Chapter 16 Neil

ON THE TRAINto Boston, I listen to the Smiths, her favorite band. I once teased her that they were too melancholy, but today they sound defiantly full of life. Every song is joy and sunshine, optimism and blue skies.

Maybe it's the long winter, but I've been fighting with my alarms in New York, snoozing them for much longer than I usually do. When I finally peel myself out of bed, I'm groggy during my classes, a strange kind of brain fog preventing me from raising my hand. If I'm able to focus, it's only during psych, which is raising questions I'm not sure how to answer.

Being here will silence all those questions. For two days, I get to focus only on her.

I could take in the buildings and the scenery and the splendor of a new city. But right now, all I see is Rowan waiting for me at the station, eyes lit up and mouth curved into my favorite smile. The entire trip to Emerson, I place my hand on her knee and then on her thigh. Every so often, she glances down, runs a thumb along my knuckles. I can tell exactly what she's thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing.

As soon as we get to her dorm, I drop my bags and reach for her, hands in her hair as I push her back against the door. Just like I told her I'd do in those texts on that night that now seems like it happened ages ago. Her mouth meets mine, frantic and sweet and perfect.

"Missed you," she says, breathless, tugging my hips to hers. God, she feels good.

"Missed you more." I drag down her hoodie zipper. "Am I ever getting this hoodie back?"

"Nope. It's mine now."

Seeing her in it would have been enough to send my heart into overdrive if it weren't already halfway there. I never thought I was someone who'd feel such a primal surge of desire over a girl wearing my clothing, but I suppose I'm learning new things about myself all the time.

It's enough to make me wonder what she might look like in one of my button-ups.

And nothing else.

"You know what, I prefer it on you," I say, pulling her closer by the drawstrings.

But then I get a flash of us back in my dorm at NYU, and over winter break in her room, and just as she reaches for my belt, I pause.

"Wait, wait, wait." It takes all my willpower to put some space between us. Strength I did not, until this moment, know I possessed. "I want to talk first."

Her face is beautifully flushed. "Okay."

My body needs a few extra moments to respond, and then I follow her over to her bed, sitting down next to her. Her side of the room is similar to mine—photos of her friends, Seattle, the two of us—while her roommate's is covered with various penguin paraphernalia.

This doesn't have to be scary. It shouldn't be scary, not with her. I think back to that conversation with Skyler, knowing this talk is probably long overdue.

"I've been realizing," I start, "that I may still have some insecurities about this."

Her brow furrows. "About us?"

"No. Never about us. About… this." I wave my hand at the bed, summoning the confidence to use real words, not euphemisms. "About sex. And, well, I don't think we've ever really discussed it since that first time."

A deepening of her blush, even though this is something she is usually so confident talking about. It was one of the things I admired about her during that endless night in Seattle.

The difference, I realize, is that this time it's about us.

I want to talk about this without shame or fear, forcing every ellipsis and shaky word out of my voice. "Because I came into this without much experience. Because you haven't had an orgasm the last couple times, and I've worried that maybe I'm not experienced enough for you, or not good enough for you."

"Neil." Her eyes fill with emotion as she tucks her knees up underneath her, nudges her body closer to mine. Just that hint of contact, of pressure, is enough to remind me that everything will be okay. "I have never thought that. Ever."

"You're sure?"

She is so solid here next to me, something I miss so desperately when we talk on the phone. "Don't get me wrong—I'm glad we're talking about it. I've probably been… a little distracted." She brushes her bangs to one side of her forehead and then the other, never able to figure out what she wants to do with them. "With school, there's just been a lot on our minds, for both of us."

"And that's okay," I rush to say. "Perfectly okay and understandable."

"What we do in here, the actual physical component—that doesn't matter to me as much as just being with you. Even if we sat here staring at each other for five hours, I'd still love every minute of it."

"That's extremely nice to hear." The relief is immediate. I reach for her knee, tapping a rhythm on her leggings. "If it ever seems like I don't know what I'm doing… well, sometimes I don't. But I want to learn. I really do."

A flicker of a smile. "Here's the thing. Whatever experience we had before we started dating, now we're doing it together. And that makes everything feel new to me. Everything," she repeats for emphasis. "Even if it's not fireworks right away, the fact that it's you…" She trails off, shaking her head, leaning forward to place a hand on my chest. My heart lifts to meet her touch. "I don't think you fully realize the effect you have on me."

The laugh that slips out is a small, disbelieving thing. I cover her hand, turning it over and tracing circles on her palm. I want to create fireworks for this girl every fucking time. "Trust me, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

We sit there like that for a few moments, me drawing a fingertip along her wrist, her seeming deep in thought.

"We could probably both be better at communicating," she says after a while. "I want to think reading all those books has made it easier for me, and it has, in a way. But I'm still learning too, what it's like to talk about this with someone who means as much to me as you do. If you're not comfortable—"

"I am." I say it solidly, steadily. The truth. "With you, I am. When we were texting… God. I want to be able to have that in real life." I can feel her press even closer, her free hand landing on my thigh. "I want to be open with you in every possible way. You just… you make me feel like I don't have to be ashamed of anything."

Rowan just gazes at me for a few long moments with this soft, awed expression, so beautiful she should be at MoMA next to The Starry Night. "I really, really love you," she says before her arms come up around my neck.

"So just to be clear," I say, "you don't want to sit here staring at each other for five hours?"

She laughs and pushes me down on the bed. My hands go to the small of her back, molding her body to mine. I will never not love the feeling of her on top of me. "I have a few other things in mind. If we're getting better at communicating"—a kiss to my cheek, my chin, a sly smile—"what if you told me what you want to do right now?"

"I'd… really like to go down on you again." This time, finding the right words is easy. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her mouth still swollen from the way we kissed when we first got here. I drag my fingertips up her spine, beneath her shirt. Slowly, slowly, one corner of her mouth kicks upward. I don't know how the effect I have on her can be any fraction of what she does to me, these simple expressions able to completely unstitch me.

"Without any pressure," I add. "Whatever happens or doesn't happen—it's okay. More than okay. I just loved feeling that close to you."

"I'd like that. But if it takes a long time, I don't want you to get bored or feel like you're doing anything wrong.…"

I'm not sure how to tell her that it would be rather impossible for me to get bored with my face between her legs, how I've imagined it every night I've had my dorm room to myself. No amount of her could ever be enough.

"That's not going to happen. I can promise you that." Then, remembering, I shift to grab my backpack from off the floor. "I also, uh, bought a few things? Just in case." I show her my haul from the adult shop, and her mouth drops open.

"Neil McNair," she says, leaning forward so she can take off my glasses. "You are the very best surprise."

We return to kissing, deeper and harder this time as I help her shed the hoodie and she reaches for the hem of my shirt. The rest of her clothes, I take off as slowly as I can bear, trying to draw out the anticipation. Make this as enjoyable for her as possible.

When I finally touch her with my mouth, she lets out the loveliest sigh, one that I feel all the way down to my toes. Another thing I'm not ashamed of: the fact that I did a little research on what, specifically, I'm supposed to do down here. Last time, I was so overwhelmed by those new feelings that I could barely keep myself steady. This time, I want to spell the alphabet against her skin and learn everything she likes.

"What is it?" she asks when I pause for a moment, a note of concern in her voice.

I channel the confidence from that night we texted each other with such heady abandon. "I just—I love the way you taste." It's the filthiest thing I've ever said, and I'm instantly obsessed with how she reacts, a breathy little whimper that leaves me desperate for more. I could probably come just like this, without her even touching me.

She throws her head back against the pillow, exposing the arch of her neck. "You're perfect."

The words only embolden me as I return my tongue to her and slide into a rhythm. The gasp she lets out is a gorgeous, decadent thing. I can feel her pressing closer, a hand in my hair, nails digging into my scalp.

If I died tomorrow, I'd be certain I spent my last night on earth doing exactly what I was meant to do.

"There." That syllable is a sliver of sound. A wisp of lace. "God… that feels so good."

I exhale against her, unable to catch my breath but hardly caring. "All I ever want is to make you feel good."

It feels more intimate than anything we've ever done, possibly the most intimate thing I've ever experienced. Everything I have ever done in a bed suddenly seems like a ridiculous waste of time when this exists. The way she surrenders herself—there is not a single word in any language that describes how wonderfully wrecked my senses are.

Then her legs are trembling, her whole body seeming to tighten before she lets go, shuddering out an "oh my God" and "Neil" and "please." She shatters around me, breaths loud and chest heaving. Her hands in my hair and my name on her lips.

All of the anxiety and overthinking are worth it if I get to see her like this, sexy and uninhibited and alive.

"Good?" I say.

"Might have to do it a few more times to know for sure," she manages, her voice hoarse. With my last shred of consciousness, I realize it's the same thing I said to her the morning after we slept together for the first time.

Then she's reaching for my waist. My hips. A kiss to the fabric of my boxers and then lower, lower.

"Are you sure?" I ask, sucking in a breath. "Because you don't have to if—"

"I know." Another kiss. "And I am very, very sure."

When she closes her mouth around me, the sensation is absolutely unreal. Warmth and longing. Ecstasy and trust. All my awareness dims to only the places where she is touching me.

"What do you think?" she asks. "Any notes?"

"N-no. None whatsoever."

And she gives this lovely laugh before her mouth renders me useless.

I might last two more seconds or two more hours. Time no longer has meaning when she's hovering over me like this, rewiring my brain. I pull away at the last moment, not wanting to finish in her mouth if she doesn't want me to, but a silent exchange seems to pass between us.

I want this if you do,her wild, determined eyes tell me.

Yes.

Then she takes me back in.

The way I fall apart is a brilliant burst of neon behind my eyelids as pleasure crashes through me. She holds tightly to my hips, anchoring me to the bed.

To her.

Later that night, after a round two and a silent blessing that her roommate seems to be permanently MIA, we order a pizza because we can't bear to leave this room. Tomorrow I'll finally see Boston, but right now is just for the two of us, laughing and joking and teasing the way we usually do. And yet tonight it feels different. A new kind of closeness.

With a grimace, she tells me about her first hangover, and I tell her about Skyler and Adhira, and she squeals and makes me promise to send her updates as soon as they happen.

"You have to understand, this is total catnip to my romance novelist heart," she says. "I'm already so invested."

When we're here, the family weekend where my family wasn't present doesn't matter. The letter from my dad doesn't exist. I am wholly myself in a way I've never known, comfortable in my skin and radically fearless. My boldly independent, aspiring romance novelist girlfriend who makes me aspire to absolutely everything. She always has.

Here with her, there is none of that darkness, not even when the sun sinks below the horizon and the sky turns black.

She is the brightest light in any room.