He took her in, no questions asked, and Amber breathed in deep through her nose. She nuzzled his throat, rubbed her face against the side of his head. Her nose bumped over his ear, her mouth, his jaw. It made her glow, to touch him for no reason other than that it felt good.
Amber's smile widened when he laughed. It hadn't occurred to her to wish for them to look back on this with good humor, too tense with how she'd messed up and what the implications would be, but she was glad that they could. And so soon, too. She sidled up closer, flushing their bodies up together, hooking a leg over his. Eric had already shifted to support her neck with his arm, and Amber complied, resting her head on his shoulder. Wouldn't his arm get numb?
He'd enjoyed the evening. Or he said he had, at least. Amber wanted to believe him, both because she preferred it if he really had had a good time, and because she hoped she could count on him to be honest. The languid, almost thoughtful, brushes of his fingers against her arm lent his words credibility. He wouldn't be so affectionate if the evening had been a complete disaster.
Amber let out a breath. That was the billion-dollar question. What had happened? She spoke slowly, parsing out her thoughts. "You know when you eat ice cream too fast, and your brain freezes up? It was like that, I was starting to hurt." Eric was listening intently, perhaps wondering what his part in his had been. The whites of his eyes stood out in the darkness, punctuated by his huge pupils. "I wasn't comfortable," Amber admitted. "I was too sensitive for that much pleasure, I should've told you. I'm sorry." It hadn't been just the excess. It'd been everything since she met him. Falling for him so fast, worrying about how he felt about her. Her anger at the times he'd let her down, lying and humiliating her in public. It was how much she had to be leading and deciding, always. "And then you wouldn't tell me why you were angry." Amber bit her lip. This was the hardest part. "Everything was out of control." There. There it was, the confession that she couldn’t stand it when things weren’t exactly as she wanted. If she’d told him, it was only because he’d already figured it out: I want to know we won't have to stop if I'm on top. He might as well know the whole truth.
no subject
Amber's smile widened when he laughed. It hadn't occurred to her to wish for them to look back on this with good humor, too tense with how she'd messed up and what the implications would be, but she was glad that they could. And so soon, too. She sidled up closer, flushing their bodies up together, hooking a leg over his. Eric had already shifted to support her neck with his arm, and Amber complied, resting her head on his shoulder. Wouldn't his arm get numb?
He'd enjoyed the evening. Or he said he had, at least. Amber wanted to believe him, both because she preferred it if he really had had a good time, and because she hoped she could count on him to be honest. The languid, almost thoughtful, brushes of his fingers against her arm lent his words credibility. He wouldn't be so affectionate if the evening had been a complete disaster.
Amber let out a breath. That was the billion-dollar question. What had happened? She spoke slowly, parsing out her thoughts. "You know when you eat ice cream too fast, and your brain freezes up? It was like that, I was starting to hurt." Eric was listening intently, perhaps wondering what his part in his had been. The whites of his eyes stood out in the darkness, punctuated by his huge pupils. "I wasn't comfortable," Amber admitted. "I was too sensitive for that much pleasure, I should've told you. I'm sorry." It hadn't been just the excess. It'd been everything since she met him. Falling for him so fast, worrying about how he felt about her. Her anger at the times he'd let her down, lying and humiliating her in public. It was how much she had to be leading and deciding, always. "And then you wouldn't tell me why you were angry." Amber bit her lip. This was the hardest part. "Everything was out of control." There. There it was, the confession that she couldn’t stand it when things weren’t exactly as she wanted. If she’d told him, it was only because he’d already figured it out: I want to know we won't have to stop if I'm on top. He might as well know the whole truth.