Catching Raven (7 page)

“You’re not helping.”

“I thought you liked having all eyes on you,” he gently prods.

“Yeah, but there’s a time and place for it.”

“Would some music help?”

“Immensely.”

“Okay. Don’t move.” He turns on the stereo and plugs in his iPod. “Any
requests?”

“Do you have anything by Prince?”

He actually has the audacity to laugh.

“You belong in a different decade. Nobody listens to Prince anymore.”

“Prince is an icon.”

“Prince is a has-been.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re deranged.”

“How about some Bon Iver?”

His band choice trumps mine. I nod my approval.

“Which song?”

I pick “Holocene.” He hits play and lowers the volume to set the mood.

“Better?”

“Much. Do I look okay? For the portrait, I mean.”

His gaze softens. “You’re a masterpiece.”

That remark effectively shuts me up. It’s cheesy, but it’s heartfelt.

He moves back around to the easel and picks up a graphite pencil. “Stand
as still as possible. This will take a while,” he warns.

“’Kay.”

“And keep your eyes downcast.”

“I thought you wanted them on you?”

“Changed my mind.”

Who am I to argue with the artist?

As the minutes tick by, I grow more and more relaxed. Watching him in his
element, even if it is out of the corner of my eye, is a major turn-on. The
sketching goes on for an hour before he switches techniques. When the first
glob of paint hits the canvas, I soak up the peaceful sound of the brush
strokes. The fumes are great, too. Anytime I go someplace new and register the
familiar scent, I always picture Eric. Painting—art in general—will forever be
associated with him.

Even though I’m topless, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one baring
myself. He’s putting himself out there, too, only in a different way.

e     r     i     c

She is utter perfection. There’s no
better way to describe it. And her imperfections are what make her that way.
Her courage never ceases to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got her figured
out, she throws a curveball and knocks me off my game. Like her willingness to
go topless—never saw that one coming. Despite her attitude and wardrobe
sometimes suggesting otherwise, she’s pretty reserved. It’s part of the reason
I was so uncomfortable asking in the first place.

I don’t know why I’m the only person she’ll take these risks with, but
I’m glad she does. I’ve seen it time and time again; the stifled good girls are
the ones dying to be set free. My guess is it’s because rules and boundaries
hinder experiences, and Raven had an abundance of them growing up. With me came
a whole ’nother world she hadn’t been exposed to, and vice versa. We naturally
adhere to each other. Like paint to a canvas.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly.

It’s the first time she’s spoken a word in over an hour. We’re two hours
into the session and she’s starting to get antsy. To tell you the truth, I’m
astonished she’s lasted this long. Patience is not her strong suit. I’m pleased
with how well the portrait is coming along. The biggest obstacle is capturing
her spirit. I want to do her justice.

“You.”

A series of emotions dance across her profile, but none of them provoke
her to dig for more information.

“What are
you
thinking about?”

“How excited I am to see this painting.”      

I keep my eyes trained on the canvas to mask how I’m feeling. “I hope you
like it.”

“I know I will.”

Her confidence eases my trepidation.

“I must say, you look—”

She cuts me off with a loud din.

“What?”

“I told you no side comments. Zip it.”

“I like you bossy.”

She blushes and looks down, shifting back and forth on her feet
uncomfortably.       

“Stand still,” I remind her.

“I’m trying. How much longer do we have? I’m starving and I have to pee.”

“Not long. You’re almost done, I promise.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll need to put the finishing touches on everything before I hand it
off. Should be ready in a few days.”

“You’re giving me the portrait?”

“Duh. It’s your birthday gift.”

“I thought the experience of you painting me was supposed to be my gift.”

“Nope, that’s an added bonus,” I wink.

She clears her throat. “Have you ever done this before? Painted other
women without their clothes on?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully. “But none of them made me feel as nervous as
you do. Watching you...it’s distracting.”

That’s an understatement. I feel like a Parkinson’s patient. Trembling
hands aren’t conducive for painting. Deep down, we’ve always known how we felt
about each other, but it rarely gets voiced, especially by her. That is until
she whispers….

“I know the feeling.”

Those four words hang in the air, filling up the vacant space inside me.
When my heart and hands can’t take the tremors anymore, I turn off the stereo
and decide to call it a night for the painting portion. I snatch her bra and
top up off the floor and move to stand directly behind her. My chest is a
breath away from brushing up against her bare back. She stiffens and uses her
arms to shield herself protectively.

“Here you go.”

She maneuvers around to grab them both out of my hand. “Thanks.”

I should leave. Really, I should. But I can’t. Not until she tells me to.
I reach up and use my hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder, exposing her
neck and upper back. Without thinking, I bend down and drop a single kiss
between her shoulder blades. Her body shivers.

She turns her head just a fraction and parts her lips. “Eric…” she
whispers as a plea.

I don’t know if that means “stop” or “never stop,” so I follow my
instincts.

My fingers lightly trace the contours of her back, igniting a forbidden
trail of lust and desire. Her warm skin feels like satin beneath my touch. She
lets her head fall back against my shoulder. Her eyelids flutter closed. I lean
in and press my lips to her neck. She moans her appreciation. My arms wrap
around her torso and pull her flush against me. I want her to feel what she’s
doing to me.

“Drop your arms, baby,” I coax.

Her breathing becomes shallow. She releases her bra and shirt, then winds
her arms around the back of my neck, revealing a gorgeous set of curves. My
hands grip her waist and slowly glide up her stomach, all the way to her chest.
I grab two handfuls and squeeze, then spin her around to face me. Her heated
gaze locks onto mine.

“Eric, what are we doing?”

“I have no idea,” I confess. “I’m just doing what feels right. Go with
it.”

For once in my life, I must’ve said the right thing. She grabs my face
and crushes my lips to hers possessively. Raw passion and years of pent-up
sexual tension pour free. My fingers tangle in her hair, holding her to me as
if she could be ripped away by a tide. Kissing her is the most natural thing in
the world. The emotional release feels like we’re coming up for air. I’ve been
suffocating for far too long. Begs the question: Why haven’t we been doing this
all along?

Her fingers seize the hem of my shirt and tug upwards. I take a step back
and help her out, then swiftly bring her lips back to mine. Her naked chest
feels so good pressed against mine. My legs move toward the bed, taking her
with me. I’m extra careful not to stumble into the easel. My heart’s beating a
million miles a minute, and my thoughts are racing at a similar pace. When my
calves reach the edge of the mattress, I fall backwards. She collapses on top
of me, her hair fanning our faces. I roll us over and scooch us up while
showering her with sporadic kisses.

Before I can take this any further, she hits the brakes.

“Wait a second,” she pants, pushing against my chest. I stop my advances
and stare at her face. “There’s something you should know. I’ve never done this
before.”

I push off her body, keeping my weight suspended. “What do you mean?”

She avoids my gaze.

Suddenly, it all becomes clear. “You’re a virgin?”

She nods meekly.

I’ve never been with a virgin. Talk about dropping a major bombshell. I
make a real effort not to let the concern show on my face. Can I handle this?
Can I go there and cross that line? There’s no turning back if I do. Everything
will change. Am I prepared for what that entails? If I’m being honest with
myself, the answer is unclear. What about Raven? Is she ready?

I can’t even begin to tell you how badly I want to be her first. The mere
thought alone coaxes the territorial, chest-puffing Neanderthal in me to
oblige. It’s not all about the conquest, though. Far from it.

I cup her chin and force her to meet my gaze. “Then we’ll take it nice
and slow. Deal?”

She studies me with apprehensive eyes. “I’m worried that I’m not going to
be as good as the other girls you’ve slept with. I’ve never made it past second
base. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I
know
what I’m
supposed to do, but I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Does that make any
sense?”

Her vulnerability is disarming. Just when I thought I knew everything.
“Rave, I’ve wanted you for years.
Years.
And now my greatest fantasies
are becoming my reality. The anticipation alone is going to do me in, if you
know what I’m sayin’. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t want to be just another girl.”

“You aren’t,” I assure. “You’re my girl.”

She threads her fingers through my hair and gently pulls me back down to
her lips. I drop my weight and mold her into the mattress. We’re a mess of
tangled limbs and jittery emotions, rushed kisses and reverent touches. She’s
anxious to take this further, and I’m terrified she’ll stop.

With shaky hands, she reaches down to unbutton my jeans. Her eyes flicker
to mine. I nod, silently urging her to continue. She tugs the zipper and
wrestles them down as far as she can. Chuckling, I push myself off the mattress
and kick them to the floor. Who needs pants, anyway? I think Thursday Movie
Night should include a new pants free policy for both of us. I’m enforcing this
right now. I crouch down and slide hers off until we’re both left in our
underwear.

Glorious.   

I love this new policy.

I fish out a condom from the top drawer of my dresser and dive back onto
the bed.

“C’mere,” I order, rolling her on top so she’s straddling me. I sit up
and wind a lock of her hair around my finger and kiss a path from her
collarbone to her chest. When my mouth meets her nipple, she gasps.

“How do you wanna do this? Do you want me on top?” I murmur against her
skin.

“Yes. Please. Whatever. Anything,” she says breathlessly.

“So that’s a no, then?”

Leave it to me to throw in a stupid comment.

She rolls her eyes. “You talk too much.”

I laugh. My relief couldn’t come at a better time. We can’t both be a
bundle of nerves or this will be a lot less memorable for her than I want it to
be.

“My bad,” I force her to lie back on the mattress. “Feel free to shut me
up.”

I don’t have to ask twice.

I grab two fistfuls of her underwear and leisurely pull them down her
legs, breaking the kiss to toss them over my shoulder. Calmly, I place her
hands on the waistband of my boxers.

“Your turn.”

Her fingers slip inside and gently tug, revealing all of me. I kick them
to the floor and take a deep breath. Humidity and wet paint fumes pollute the
air. Second to Raven’s cooking, it’s my favorite scent. Our fingers interlace,
making this a thousand times more personal. Hand holding before sex? This
foreign concept is seriously blowing my mind.

The gesture puts her at ease. It’s nice to see her confidence returning.
I lift her hands above her head and trap them, then lean forward to recapture
her mouth. The gradual build is tantalizing. The slower I kiss her, the faster
she breathes. I squeeze her hands in response. With her chest brushing up
against mine, all I can focus on is feeling every inch of her body moving
fluidly against mine.

When she’s ready, I rip open the wrapper and slide the condom on, pumping
myself a few times. I lean down and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You sure about this?” I ask, checking for any trace of self-doubt.

“Absolutely.”

I drop my head and exhale my relief, then shift my weight accordingly.
“Spread your legs.”

She complies.

“Grab my torso and take a deep breath.”

Her hands grip my sides. She inhales. When the first breath of air slips
from her lungs, I sink inside, causing her entire body to tense. I freeze
mid-thrust. The sheer pain in her eyes slices me to the core.

“You okay?”

Her jaw clenches. “No. God that hurts.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Honestly, that would be the most detrimental and disappointing thing to
happen in a long time, but I have to ask. I want this to go right for her—for
us. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

She shakes her head. “Just go slow and let me get used to it.”

I nod and ease further in. She winces. Her fingernails dig deeper into my
skin. Inflicting pain on her is self-mutilating. I’ve never had something feel
this right and this wrong all at once. I run my nose along her jawline and try
to distract her with kisses.

Gentle but firm, I rock my hips into hers, giving her all of me. She
wraps her arms around my neck for comfort. I rest my forehead against hers,
watching the pain in her eyes gradually fade away and restore with desire.

Once her body fully adjusts, she reciprocates, establishing a rhythm.
It’s surreal and overwhelming. Soon I forget about everything and concentrate
on chasing the pleasure.

“Better?”

She nods and rakes her fingers through my hair. “Don’t stop.”

Not planning on it. A sheen of sweat covers my skin as my body continues
to worship hers. Each time I move, I lose another piece of myself in her. I
don’t care. She can have all my pieces. She’s the only person who I could lose
everything to and still manage to feel whole.

“You feel extraordinary.”

She groans.

My head drops to watch our hips meet. I’m connected to her in every way
and it’s still not close enough. What the hell have I been missing? Tingles
burst in the base of my spine and heighten the experience. Before I get a
chance to warn her, I’m shuddering into bliss. With a few more deep thrusts and
the skillful use of my hands, she wraps her legs around my torso, arches her
back, and follows me there.