He began to run his fingers over the back of my hand again, drawing patterns. Circles that turned into spirals. His warm skin felt so good on my own and I imagined them painting random patterns on other parts of my body too.
A tingling sensation ran over my skin.
I bit my lower lip.
He was my best friend.
I struggled with myself not to continue these thoughts, but I blushed. Luckily, it was dark.
“You know you can be anything with me that you're not allowed to be in your real life,” he said softly, extending his scope to my arm, which was resting on my bare knee in front of him. “I'm not judging you. Quite the opposite... I admire you for the woman you are.”
Woman. He saw a woman in the insecure girl in front of him.
“Erik...” I began, because I didn't want him to flatter me like that.
I didn't deserve words like that.
“I mean it.” He looked straight at me again. “You inspire me to do so much in my life, distract me from this painful reality.”
“I shouldn't.”
He shook his head slightly.
“Without you, J, I'd be lifeless inside,” he said quietly, almost without a sound.
I looked at him in question, but he probably couldn't see it, even though the warm lantern light from the parking lot was shining directly into my face. The masks took away both our expressions.
“There's no reason to,” I replied gently and placed my hands on his, which landed directly on my bare knee. His warmth almost drove me out of my mind, sending pleasant flashes up my thighs.
“There are many,” he said softly, and there was something sad about it.
He had told me a lot about himself, about the pressure from his family and the pressure he put on himself...
“But I don't want to burden you with that tonight.” His fingers continued to paint, this time on my knees, sending a flash through my whole body. I flinched, and he withdrew his hands, but I retrieved them and placed them on my knees.
Whatever we were doing here, I wasn't going to question it. We were friends, but if this felt good...why not?
He was the first person whose touch overwhelmed me in a positive way.
“I want you to enjoy this time,” I whispered, trying to catch his gaze in the darkness.
Erik glanced up, looking me straight in the eye.
Suddenly, I felt something rough and warm on my cheek and when I realized it was his hand, I sucked in a sharp breath.
His thumb stroked the edge of the mask, his index finger ran along my jawline, causing a tingling sensation to rush over the areas he touched, and his palm gently brushed my lips.
He didn't need to say anything. Because that was the second when I realized that the term friendship was miles away from what described us at that moment.
Erik seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he gently gripped my jaw and carefully pulled my face toward him, only to touch my lips with his own a few seconds later.
He sighed overwhelmed against my lips, which sent an electric wave through my stomach, and then he kissed me with such tenderness that I threatened to break under all the rising emotions.
I never thought that someone else's lips could feel so soft, that Erik's lips were so gentle and that I would ever kiss him.
Erik bit my lower lip lightly, and I couldn't suppress a soft sigh. That little pain felt cathartic. I needed more...
It had been too much for both of us. The kiss intensified, and he let me feel the fullness of his lips, taking mine between his and sucking lightly on them.
Our tongues played with each other, slowly at first, then more and more demanding, until he moved his other hand, which had been resting on my knees until now, and approached the hem of my dress.
He bit my lower lip and I sighed again, this time more longingly.
Erik seemed to notice that I liked the way he was touching me, and so his hands continued to wander over my thighs, drawing more circles on my skin as if I were his work of art. And I let him paint, let him send little flashes across my skin.
“God, J, your skin is so soft and your heart is beating so damn fast...”
I leaned closer to his ear. “The latter is your fault.”
Then, without warning, he pulled me onto his lap with one arm and let the other hand continue to paint.
And then I moved my fingers to his neck, letting them wander over the striking Adam's apple and up to the contours of his chin. While he also shakily inhaled the air, I felt the freshly shaved skin and approached the mask. But I paused and returned to his lips, enjoying the unfamiliar warmth under my finger.
“These masks are a sign of the game we're playing,” he whispered, and I recognized the gleam in his eyes for the first time – bright eyes. “Tell me, J, when are we going to stop playing?”
The answer hurt, which was why I wouldn't say it. Instead, I rested my forehead against his.
“I don't want us to have to think about our reality right now.” My fingers traveled down his neck, toward his shirt collar. “I want you.”
