You’re back!
Yay!
This week Taylor’s gone back to her Avan and – huh. I don’t know the name of the female protagonist. I don’t think she’s ever mentioned it. Anyways, yes, we’re back to her Avan story! Buckle up, it’s time for some passion!
To Adam & Kristyn:
Thank you for helping me breathe life into this oh so beautiful scene. I couldn’t have done it without your guidance.
A memory:
“Take off your shirt.”
Avan stood in the doorway of our bedroom, his shirt darkened by sweat, his shoulder length hair pasted to the side of his face. He’d been out jogging for most of the morning while I stayed home to clean the house and prepare a late brunch for us.
“Oohh, kinky,” he breathed, rushing out of his sleeves.
I stood on my toes and kissed his chapped lips, taking the shirt as I did. He leaned in and kissed me back, his teeth grazing my lower lip. I shivered and pushed him gently away.
“Slow your roll there,” I whispered, smiling at his hungry eyes. “I’m just doing laundry.”
He laughed a small soundless laugh and stepped out of the way. He was still shirtless when I returned from the laundry room, empty basket in hand, pausing by our bed when I saw a large patch of color on his back. I squinted harder into the bathroom where he washed his face at the sink. A tattoo I’d never seen before rested on his shoulder blade, an outline of irritated skin surrounding it, indicating that it was recently acquired. Avan’s eyes found my reflection in the mirror. He frowned.
“Do you hate it?” he asked me, almost guiltily.
It took me a long while to answer. It wasn’t that I was against tattoos. On the contrary, I had a few of them myself; a semi colon for my brother on the inside of my wrist, his jersey number just beneath it, the date of his birth behind my right ear, the date of his death behind the other, his full name across my lower back. It was that – normally – Avan couldn’t wait to show me his new tats, like a child showing his mother the straight A’s on his report card. But he hadn’t shown me this one or even mentioned that he got it.
I abandoned the laundry basket, walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his flat stomach. Trying to ignore the musky scent that wafted off of him I pressed my lips to his back.
“I love it.”
Avan turned around to face me.
“Really?”
I smiled, leaning into him. I wasn’t the type of girl to get angry at her boyfriend for getting body art without my permission. I’d done it often enough without my mother’s permission, so who was I to judge Avan?
“Yes, really.”
His hands slid to my waist, his thumbs hooking into the loops of my shorts. I sighed, fighting my own urges. It took everything in me not to give in to his desires, but if he wanted me he’d have to jump in the shower first. I rested my chin on his shoulder and studied the new tattoo reflected in the mirror. It was breathtaking. Its beautiful, intricate lines forming the delicate body of a monarch butterfly, the colors vibrant and bright against the olive tones of Avan’s skin.
“Why a butterfly?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He unhooked his thumbs from my shorts. His fingers traced desire on the bare skin of my thighs. My skin tightened into goosebumps.
“Why not?”
I shrugged, my chin still on his shoulder.
“I just figured a guy like you would get something a little more, oh, I don’t know. Manly? Like a skull or a hatchet or something.”
Avan suddenly pulled back. He tried to sound offended, but I knew him well enough to detect the hint of playfulness in his voice.
“So, I’m not manly enough for you, huh?”
His arms wrapped tightly around me. He grunted as if it took all of his strength to lift me off my feet and out of the bathroom.
“Avan, come on, put me down!” I laughed.
He lowered me down on the bed, his hands pinning my arms onto the blankets. My heart raced as he straddled me, trapping me beneath him.
“Is this manly enough for you?” he asked, voice taunting and low.
I giggled as I admitted that I couldn’t think of a better word. He flashed a crooked smile, leaned in and gave me the lightest of kisses.
“Butterflies symbolize rebirth, a second chance to – to do things right.”
I frowned at him and spoke my next words slowly.
“What have you done wrong?”
His body stiffened. He swallowed, his face turning slightly away from mine. He let go of my arms, placing his hands beside them instead, looking more hurt than guilty now. He stared off at nothing, his mind in a world I wasn’t allowed to be in. The pain in his face, the way his lip quivered, his green eyes shining with tears – it killed me. For the first time it hit me. Seeing him in emotional pain was far worse than knowing he was in physical pain. I instantly regretted asking the question. Whatever he’d done in the past, it was bad. But that was the key word, “past”. Even if he’d done something horrible, I had all the evidence I needed to know he wasn’t that person anymore. He was always so gentle with me, almost as careful as I was with him after a fight, tending to his injuries.
He demonstrated unbelievably selfless acts toward his opponents after every winning round in the cage; extending a hand to help them to their feet after a submission, crouching over them to help them regain consciousness after a knockout, lifting their legs when they lay unmoving on the canvas. As naive as it might have been, I didn’t really need to wonder what it was he’d done. I didn’t care.
“You don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to.” I said, touching his chin. “Not with me.”
He looked at me, eyes teary, relief written all over his face.
“Do you know how much I love you?”
“Why don’t you show me?” I whispered back.
He Inhaled heavily, took my face in his hands and pulled me into the most passionate kiss we’d ever shared. My whole being felt drawn to his mouth, his tongue, his touch, teasing and tempting me, reminding me of all of our past, promising, no, demanding more. I gasped, my stomach contracting with excitement. My hands ran from his chest and downward, tracing every muscle my fingers could find, loving the way his body trembled and tightened, knowing that I was helping him forget whatever was hurting him. We sat up, our bodies controlled by invisible strings, our breaths synced, our minds focused only on what the other needed.
His soft hands slid up inside my shirt, his long fingers mapping a course along the curves of my breasts, my belly, my hips, everywhere I loved being touched. Before I knew it, my shirt was off, my bra unhooked. We fell back onto the bed in a tangle of arms and bare skin, kicking off our shorts, getting closer and closer, seeking almost to be drawn into each other. He kissed me up and down, lips searing my toes, my knees, my thighs. One hand spread my legs as his mouth crawled up my body, his skin brushing against mine. My fingers dug into his shoulders, wanting him closer but he resisted, his fighter’s body denying my arms their desire. “Avan,” I half-whispered, half-moaned, and he silenced me with another of his kisses, melting into me. I don’t know, even now, how long he lingered, how long he toyed with me. It could have been minutes, it could have been days. It felt like eternity and I never wanted it to end. Finally, finally, he centered himself over me, gazing into my eyes. “I love you,” he said, as he lowered himself onto me, my skin screaming for his touch.
I moaned softly, my toes curling as a wave of warmth and pressure washed through me. All at once I felt everything, every nerve afire, as he slowly, oh my god so slowly, slid into me, then rested there. He smiled down, a sweet smile, and I smiled back. “Like this?” he asked, and moved ever so slightly. “Avan,” is all I could manage. “Yes or no,” he insisted, stilling again. “Yes,” I hissed. “Now.”
His smile turned into a grin as he started to move, my body tingling with every slow thrust of his hips. He caressed me in ways that filled me with a sense of absolute safety, absolute security, and I surrendered myself to him, to the moment. Every sensation left me acutely aware of everything he did, of the way his hands cradled my face when he kissed me, the way he looked at me with deep tenderness, the way he touched me as if my body was made of glass.
I knew, in that moment, that he would never let anyone hurt me. I was his world and he was mine. I smiled, running my fingers through his hair, giving fully to him at last.
