Say you'll stay - Channing Tatum

P.30

He has barely touched me and I'm already breathing heavily, the air hanging thick around us.

His repeating movements causes goosebumps to form on my skin, his thumbs still moving in circles just below my hipbones.

He watches my reaction as he does so, as if making sure that I'm okay with what he's doing.

There's something so intense and real about this. Us standing in my dimly lit bathroom, both sober for once, staring at each other like we're the only two people left on this earth and nothing else exists outside these four grey walls.

I suck a breath in as he gently but firmly pulls me towards him by my hips, his eyes still steady on my own. Letting go of the counter behind me, my arms fall to my sides as I move to stand between his legs.

Everything has gone blank. The only thing I know at this moment is that I want to be close to him. I want him to keep touching me, because I know that once he stops, the small but significant flame that he has initiated inside of me will die out.

That is one thing I fear. That I won't experience the almost forgotten feeling again, after tonight. It's been long since I felt like this, the burn that starts from the outside and somehow always manages to creep inside until it's consuming your whole being.

I'd forgotten how addicting it is and how fast your body and mind accept the pulsating sensation. I know I shouldn't welcome it so easily, but I can't help myself. He is right here and waiting and I refuse to let this moment slip.

With a pounding heart and unsteady breathing, I shakily bring my hand up to his face, carefully running the tips of my fingers along his jaw.

He seemingly breathes out heavily under my touch, his chest falling. I notice how his eyes lightly flutter and how his breathing have become heavier, but all the while he never stops the pattern slowly created by his fingers.

I am completely and utterly mesmerized by this beautiful man in front of me.

To think that we met almost five months ago after I had snuck into his party, feels nothing but distant. I was a complete stranger to him and he didn't even know my name. I knew his, but not much more. I still don't know everything I wish to know about him, but what I do know is that he is so much more than the world is making him out to be. And they'll probably never even know that.

A sudden loss of warmth makes me realize that he has slipped one of his hands from my hip. I immediately miss the contact, but he is quick to make up for it by covering my hand with his much bigger one, stopping my nervous trembling.

I hadn't even realized how much my hand was shaking until it stopped.

I mentally curse myself for acting the way I do. I want this, god do I want this, but there's another part of me that's begging me to think this through, back and forth, and then again to make sure that it's right. 

But in all honesty, I don't think for a single second that it would make a difference in the end. Because I already know that I'll end up blaming myself for what I know will happen, regardless of how we got there.

"I'm sorry." My gaze falls to the floor. "It's just been a while," I stop, hoping he'll understand what I mean without having to say it.

He looks at me with clear eyes and for a second I think he's about to say something, but doesn't. Instead, he squeezes my hand reassuringly before bringing it down to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my palm. The small act sends a jolt through my entire body and I'm almost certain he can feel it too.

He then lets go of my hand and again, finds his way under my shirt to place it back on my hip.

I suck a breath in and slowly begin to move my fingers along his jawline and up to his cheek, taking in every sensation of having him like this. I want to make him feel as good as he's making me feel. Show him that I don't care about any of the things that follows him, not even the paparazzi. I need him to know that. 

I watch how his flutter closed and how he clenches his jaw when I continue my gentle exploration on the side of his neck, moving my fingers against his warm skin there. 

My thumb lightly runs over the outer part of his ear and a low hum, vibrating from his throat, causes a small smile to form over my lips. That it seemed to slip mindlessly makes a part of me think that he enjoys this as much as I am. 

I repeat the same motion, studying his face as I do so. His eyes remain closed and his expression soft, but his hands are still firmly holding me in place. 

I'm not going anywhere.

We have done close to nothing, yet I can feel it all. It makes me wonder what anything more than this would do to me if not set me on fire completely.

Just looking at him is enough. The way his shirt is straining by his shoulders and how the tie is loosely hung around his neck. I swear I can feel the world shift at my feet whenever his green eyes meet mine. I want more, but the voice in my head is already hoarse from screaming at me.

Hoping to annoy it and make it stop, I gently cup his face between the palms of my hands. His eyes shoot open and find mine in a heartbeat. His thumbs are no longer moving in circles against my skin and through the silence between us, our breathing can be heard.

His full lips part ever so slightly and I notice how his focus have traveled down to my own. There's not a hint of uncertainty in the way he's looking, and it turns my stomach into knots.

I subconsciously move even closer to him, further reducing the already small distance between us until our bodies are pressed together. That I acted on my own seem to have reassured him that I do want this, despite my nervous behavior. Because the look in his eyes have changed to something different, something new, and I'm positive mine looks the same.

His hands begin to wander up my bare sides at a slow rate, his large palms and long fingers almost reaching around me and covering every inch of skin. Although his warm touch moves me in every way possible, I recognize the way my heart is now beating and how my breaths have started to come out rigid. Waves of panic begin to build and for each second that passes, the further up his hands move, I'm starting to have trouble breathing.

My vision is quickly turning black and I no longer want to be here.

As a reflex, I harshly grab his wrists, pushing his hands off of me as I quickly take a step back, moving away from his grip. I collide with the counter and remain standing with my back pressed against it as I try to focus on my breathing, my eyes clenched shut. 

Forcing air down my lungs, my body slowly begins to calm down and return to normal.

"Are you okay?" He carefully asks, worry clear in his voice. 

I open my eyes and is met by the kindest ones looking up at me. Confusion is written all over his face, his eyebrows knit together and lips parted.

We both know, that everything that just was, is now gone. 

Our hands that just a moment ago couldn't be kept to ourselves are now hanging empty and restless at our sides; the comfortable silence now replaced by an uncomfortable one. We suddenly act as strangers, not knowing what to say or do. 

But nevertheless do I miss his warm and rough hands on my skin now turning cold.

I bite my lip, uncertain how to continue from here. 

"Do you drink tea?" I ask. I've never before felt so stupid.

His eyes flicker between the two of mine questioningly, but I don't give him the chance to answer as I leave the gray bathroom behind.

I only do so because I can't stand to hear him say no.