing him still makes my stomach churn from queasy excitement. I'm just not sure why he's holding back.

"Ethan," I say, touching his lip.

He exhales, gritting his teeth in pain. "It's nothing."

"Hey," I say, lightly caressing his face.

He pushes his cheek against my hand, closing his eyes. "I get these... migraines," he says, "every once in a while. They started not long after he left."

"Go take something," I say.

He shakes his head too many times. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For ruining it."

"Ruining what?"

"This!"

"You didn't ruin anything."

"Yes, I–"

I cut him off by kissing him, and he moans softly, his hands roughly reaching behind me to run his fingers through my hair.

"I swear I have fucking split personalities," he says, letting out a breathy laugh.

"Yeah," I say, distracted, mesmerized, entranced by him, only him.

I need him.

As he kisses me again, I begin to get really impatient, and search for the hem of my sweater to take it off myself. He senses it and puts his hands over mine, helping me pull it over my head. He then balls it up and throws it to the side.

"God, you're everything," he says, and he lifts me up to carry me to his bed.

Vaguely, I smell soap and cologne and something distinctly male on his sheets as he spreads me across them. His scent is so strong I could curl myself into a ball and lie here forever. I close my eyes and breathe it in for a second while he occupies himself with something else.

When he lies down next to me, I feel the fabric of his underwear on the back of my thigh, and that is it. Foolishly, I begin to wonder what color it is.

That's going to be the least of my worries in a moment.

"I don't tell you nearly enough how beautiful you are," he says softly against my shoulder.

"I can't get enough of you, Kendall Rose."

He nuzzles his nose against the back of my neck, pushing some of my hair up. "I don't want to hurt you. This is going to hurt you."

"It's okay," I say, putting my hand over his, which is now wrapped around my stomach.

After a few minutes of lying there, he says, "I'm fucking proud of you, you know."