“Of course,” he says, walking me back toward the bed. His hands explore me beneath my sweater, and my nipples become hard. He tugs the thick fabric off me, and cool air breathes across my skin. I suck in a breath, nervous now that he’s seeing me fully naked.
His lids drop low. He looks at me with something like awe. He touches my breasts with reverence. There’s worship in every breath he takes.
He takes off my jeans next, pushing down my panties along with them. I’m naked when I step out of the bunched fabric. Naked, and he’s fully dressed. He drops his head and places kisses across my shoulder. His hand goes behind my back, lifting me up so he can suck my nipple. The warmth of his mouth makes me groan and buck my hips. It’s an invitation. He slides his hand down to my pussy. Two fingers make their way inside me.
“Oh God,” I whisper, tugging at his dark hair.
“I want you to come,” he murmurs against my breast. “I want to feel you wet and clenching around my fingers. That way I’ll know you’re ready for me.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
A low rumble of a laugh. His fingers press deeper inside me. His thumb finds my clit. He rubs circles that make me stand on my tiptoes. “You can.”
The pleasure washes over me in waves. My legs can’t support myself anymore, and he eases me down onto the bed. The same plain bedspread I saw when I walked into the room for the first time. How could I have imagined it would lead to this? I feel the stitching against my back. I’m hypersensitive. I can trace the veins of the bed against my back.
He follows me down, supporting himself on his elbow, his other hand still working between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together. “It’s too much.”
He shakes his head, inexorable. It’s like arguing with a mountain. “You’re still too tight. You need to come again. Let me make you feel good.”
The words unlock something in me, and I sigh a relief built up over years. My head falls back over his arm, exposing my neck. He licks me there. Bites me there. Then his mouth closes over my other nipple. He sucks gently while his hand brings me closer and closer to orgasm. It’s like my body is fighting it, fighting against a tidal wave, destined to lose.
He’s making words with his tongue, writing across my breasts, embossing something into my skin. Mine, he writes. Then he bites down on the side of my breast, the flesh there soft and sensitive. I buck against his hand, and then I come in a hard gush, the climax wrapped around me like barbed wire, squeezing, hurting, drawing blood in certain places.
He’s still stroking me gently as I come down.
I look between my legs. I felt a definite liquid explosion. I’ve touched myself before, but it’s been a little bit wet. Nothing like this. His hand glistens with my moisture. “Was that okay?”
His nostrils flare. “That was fucking beautiful. I want you to come like that on my cock.”
Then he pulls off his clothes. His muscles ripple with tension. In the bright light of day, I can see every line of his body, the tanned skin and dark hair. He looks like a warrior.
He pulls a small square from his wallet. A condom.
I watch, feeling suddenly shy as he rips it open and rolls it over his cock.
“Oh hell,” he says, looking down at me. I’m too exposed. Even pressing my legs together does little to hide my naked body. He puts a hand between my thighs and opens me. “I’m not going to last long. Just looking at you makes me want to come.”
He puts one knee on the bed and leans forward, his cock notched against my sex. “Tell me if I go too fast. Or too hard. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“Wait,” I say.
His muscles tremble with restraint. “Yeah?”
“I’m not…” God, I should have rehearsed this. That would have been weird, but this is weirder. “I’m not that kind of a virgin.”
He lifts my chin until I meet his gaze. “What kind of virgin are you?”
“I’m not going to… I’m not going to bleed or anything. I don’t have a hymen. It’s not my first time. It’s just the first time that I’m going to be—”
“Willing,” he says, his teeth clenched.
“I was going to say conscious,” I say, with a slightly hysterical little laugh.
“Christ,” he says, pulling back, running a hand through his hair. He stalks away, clearly furious. And completely unselfconscious about the fact that he’s naked and still erect.
“No, no. We don’t have to stop. I don’t want to stop. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to hold back or think it was strange if I didn’t bleed or something.”
“Let’s get a few things straight, Jane Mendoza.” He stalks close to me again, pulling me up to a sitting position on the bed. My legs hang over the side, not quite long enough for my feet to touch the ground. It’s a tall bed. “One, it can hurt even when you’re not a virgin of any kind. If you haven’t had sex in a while, if you’re not completely ready, if the man goes too hard… all those things can hurt you, and that’s what I was concerned about.”
“Oh. So maybe I didn’t need to say anything.”
“Two, who the fuck did that to you?”
A long sigh escapes me. I look up at the ceiling. It doesn’t have any answers. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it fucking matters.”
“Is there a chance we can go back to doing what we were doing?”
“Oh, we’re doing that. Don’t worry. But first, you’re going to give me a name.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a hypocritical bastard who demands your secrets even when I won’t give you my own. Now tell me.”
“It was my foster father. And maybe it was my own fault. He wasn’t even home much. One night I was up late and so was he. He offered to let me try some of his beer. It didn’t taste good, but he told me to finish the whole can.”
“It wasn’t your fucking fault. Don’t say that again.”
“The next morning I woke up in bed. I didn’t remember anything about what happened. But there was something between my legs. I was sore and I thought… well, I think I know what he did. It was only that one time though.”
“One time is too many.”
“After that I mostly avoided him. And Noah was there to protect me.”
Beau blows out a hard breath. “I suppose I can’t hate the guy too much, then.”
I don’t feel sexual anymore, not after talking about my foster father, not after thinking about that night. But I don’t want him to control me. I don’t consider what happened that night to be sex. Beau Rochester will be my first; I won’t let my foster father take that from me.
I reach out tentatively for Beau. He doesn’t move as I stroke a circle across his bicep. And then a triangle. And then a square. Then I graduate to letters.
Can we start over? I ask with silent, traced letters.
He faces me. “I want to kill someone,” he says, fury evident in his voice.
“Do that later.”
A short laugh. “You are perfect, you know that? You’re so damn strong. You’re invincible. It terrifies me, how much I want you.”