“So…” I dragged a finger lazily down the middle of his torso, swirled it around his belly button, and up again towards his right nipple. I was rewarded with a hissing sound and a tighter squeeze of his hand where it rested on my hip.
“Hmmph,” he replied against my neck, that Scottish grunting sound I was starting to become familiar with, rumbling against my skin.
We hadn’t been together long, or dated, or been considered an item, (whatever one might choose to label this), but somehow these past two months with him felt like two years. He had quickly picked up on my tells, my quirks and my habits (best and worst) with unreserved acceptance. He seemed to accept all of me and I could slowly feel my walls crumbling bit by bit each day. As scary as it was to let someone else truly know you, I felt comfortable with him... comfortable enough to ask what I was about to ask.
“Was there something on yer mind Sassenach?” he mumbled and grazed my jaw with his lips before pressing them against mine. We were both sated, limp and lazy from the activities we’d engaged in for the last hour, but the feel of his mouth on mine never failed to stir me up all over again.
I almost forgot the question, distracted as I was by his lips, when he suddenly broke the kiss and looked at me. A copper coloured eyebrow quirked in curiosity at what I was about to tell him.
“Well,” I started anew, “I was mostly curious…” Blushing now and regretting I had said anything at all, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Emboldened by my own strangeness, I began without words; taking his hand from my hip and guiding it in between my legs where I parted his fingers so his hand was spread like a starfish, covering all of me.
“I wanted to know what you prefer. Like this, ”I said, holding my hand over his and pressing it slightly against me. I swallowed thickly, then looked him straight in the eyes, “or bare? You know, shaved?”
I held my breath waiting for his response. He swallowed as well, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat, and licked his lips. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, perhaps trying to figure out whether or not this was a trick question. His brow furrowed and I could only imagine him searching his own mind for a way to answer me without actually answering me.
I almost felt sorry for him, so I continued.
“I’m quite happy like this, but I would like to try it to know what it would feel like, if it makes things different ... But only if you want me to.”
To be honest, I was never going to do anything to my body that I, myself, wasn’t comfortable with. I would never comply with what some guy wanted me to look like, or change myself because it was considered sexy or modern. But Jamie wasn’t “some guy,” he was quickly becoming the most important person in my life at a pace that made my head spin.
We hadn’t said the magic words yet, the I love yous, but the essence of it was in the unspoken, daily. It was in the way he looked at me or touched me or the other things he said; some in English, some in Gaelic. The way his foreign words calmly found their way into my dreams like distant tumbling stones and told me nearly as much as any I love you ever could. I wasn’t mad about it, not one bit, so for that reason it felt like I wanted him to be in on this. I wanted to share everything with him - what was on the inside, as well as on the outside - even something as trivial as shaving myself there .
He cleared his throat and cupped my cheek with the hand that wasn’t occupied with touching me lower down. Regaining his composure he was now tentatively moving his fingers against me, gently, slowly, almost reassuringly stroking me, making me throb with pleasure.
“Claire,” he whispered, his breath hot on my cheek “I dinnae have a preference when it comes tae… that . But if ye feel like doin’ it, weel…I wouldna be opposed.”
Always diplomatic, and a gentleman, but what had I expected? He never failed to live up to my expectations, more often than not he exceeded them, which to be fair wasn’t all that hard considering my experiences with men before him. Still, he blew me away on a daily basis; my heart growing softer each time he did. I was slowly forgetting the reasons it had been battered and bruised when we first met, as if there was this clear line drawn the second he walked into my life, making everything before that moment less important.
“I do feel like doing it.” I said, feeling somewhat more confident now, although slightly breathless from what he was doing to me. “It would be smoother, against your fingers, when you touch me like this,” I breathed out, trying my best not to whimper as his fingertips drew small circles around that spot.
He growled, and moved in closer so his length was pressing against my thigh, already hard again, likely from the conversation we were having and feeling with his fingers the effect his touch had on me.
“And,” I added, trying not to moan too loudly because God it felt delicious. “I was thinking you could do it for me.”
He stilled completely and blinked at me.
“Yes, I mean ,” I laughed, and nibbled at his bottom lip with my teeth, “it could be fun.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Suddenly filled with energy, he got up from the bed, grabbed my hands, and dragged me with him into the bathroom, where he arranged a towel on the toilet lid for me to sit on. With an overly dramatic gesture that made me laugh even more, he motioned for me to sit down and then rummaged around my drawers in search of a new razor and shaving gel. Finally all set and satisfied with the preparations, he drenched a small cloth with warm water and knelt before me on the floor.
For a second he just looked at me with that crooked half smile that never failed to make me forget I had bones.
“Spread yer legs fer me, mo graidh.”
Feeling my cheeks burn and turn pink, I did as he asked, situating one foot on the edge of the tub next to the toilet. I had never before felt so exposed, so vulnerable, as I did that very moment. We had only turned on the spotlights enough so he could properly see what he was doing, but it was still considerably brighter than the lighting had ever been in my, or his, bedroom, or any other place where we’d explored each other's bodies, for that matter.
At first I didn’t know what to feel and regretted what I had asked him to do. It was too much to be on display like this in front of a man I was dating, a man I wanted to look my absolute best for, a man whom I wanted desperately to find me attractive. I closed my eyes and was just about to take everything back, get up, and go back to bed... but then I felt his lips on the inside of my thigh, right above my left knee. The kiss was tender and soft. He held his mouth there, the warmth of his breath soothing me as he carefully started to wipe the cloth over the sensitive skin on the insides of my thighs and between my legs, making sure I was wet enough for the shaving gel to lather properly.
I sighed instead of speaking and melted back into my seated position, relaxing, even as he put gel in his hands and then on me. It felt cool on my heated skin and the contrast caused goosebumps to erupt all over my body. Another sigh - this one because of how good it felt - escaped my lips.
He looked up at me, worrying his bottom lips between his teeth. “Everywhere?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
“Yes, everywhere.” My voice, barely a whisper.
Eventually satisfied with that stage of the process, he grabbed the razor from the vanity countertop and removed the cap. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to begin.
“Just start,” I said, letting my fingers move through his hair, “but shave with the hairs, not against, okay.”
He chuckled and raised both his eyebrows at me. “Ye ken I have used a razor before, Claire.”
A breathy laugh escaped me, my cheeks burning. “Yes of course you have, I was just…” I trailed off and inhaled sharply as he placed his right hand on the inside of my thigh and set to work, a smirk still lingering on his lips.
I was already trimmed, so it wasn’t that much of an effort, but he was meticulous and very, very careful. His lips were slightly parted but tightened whenever navigations of the razor lower down required more focus - not wanting for the life of him to cut me or for that matter, miss a spot. I tried to breathe calmly through the process, neither of us speaking, as if this was some sort of ritual not to be tainted with words. I looked down at him, his face focused and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration and I felt my heart swell with affection for this wonderful loving man, literally on his knees before me, sharing a moment more intimate than I had ever experienced before.
Finally he was done and moved back a bit, studying me, as if he was admiring his handiwork. He looked so serious I couldn’t help but giggle at him.
“Are you pleased with the result?” I teased and sat up a bit straighter, putting my foot down on the floor.
He shook his head and laughed as well, before helping me up and pulling me into his arms.
“Aye, verra happy indeed, Sassenach.” He smirked into my mouth and kissed me soundly. “Let's rinse ye off properly, shall we.”
He guided me into the tub and took down the shower head from its holder and began the task of rinsing me off, while waving off my rather vague protest that I was capable of cleaning myself. He wouldn’t hear of it, apparently wanting to finish the job he started. The feeling that had been building ever since this little activity had been brought up about half an hour ago in my bed, was simmering in my belly, and lower down. As he moved the shower jet across the sensitive flesh between my thighs, taking a lot more time with the rinsing than strictly necessary, I could feel it coming to a boiling point.
“Jamie,” I breathed out, moving my hands from his upper arms where they had been resting and struck them across his chest.
“Almost done,” he teased, the smile in his voice revealing he was doing just that.
But he turned off the shower and reached for a towel to dry us both off. A yelp of surprise escaped me when he lifted me off my feet; his strong, very capable hands grabbing the underside of my thighs, while I wrapped my legs around his waist. For a second he didn’t move, only pressed his mouth against mine, his tongue darting out when I parted my lips for him.
“Thank ye, mo nighean donn,” he whispered and then kissed me again.
“What for?” I asked, surprised and moved at the same time.
“Fer trusting me, fer being mine…” He hesitated and I felt as if he wanted to say more but didn’t know what or how. Instead, he made his way to the bedroom where he carefully laid me down on the duvet.
The woman lying before me on the bed was a goddess. I could not for the life of me fathom that I was here with her, that she was mine. At least I hoped she was, but the way she had looked at me when I said those words only a minute ago told me it was more than okay that I had said it. I had wanted to tell her more, could taste the sweetness of the words on my tongue, but had known it wasn’t the time just yet. The moment was perfect as is, just like her.
I could also not believe what she had just let me do. Definitely a first for me in more ways than the obvious. The act of shaving her was one thing, and one of the sexiest things I had ever done or ever thought I would do, but then, there was everything that went with that. It was the intimacy of it all, the way she had trusted me without reserve, the way she had let herself be vulnerable with me like that. I had seen it on her face back there in the bathroom, her glass face not hiding much of what was going through her head. She was having second thoughts about asking me to do it, about the whole thing. But the fact that she had melted under my touch, relaxed, and let me get on with it, was testimony of something deeper: a connection between us that was starting to deepen beyond the physical and beyond friendship. It was a connection of the souls.
I laid down next to her on the bed, cradled her face in my hands, then kissed her again. I took my time exploring her mouth as if it was the first time we kissed. My hands wandered over her naked form, resisting the temptation to touch her there right away. But my God I was eager to, could hardly wait to learn how it felt, what it looked like.
Bare, as she had put it. Uncovered.
She pressed herself closer to me and hooked a leg over my hip, trapping my cock between our bodies and against her stomach. Her fingers were in my hair, urging the kiss to deepen, the noises against my mouth adding fuel to the fire burning inside of me. Christ, she was utterly delicious like this. Needy and unabashed, wanton and aroused. Feeling her slickness against my thigh, silky and warm, I couldn't hold back anymore. I needed to feel her with my hands and mouth. I needed to know all her secrets now.
My hand trailed across her back and down to her arse, stopping to grab at her roundness a bit rough, and earning myself a specific kind of whimper; a keening sound that shot straight to my groin.
“I wonder,” I mumbled, groaned almost, whilst slipping my fingers in between her buttocks and further down, “what it feels like.”
She didn’t answer, only looked at me, breathing heavily as my hand finally reached her center.
“Smooth…” I coaxed out, my breath hitching in my throat as I pressed my face against her neck, my eyes tightly shut on all the emotions inside my chest as I moved my fingers over her flesh. I touched her with all intent to fully learn her but her hips started moving, bucking against my thigh, her hands gripping at my upper arm and neck. The sounds she made became louder with each stroke of my fingers.
“Jamie,” she panted, “please…”
It didn’t make much sense but what I felt, besides desire and want, was reverence towards her, admiration, respect. How could she give herself to me like this, unreserved, as if she herself was a gift? I swore right then and there that I would treasure her for as long as she would let me, for as long as she would have me.
Gently, I shifted us so she laid flat on her back. As if she had read my mind she put her hands over her head; her halo of brown messy curls a stark contrast against her alabaster white skin, her beauty almost unbearable. She was watching me intently with those whisky eyes burning into mine, licking her lips slowly as she let her legs fall open.
It felt as if time stood still when I let my hand and gaze travel across her body, barely touching, until it disappeared between her legs once more.
“May I look at ye, Claire?” I whispered. The almost sob she let out and her eager nod in response was answer enough.
What followed was a worship of her body.
I worshipped her with the love I knew I felt for her, the love I had known I felt for her since first we had met. With hands and mouth, I told her everything that was in my heart that I could not yet put into words. Yes, she looked beautiful, the sensations were different now, for the both of us, but I didn’t care about the way she looked or felt. What I did care about, and took pride in, was how I made her feel; the sounds of pleasure she was making because of me, the way her body reacted to my touch.
I didn’t care about my own needs, though I was achingly hard at this point, the urge growing stronger with every stroke of my tongue against, in between, and inside her wet heat. Her taste (salty, sweet, musky) was intoxicating. How she felt (soft, warm, wet) drove me mad. But this was all about her.
Her hands were in my hair, fingers digging into my scalp, hips moving with my mouth’s motions against her. I knew she was close, the sounds she was making becoming louder though muffled by her thighs pressing to my ears. Words I couldn’t quite make out were flowing from her (God, how it felt, fuck) over and over again.
When she fell apart, she cried out my name; her hips moving uncontrollably then becoming absolutely still at the peak of her climax. I held her tight, hands wrapped around her hips, forcing her to stay close, to not drift away. I anchored her as she started to come down, panting and sobbing, her limbs trembling and her hands softening their grip of my hair.
After, she rolled to her side, nuzzling her face against my neck and wrapping her arms around my waist. She sighed in contentment as I ran my hands across her back, stroked her hair, and whispered things I knew she didn’t understand, but all the same knew the meaning off.
“Did you like it?” she asked softly.
With a finger under her chin I tilted her face so I could look into her eyes, so she would know I meant every word I was about to say.
“Claire,” I began, my voice almost breaking with emotion. “Ye ken I like it. But it isna fer the reason ye think. Ye are sae beautiful, every part of ye is beautiful,” I paused and bit down on my lip, watching her eyes tear up. “This, what ye wanted me tae do, doesna change how I already feel fer ye or how I see you . Ye will always be beautiful tae me, Sassenach. Always.”
She nodded and pressed her lips against mine.
“That we shaved yer punani makes no difference tae me, Claire. Okay?” I mumbled against her mouth, wiggling my eyebrows at her, wanting to make her laugh instead of cry.
And she did. Laughed and swatted at my arm.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” she giggled, “who even calls it that?”
“But that’s good to know, Jamie. It’s too high maintenance to keep it like this... unless you do it for me every time?” She winked and moved her hands further down, taking a firm hold of me. “Or perhaps I can return the favour next time?”
“Christ…” was all I could manage to respond as she started to work her magic on me, knowing I would let her do whatever she wanted. Just about anything at all.