Jesse

For a few months things were almost magical.

When we'd returned to work after spending the Holiday together, we agreed to keep things professional at the office. Neither of us wanted to complicate our lives any more than we already had, and I was grateful that we were on the same page.

We did a good job of treating each other no differently than we had when I'd first entered Ash's employ. Well, a pretty good job. Just because we'd decided to behave professionally didn't stop my mind, and on occasion my hand, from thinking about Ash in some very not professional ways. I'd been on the losing end of that battle from day one.

When he came out to collect or drop off his clients, I tended to let my gaze linger on the way the black silk he always wore clung to the curve of his ass and draped across his chest.

When I handed him protein shakes on busy days, I'd let my fingers linger on the cup long enough that his would brush mine as he took it, sending currents of electricity running along my arm and straight to my heart. Ok, my heart and my groin.

I was still careful not to stare at him when I dropped off the laundry. Somehow it felt like an even larger invasion of his privacy than it had before we were together. Since we were taking the physical side of our relationship slowly, it felt wrong to see him naked at work before he felt comfortable enough to take that step with me at home.

When I did catch brief glances of him, wet and glistening as I walked quickly past, his stance hadn't changed. He still stood under the spray facing the wall, leaning on his hands with his shoulders hunched forward. He still looked sad. It was obvious that even though he'd begun to allow me into his personal life, he was scared that it wouldn't last. I'd never been so enamored. I'd never been so in love. I understood why the thought of it all falling apart scared him. I was terrified.

When we spent time at his home, he was a different person. He was soft and attentive. He was quick to laugh, and to share, and to touch me whenever he could. His pale gaze seemed to follow me everywhere. If I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he would be searching the doorway for my return. His eyes would soften as soon as I entered, the small creases beside them growing slightly as a smile spread gently across his lips.

We spent each night in one another's arms. Some nights we'd curl up on the couch and read together. Others, I'd write or study while I used him as a back rest, or he curled up at my side with his head on my lap. I let my fingers trail across his skin at every opportunity, and I delighted in the way he seemed to do the same. When I'd finally worked myself to exhaustion, or neither of us could focus on the words on our pages any longer, we'd walk hand in hand to his bedroom, strip to our briefs and curl up tightly. He always fell asleep quickly. I had no idea if that was normal for him, or if my presence somehow offered him enough comfort that such a thing was possible. I didn't really want to know. I wanted to believe that it was somehow a gift I'd been able to offer him.

Although he was quick to touch me, he seemed almost frightened of progressing to anything sexual. What was I doing wrong?

He would kiss me. Oh, how he would kiss me. His lips taking their time as they played tenderly with mine. His tongue thrusting deep and exploring my mouth in a way that left me feeling breathless. Possessed. Owned. Branded.

His fingers would dig into my shoulders and hips and thighs, dragging my body against his, our lengths hard and pressed so tightly against one another between our bodies that it left me gasping. I let him lead, never pressing him to go further, never asking for more. I wanted more. God, I wanted more. Why was it so easy for him to fuck clients, but so hard for him to believe that I wanted him? I didn't know how to make him understand.

I knew he was afraid. Every time he pulled back when things became too intense, he'd apologize with this look in his eyes that said he was afraid. Afraid because he wasn't ready for more. Afraid that things would change. Afraid that this was the time I was going to walk out because of his hesitation. I'd pull him into my arms, kiss him gently, and change the subject while secretly hoping that one day I'd be enough. One day he'd understand he was enough.

Everything he did turned me on. The way he laughed, so rarely, but so completely that his head fell back, and his entire body trembled with joy. The way his clothes clung to his muscled form as he moved with an effortless grace that he seemed unaware of. The soft golden hair that covered his forearms and calves. The way the same soft fuzz grew on the lower half of his stomach, trailing in a thin line toward his briefs.

I let my fingers trace it lightly on the nights I held him in front of me in bed. The scent of peppermint had become enough to make me harden on its own, something that was inconvenient to say the least considering the tea most of his clients requested was peppermint. I'd had to switch to cinnamon gum.

It didn't matter. If I could lie in his arms, safe and happy, if I could see those green eyes smile at me every time I entered the room. If I could feel this deeply, love this much. If I could keep him. I didn't need sex.

I spent weeknights in my dorm, and the memories he'd given me were enough. When my hand wandered down my chest or I stroked myself with long deliberate movements, it was his body I saw, his eyes that hovered in front of mine. It was his fingertips I felt move across my skin. The taste of his lips, the memory of his cock pressed against my own when we lay together. They were enough. When my back would arch back as I came alone in my bed, it was his name I'd whimper into the darkness.

I could live without sex, but I needed him to understand how much he meant to me. I needed him to understand that I didn't care what he did for a living, that he'd become my whole world. That the way I'd fallen into his life felt as if space had been waiting, just for me. We fit together perfectly without even trying. I had never imagined it possible to feel so deeply for someone. I wanted him to be a part of my life in the way I felt I was a part of his. I wanted him to see the way we fit. I wanted him to see us the way I did.

I'd expected him to be excited when I asked him to accompany me to the end of semester mixer. I'd hoped he'd be excited that I wanted him to be involved in my life in the way I was involved in his. He hadn't been excited. The look in his eyes had been one of fear, and of sorrow. I didn't know how to make him see himself the way I did, how to make him understand that my love wasn't conditional. I knew that once we were there and he saw there was nothing to worry about, he'd relax and maybe begin to understand that his profession didn't matter. He'd see that, right? For the first time since we'd been together, I felt panic begin to settle in my chest.