1

They went to Gloucester, Massachusetts. Sanders wasn't entirely sure why – the beach during the summer was awful. So many people and tourists. But Tate loved Good Harbor Beach, so he'd allowed himself to be dragged to the coast.

He was somewhat regretting it now. He'd assumed she'd book a house for them. Money was no object for people like Jameson and Sanders, so even at the height of vacation season, they could have found something. Silly man, he'd forgotten who he was dealing with, though. She'd booked them a room at a quaint but cheap motel that was directly on the beach.

When they'd checked in, he'd kept calm and collected, but inwardly, his skin had been crawling. So many people, all around him. Being loud and rude. Flip flops clacking away, the smell of sunscreen everywhere, hairy backs as far as the eye could see.

“We could have gone to Saint-Tropez,” he'd pointed out. She'd laughed at him while she signed them into their room.

“And waste half a day getting there and then again coming back? I only have you for four more days, I'm not wasting any of them.”

The room had been small. One king sized bed with an ugly comforter. A scratched dresser against the wall, and a worn but comfortable sitting chair near the bed. Surprisingly enough, the bathroom was very large. A spacious, but dated, tub took up most of one wall, and a shower stall, vanity, and toilet were across from it. There was lots of floor space, and he assumed it was because of the beach. Giving the motel dwellers ample space to clean off all the sand.

I wonder if there is a Hilton nearby, I cannot be expected to shower here.

Though Sanders loved any time he got to spend with Tate, he couldn't quite figure out her game. Good Harbor Beach wasn't exactly anywhere special. They put their overnight bags in a corner in the room. They had a normal dinner at a plain restaurant. All things that could have been done at home.

“Will you tell me now?” he finally asked.

It was almost midnight and they were down on the beach. There were some bonfires in the distance, and once in a while a couple people sauntered by up closer to the street. But they were down in the water line, letting the ocean lap at their legs. It was also unseasonably chilly out, so that seemed to be keeping people away.

“Tell you what?” Tate asked, staring out over the black sea. The wind was whipping some loose strands of her hair around and she kept trying to tuck them behind her ears, almost absentmindely.

“Why we are here,” he said, looking down at her. She was to his side and a couple steps in front of him. Her sandals were dangling from one hand and she had her other hand up by her face, still fighting with her hair. Though it was cold, she hadn't bothered changing out of what she'd driven up in – high waisted black shorts, which were very tiny. Almost more like bathing suit bottoms. On top was a loose black crop top. Ridiculous for the weather, really, but so perfect for her.

Sanders was still in his suit. He had wanted to change before going down to the beach, but she'd insisted on walking straight down. He'd left his shoes, socks, and jacket up by the motel, then had rolled up his pant legs before going into the water with her. His tie kept flapping around in the wind, so he finally unbuttoned the middle button on his shirt and slipped the length of silk through the hole to keep it in place.

“I like the ocean,” she sighed. “And you like the beach. I knew the weather was going to be shitty, which meant it wouldn't be crazy busy. I thought it would be nice for us to spend some time alone together. I know we won't get a chance again.”

“There is always Christmas,” he assured her, frowning at her back. She finally looked over at him, and even in the dark he could see her smile.

“Like I said – I know we won't get this chance again.”

She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask for more explanation. He understood, and apparently, so did she. Jameson must have told her about Sanders' feelings. Still. What was the difference, then? If she knew about the issue, why bring him out there alone, now?

I may have ruined everything. I can't let us end like this.

“I appreciate everything you've done for me,” he suddenly told her. Her smile got bigger and she turned to fully face him. She was deeper than him, the water coming to just below her knees.

“Really? All the teasing and needling and embarrassing?” she laughed.

“Every moment of it,” he assured her.

“And all the splashing?”

“Excuse me?”

She didn't respond, but instead kicked up a leg. He gasped – actually gasped – as a sizable splash of water soaked his right leg.

“Tatum,” he said in his stern voice. “This suit was specially designed by Tom Ford for -”

More water. This time she swung her cupped hand through the ocean, throwing it up at him. He managed to turn his face away in time, letting the brunt of it hit him in the chest and cheek.

“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What was that?” she asked, wading towards him.

“I hope you realize this suit is completely ruined now,” he said, his voice full of frost. It had absolutely no effect on her.

“Oh please, there's dry cleaning even out here in the 'burbs,” she told him.

“It is not the same.”

“That's what's missing in your life, Sandy,” she said, leaning down to put her hand back in the water. “Messiness. You better get used to it, because life alone can get pretty messy.”

She was already swinging her arm towards him, ready to give his poor suit another wash down, but he couldn't handle it. Without thinking, he abruptly put his arms out and shoved her shoulders. She was already off balance, so it didn't take a hard push to send her onto her back. She shrieked and laughed as she went down on her butt in the water.

“See? That wasn't so hard,” she chuckled as she struggled to push herself upright. “That was lesson number two – standing up for yourself.”

She couldn't seem to find her footing in the shifting sand, so Sanders offered a hand to help her up. He should've known better. She gripped his arm in both of her own hands and yanked hard. He went down without a sound, belly flopping.

“And I guess that's lesson number three. Don't trust anyone,” she was laughing at him when he pulled himself upright.

“Forgive me, but you can get yourself out of the water,” he told her, pulling his tie free from his shirt and wringing it out before heading back up the beach.

Tate crawled out of the water behind him and raced back up to the motel, her toned legs carrying her there quickly. Sanders took his time, rolling down his sopping wet pant legs and putting on his shoes and jacket before striding through a small courtyard. They were almost at the door to the room when Tate let out a startling shriek and leapt backward.

“Do you see that!?” she shouted, grabbing his arm and jerking on it. He moved so he was standing in front of her, shielding her from whatever imaginary danger she was perceiving.

“See what?” he asked, peering into the shadows.

“That!” she yelled, and her arm came around him and pointed at a trash can.

He stared at where she gesturing to, but didn't see anything for a moment. Then the trash can shimmied, its lid falling to the ground with a loud crash. There was high pitched squeal and Tate moved completely behind him, gripping his jacket in both her hands. As he stared, a small raccoon scurried away from the garbage.

“That is what all the screaming was about?” he asked, watching the rotund creature disappear into some bushes.

“Are you kidding!?” she snapped, finally peeking around him. “It could have had rabies!”

“The chances of that are very small. I thought it was rather adorable.”

“It's a trash panda – what is adorable about that?” she asked, following him as he covered the distance to their door.

“It's furry.”

As he unlocked the door, he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. When he stood to the side, she dashed through the entryway quickly, throwing her sandals on the floor.

“Brrrrr, it was freezing out there,” she said through chattering teeth as she hurried on tiptoes into the bathroom.

“Yes, that's what I said before we went down there,” he reminded her. “It is not beach weather tonight.”

“It was awesome,” she called back to him.

He didn't argue.

He'd removed his shoes and was sliding off his jacket when he realized she was running the tap in the bathtub. Was she taking a bath? The door was wide open. As free a spirit as Tate was, she didn't usually bathe in the open. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps forward.

“What are you doing?” he asked from the other side of the open door.

“Come in here.”

“No thank you.”

“Stop being a baby and come in here. I won't bite,” she laughed.

Bracing himself, Sanders stepped around the door and into the room. She was still fully clothed and standing in the tub. The water looked to be steaming hot and was swirling up and around her ankles. She was sighing and had her head tilted back.

“This feels so good,” she moaned. “Get in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get in.”

“I am not taking a bath with you.”

“I wasn't asking you to strip down and scrub my back,” she laughed, turning towards him. “Just step inside the bathtub, Sandy.”

“I am not taking a bath in my clothing.”

When she grabbed him by his tie and started yanking roughly on it, he had no choice but to follow. If he stood his ground, she would either break his neck or rip the material, and he had hoped that some parts of his suit could yet be saved. So while she pulled, he stumbled into the tub and stood in front of her.

“Why do you have to be so difficult,” she grumbled, but she was smiling and she straightened out the knot in his tie.

“Pardon me for saying so, but that is very much the pot calling the kettle black.”

The tub was only about half full, but she leaned back and turned off the faucet. Then she gingerly lowered herself into the hot water, hissing and breathing fast as she adjusted to the temperature. She bent her legs at the knees, her feet braced on either side of his.

“This feels amazing after that cold water outside. Sit down,” she ordered. He refused to look at her, instead staring at the back wall.

Walls are safe. Walls can never look back at you and judge you or read your mind.

“I told you, I am not bathing with you,” he repeated himself. She laughed and he felt her gently kick him in the ankle.

“Sandy, we're both fully dressed and there's hardly any water in this tub. We're warming up. Sit down.”

He frowned even more, but did as he was told. It was awkward – he was lankier than her, his legs needing more room than hers. But eventually they were situated with Tate sitting upright, her legs on the inside of his with his knees bent and his feet almost under her butt.

“This isn't so bad,” she said in a soft voice, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of her shirt.

“No, it isn't,” he agreed. His suit was most likely ruined beyond repair now, but the hot water did feel good. They sat in silence for a moment, just soaking in the warmth, when she suddenly made a gasping noise.

“I forgot! I got us something to celebrate,” she said in an excited voice. She leaned over the edge of the tub and pawed at her purse, dragging it close. He heard the sound of glass clinking.

“Please, I do not want to drink whiskey tonight,” he begged. She snickered and pulled the object free of her bag.

“I figured, so I got you this,” she replied, holding up a bottle of Veuve champagne.

“Now that I'm pretty sure my palate can handle,” he told her, watching while she unwrapped the foil and expertly pulled out the cork. “I can go get glasses so we can ...”

His voice trailed off as she lifted the bottle to her lips and started chugging down the expensive bubbly alcohol. It was several swallows before she finally came up for air and she laughed at his expression.

“Here's to you, Sandy. May your next steps in life be almost as awesome as the ones before,” she toasted him, handing over the bottle.

“Glasses would be easier,” he insisted, but he took a sip straight from the bottle.

They didn't move for a while. Tate chattered on about odds and ends, as she was wont to do, and Sanders fell into a comfortable silence, just enjoying her voice. Her expressive face and animated hand gestures. They continued passing the bottle back and forth, sipping and laughing at her stories.

I should really never doubt her. This has been quite an enjoyable last weekend together, ruined suit and all.

“Sandy.”

Her voice interrupted his thoughts and froze him in place for a second. Contented feeling gone. It wasn't her normal voice, the one full of naughty laughter and innocent teasing. No, this was her husky voice. Breathy, with raspy fricatives. He'd heard that voice often, but never directed at him. No, she'd never used that voice on him.

Only one person got to hear it directed at them.

“What?” he asked, instantly on guard. He even looked around, halfway expecting to see Jameson in the doorway. But they were still alone, and when he looked back, she was shifting around. She moved until she was on her knees, sitting back on her heels.

“There's some things I want to talk about,” she said, some of the sexiness gone from her voice, but not entirely. She was still speaking in a low tone, and was making very direct eye contact with him. She had dark eyes, ringed in thick lashes. Even without her signature makeup, which she'd left off for him, they still stood out.

“What things?” he asked. She shrugged and he became aware that she was walking her fingers very slowly up his shin.

“You're very good looking,” she informed him, her fingers finally reaching the summit of his knee.

“Thank you,” he replied, not sure how to respond. Her fingertips were now tap dancing on him. Making him edgy. Nervous.

“And I'm not just saying that because we're close. It's fact. Other people have noticed it, and when you're alone in the world, without me next to you, or Jameson looming over you, more people are going to notice.”

“I feel that is very presumptuous of you. Just because you find me attractive does not mean other -”

“It's fact,” she insisted. “Empirically speaking, you are good looking. It's just how things are, and girls will be all over you.”

“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but even if that is true, I highly doubt they will be 'all over' me. And even if they are, I am pretty sure I can defend myself,” he told her. She smiled and her hand went flat over his knee. The water had grown lukewarm during their time in it, but suddenly he felt himself warming up again.

“You're so sure?” she asked.

“Yes. I -”

His voice caught in his throat as she suddenly sat up on her knees, her hand sliding down the top of his thigh. She followed behind, crawling between his legs until she was leaning over him. Boxing him in. He held his breath and looked over her shoulder.

“You don't seem so sure now,” she whispered, her face only inches from his own. He swallowed thickly.

“Tatum. What are you doing?”

“It's okay,” she said, propping herself up with one arm and letting her free hand smooth its way up his chest. He took a shaky breath.

“This is not okay,” he whispered back. Her fingers came to rest against his cheek and her thumb hooked under his jaw, pulling his head around until he was forced to look her in the eye.

“It is,” she insisted. “We wanted to give you a going away present you would remember forever. Something that would help you. Make you more … comfortable.”

“I am very uncomfortable right now,” he assured her. She chuckled low in her throat. That bawdy sound he loved so much. Then she was leaning even closer, her cheek pressed to his and her lips at his ear.

“You won't be for long,” she whispered, her lips catching his earlobe.

What most people – including Tate – never understood about Sanders was that though he presented himself as an uncaring, aloof, detached individual, he was far from it. Inside him was an ocean of emotion that he'd never been properly taught how to navigate. He kept it passive and calm by ignoring it. But sometimes it was like a storm raged through him and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't control it, and Sanders hated nothing more than being out of control.

He lurched forward, forcing her back. She didn't say anything as he abruptly stood up and climbed out of the tub before hurrying from the room. He didn't care that he was soaking wet and trailing puddles of water behind him. Didn't even think about it as he sat down in the chair with a loud squelching sound. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the front door.

Nothing. Nothing. Think about nothing. The square root of thirty-two is five-point-six-six. Thomas R. Marshall was the twenty-eighth vice president. Control yourself. Control your environment. Don't do anything rash. The twenty-ninth president was Calvin Coolidge. Four hundred and thirty-two divided by seventeen is twenty-five-point-four. Control yourself.

 

*

 

Tate took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. She'd known this wouldn't be easy, but she was ready for the battle. She slowly climbed out of the tub and walked into the bedroom.

Sanders was sitting in the shitty chair at the foot of the bed. His arms were folded sternly across his chest and he was refusing to even look in her direction. She smiled to herself and came to a stop in front of him. When he still didn't acknowledge her, she put her hands on her hips.

“Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the night?” she asked. His mouth was set in a stern line, but he surprised her by responding.

“If that's what it takes to make you realize you are being absurd, then yes.”

“If a woman throws herself at you, the last thing you should do is call her absurd.”

“But it is absurd when that woman is involved with another man. And especially when that man is practically family to me,” he informed her.

“It's not when it's a carefully considered choice made by both that woman and man,” she replied. Even Sanders wasn't able to hide the shock a statement like that induced and he finally looked at her.

“Excuse me?”

“Sandy,” she sighed, dropping her hands and slowly moving around him. “I worry about you. More than you could possibly know. The idea of … of just anyone being your first time. I can't handle it. You're so different. You deserve perfection. You are perfection. I refuse to send you out to the wolves. I can't let it be awful or awkward or uncomfortable or wrong. The idea of you possibly feeling bad about it, or somebody treating you badly, it kills me. I just … I can't, Sanders. I can't.”

She was behind him when she finished speaking, and she lightly rested her hands on his shoulders. He was completely stiff, his body locked up into one giant charley horse.

It's gonna take a lot of work to loosen him up.

“What, exactly, are you suggesting? You and I have sex, just so you can feel assured that I've lost my virginity to someone deserving?”

“No,” she laughed. “I don't deserve it. I doubt anyone does – you're too good for mere mortals. But you can relax with me, there'll be none of that awkwardness that usually comes along with a first time or when you have sex with someone you don't really know. You can be yourself with me. We can talk to each other. You can ask me anything, do anything. Like I said once before, I've had a lot of practice. I can show you the ropes.”

That hit a note. She felt a shimmy under her hands. A slight tremble rippling through his system.

He remembers. I'm winning.

“This is a bad idea,” he breathed. Tate bent at the waist, running her hands down the front of his body. She kept moving till her chin was on his shoulder.

“Trust me, you'll feel differently in about fifteen minutes,” she whispered back, deftly undoing one of his buttons.

“I don't want to do this.”

“Liar.”

Another button. He was still refusing to move, but he wasn't stopping her.

“Please,” his voice was hoarse.

“I'll stop when you make me stop,” she informed him, now working at the knot in his tie, pulling it loose and slipping the loop free of his collar.

“I don't want him to hate me,” he finally voiced his fear.

“Do you think I would be doing this if that was a possibility?”

“I think that the two of you rarely think through your actions.”

“You think wrong, Sanders. We would never do anything to hurt you. This is a limited time offer. A very special present for a very dear friend who is going so far away. Just accept it. It's like a band aid – just rip it off. Get it over with.”

He was breathing fast, and when she turned to press her lips to his cheek, she saw that he was again staring at the wall.

“I don't want you to hate me,” he whispered.

“Not possible.”

“But what if I don't -”

Enough.

Using both hands, Tate grabbed either side of his shirt and jerked them apart. The remaining buttons popped and flew across the room. He was forced to uncross his arms and she pushed the wet material back over his shoulders, slid it down between him and the chair, then let it fall down his arms.

As his shirt fell away from his hands, she stepped to the side of the chair. She held onto his tie as she went and pulled it free over his head. Then she bent over again, cupping his face between her hands.

“I promise,” she whispered, so close her lips were brushing his. “You won't regret a moment of tonight.”

“I can't ...” he sighed, his eyes closed. She laughed softly, then she pressed her lips to his for a brief second.

“Oh, but you will.”

When she kissed him again, forcing her tongue between his lips, he finally broke. He hid it well, but there was a wild kind of passion in Sanders, she knew. Whenever it came out, it was like a tidal wave, taking over everything in its path.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her down onto his lap. She didn't miss a beat, quickly rearranging her legs so she was straddling him.

“What if this is a mistake,” he panted when she pulled away enough to kiss down the side of his jaw.

“Does this feel like a mistake?”

“You do not love me.”

“Sanders, I love you more than just about anything.”

“But you're not in love with me.”

That made her pause for a moment. Did Sanders really want to wait to have sex until he was in love?

“No,” she agreed, and let her hands drop to his belt buckle. “But you're not in love with me, either, Sanders. No matter what you think. We're not making love here. We're having sex, and that's very different. You'll be having a lot more sex than you'll be making love, trust me.”

If he'd argued with her, if he'd made any sort of statement about wanting to wait, or even if he'd hinted at it, she would've stopped. No real harm had been done. They'd kissed before, she'd sat on his lap before, it was no big deal.

But he didn't say anything. His hands came to rest on her hips and she leaned into him again, tracing her tongue down the side of his neck.

“I do not want this to come between us,” he insisted, clenching his fingers. “I don't want to do this if it could possibly ruin anything between us.”

Tate laughed again and as she bit down on his earlobe, she ripped his belt away from his waist, letting it fly across the room.

“This is two friends having a very good time together, and nothing more. If you understand that and you're okay with the fact that it'll only happen while we're here, then there is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

When she pulled off her top, he finally seemed to lose any reservations he'd had. His hands slid over her hips and up her back, his palms warm against her skin as he moved them up onto her shoulders.

“I don't understand why he would let you do this. Why he would share you,” he breathed, toying with one of her bra straps and gently sliding it to the side.

“Because he cares about you and he knows I'll take of you,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “And he trusts me and knows that I know what I'm doing, knows that no matter what happens, I belong to him. Besides, sex has always been different for Jameson – it's not as emotional for him. It's an act. Think of it like a pick-up tennis game. We're just playing a friendly set, you and I.”

“Whereas you and he are a doubles team.”

She let her head drop back and she laughed loudly.

“You really do understand me, Sanders. Even when I'm talking absolute bullshit.”

This time, he initiated the kiss. Tate knew she was the only woman he'd ever kissed, but he was still pretty good at it. With a mind like his, she wouldn't be surprised to find out he'd thought about it and studied the act in his mind. Going over and over it until he was confident he could do it well.

If that's true about his kissing, then jesus, he's going to be amazing in bed.

He startled her by abruptly standing up. Sanders was like chorded steel – slender and tone, and also very strong. She wrapped her legs around his waist and scratched her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He carried her across the room, his tongue becoming very acquainted with the inside of her mouth while he moved.

“See? This isn't so bad,” she laughed when he lowered her to the bed.

“Please, don't talk. I'm trying not to think about what is going on right now.”

“Oh, you better be very aware of everything that's going on right now.”

Since the age of eighteen, Tate had never been shy about her body. Jameson had cured her of that, fucking away any inhibitions in one night. She knew what she liked, how she wanted to be touched, and she knew how she wanted to touch other people. She let her hands wander over every inch of Sanders without thought, memorizing him in a totally different way from before.

She pulled his undershirt away from his body and over his head, chucking it behind the headboard. Then moaned as he kissed along the shell of her ear, sighed as his hands ran down the sides of her body.

While Sanders may have been somewhat uncomfortable – what with being with a woman for the first time, and being with Tate at all –  she wasn't. She felt more comfortable with Sanders than with anyone else, including Jameson. So touching him and playing with him were just second nature to her, even in this new way. His skin was her skin. She smiled against his kiss as she swept her hands down his chest and hooked her fingers into the top of his pants.

“I want you to talk to me,” she whispered into his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut when she unbuttoned his pants.

“I can't talk like him. I don't want to,” he told her. She laughed softly as she pulled down his zipper.

“I don't want you to,” she assured him. “I want you to tell me what you want. I want you to say anything that's in your head. Anything at all. Everything.”

“I don't ...” his voice trailed off as her hand slipped inside his pants and her fingernails scratched at his boxer briefs.

“Think of this as Sex 101,” she suggested. “This is your chance to ask what goes where and what to do with what, and not feel nervous or embarrassed at all. Tell me what you want.”

“I don't know,” he said, then she could hear his breath catching in his throat. She opened her eyes wide and stared down between their bodies. Sex was usually just sex, one man was pretty much like the next, she'd always told herself that – especially in regards to this endeavor – but this was still Sanders. He could never be like any other man in any regard, and that proved to be true in more ways than one. She was a little blown away by how ready and hard and large he was.

“I take it all back,” she laughed. “No matter what happens tonight, you will do perfectly fine in the sex department.”

He actually laughed. A loud, warm sound, coming from his chest. A rarity, for sure. Then he sighed and dropped his forehead to hers as she started stroking her hand up and down.

“I ...” he tried to speak again, but still couldn't finish. She licked her lips and moved her hand faster. Arched her back and pressed her breasts to his chest.

“Do you like this?” she breathed.

“Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“What else?” she insisted, writhing slowly underneath him. Seeking some friction for herself. “Tell me what else you want.”

“I want … I want to touch you.”

“God, yes, please touch me.”

He was kissing her again. He was a surprisingly aggressive kisser, lots of tongue and crushing lips. Just like she liked. One of his hands pressed down heavily over her breast and she gasped, then moaned as the hand moved over her stomach.

“Move.”

The command startled her and before she realized what was happening, he was pulling away. Breaking her hold on him. As her arm fell away from him, his own hands were squeezing her ribs. He roughly moved her, shifting her around on the bed. As he pushed her back into the pillows, she strained towards him, kissing him even as he continued moving over her. She had her hands on either side of his face, holding him close while he laid down on top of her.

“I want to explore you,” he whispered against her lips, and just the idea of it sent a shiver over her entire body.

“I would like that,” she whispered back.

“I've never been with a woman,” he said, kissing his way down her neck.

“I know,” she sighed, raking her fingers though her hair as his lips wandered down her cleavage.

“I may not be very good at any of this.”

“So far, so really fucking good, Sanders.”

“You would not lie to me about this.”

“No. No, I promise,” she panted, finally looking down at him. His brown hair was mussy and dishelved, tickling her as he kissed along the edge of her ribs. His hands were pressing down hard on the tops of her hips – everything he'd done had been heavy, she realized. Like he was trying to push her through the mattress. It was such a different sensation. She was used to his touches being light. Gentle hugs and delicate pats.

He's trying to feel me, all the way through.

Then those same hands were pulling down the zipper in the center of her shorts and she suddenly caught on to what exactly it was he wanted to explore.

Oh, what a good man. He will do so well in life.

“Remember,” he breathed against her skin while he peeled the shorts away from her body. She lifted her legs as he pulled the material free from her. “You promised to be honest about my abilities.”

“When have I ever – oh my fucking god.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head when she felt his lips against the center of her panties. He hadn't bothered taking them off, just moved his tongue through the lace, doubling the friction. She gasped and threw her head back, her shoulders lifting off the mattress.

“Is that a good exclamation, or a bad one?” he paused to ask.

“A very fucking good one,” she panted, waving her hand at him impatiently. “Don't stop.”

Her assumption must have been right – he had to have been practicing in his head. Or possibly on fruit. He went down on her like it was something he did for a living. Her hands flew above her head, scratching down the headboard, and she even surprised herself when she cried out his name.

“Oh my god, Sanders, where has this side of you been hiding!? God, right there,” she was having trouble catching her breath. “Please, please, please, it's so good, right there ...”

She'd forgotten her own name and what was going on and even who she was doing it with – all she knew was that she was on the verge of coming and it was all that mattered. She was trembling and shaking, one hand clawing through his hair, when he took it all away.

She choked when he pulled back. She felt his tongue sweeping a straight line up the center of her stomach, then he was hovering over her. She opened her eyes just as he kissed her again, his lips warm and damp as they slid across hers.

“You're a bad, bad, man,” she chuckled, then bit down on his bottom lip.

“Why?”

“Because you're a liar.”

“Pardon me, but I never lie.”

“Liar – you know exactly what you're doing to me.”

“That is a lie. I am guessing at every step. But thank you for the compliment.”

“You're very welcome. Now stop talking and fuck me.”

She hadn't meant to be vulgar with him, but it was just in her nature, and she was so turned on. She really hadn't expected it. She had imagined something sweet and sort of innocent. A bumbling virgin, fumbling around under the sheets with her. But so far, there wasn't much bumbling from him, at all. It seemed as though he really was exceptionally capable in everything he attempted. Her on-switch had been flipped and once that happened, there was very little that could be done to slow her down, and almost nothing that could stop her mouth.

Luckily, he didn't seem to notice her language, or just didn't mind. They both moved onto their knees, hands everywhere as they tried to get closer. One of his hands was fighting with the clasp in her bra while his other hand was inside the back of her underwear, pushing at the material and gently squeezing her ass.

She laughed when he let out a frustrated snort at her bra – there it finally was, a hint-o-bumbling – and she reached back and undid it herself. While she tossed it to the floor, he pushed her panties down her thighs at the same time as he kissed across her breasts. They both fell to the side, a tangle of arms and legs.

“This is the part I'm most nervous about,” he finally said while her feet pushed and shoved at his pants, forcing them awkwardly down his legs.

“Don't be nervous,” she said. “Tab A fits into Slot B almost every single time.”

“That is the easy part. It is the rest that I'm not sure about.”

“No one ever is, not until they've slept together a couple times. We'll figure it out together.”

He kicked his pants free of his legs and she wanted to look at him. Wanted to push him away so she could appraise him. But when he laid down on top of her, she remembered who this was about, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“I wanted ...” he started to ask, then stopped himself. She stared up at him and combed her fingers through his hair.

“What? What do you want?” she asked. He wasn't look at her, she realized. He was staring just over her shoulder, at the sheets.

“It feels awkward to be asking questions,” he explained. “I feel like there shouldn't be so much talking.”

“Are you serious? I never shut up in bed,” she laughed. “There's no rules, except the ones we make together. If I don't like something you're doing, I'll tell you, and vice versa, okay? So don't worry about it. Anything goes.”

“But I like rules,” he said simply. She groaned.

“Sanders, just let go. You don't have to be in control right now. What is it, are you embarrassed? Is it something kinky?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. He didn't say anything. “Do you want us to play a guessing game? Okay, what is it … do you want me to blow you?”

“No,” he replied, then paused. “At least, not right now.”

She smiled big.

“Ooohhh, we'll save that for later. Something else – want me to get on my hands and knees? Want to spank me? I'm a very open minded person, as I would think you'd know by now,” she teased, but it still didn't seem to help. “Stop worrying, Sanders. I like it when you tell me what to do. I like it when you say what you want, when you say what you're going to do to me. It turns me on.”

He finally looked directly at her.

Jackpot.

“I want you to be on top of me.”

“Well, that's just asking too much,” she said in a dramatic voice, and they both laughed.

She kissed him again, trying to bring back the sensual mood he'd created so well just moments before. She pressed her body against every inch of his, forcing them onto their sides. When she rolled him onto his back, he moved a hand into her hair, and she was pleasantly surprised to feel him pulling. Not hard, but enough that she felt the tug.

Now we're getting somewhere.

“Can I tell you things?” he whispered as she put her knees on either side of his hips, forcing her ass into the air.

“Tell me anything,” she breathed, keeping her chest flush with his while she kissed the side of his face and his ear.

“I like the way you smell,” he sighed. She smiled against his skin.

“I never knew.”

“And the way you feel. You're very soft.”

“Thank you.”

She propped herself up over him and stared down at him for a second, then she kissed him gently.

“No going back, Sanders,” she whispered, running her hand down his body and between her legs. “I'm not going to force you, but I want to do this. I want you to do it with me.”

“I want this,” he agreed, his fingers spearing into her hair and holding it away from her face. “As of right now, you are truly the only person I feel comfortable enough with to engage in this kind of activity.”

“But it will only be now,” she warned him. “Only while we're here. Is that okay?”

He nodded.

“I wouldn't want anything ese,” he promised. “Nor would I ask for it.”

She had one hand on his chest, holding her up, and her other hand was wrapped around him. Holding him. Guiding him. She had kind of hoped he would look at her when it happened. She wanted him to remember this moment. But his eyes were closed, his head tilted back, his lips parted. She couldn't wait any longer, so she slowly slid down his erection.

“Ooohhh, wow,” she breathed, finally taking him to the hilt.

“This ...” he sighed. “Thank you.”

She laughed softly.

“Congrats. You're not a virgin anymore,” she informed him, smoothing her hand down the side of his face. He didn't open his eyes, but he chuckled and moved his hands to her hips.

“Perhaps I am wrong, but I think I'm a virgin until I actually orgasm,” he informed her. She snickered.

“Oh, well then, better get to work.”

“No rush.”

She laughed again, but it was cut short when he moved his hips under her. She gasped when she felt his hands squeezing her, urging her to move. She obliged, rocking against him, sliding up and down his hard length.

He was quiet, which for a person with Tate's fetishes somewhat unnerved her, but he was big enough that it really didn't matter too much. He also had rhythm – she remembered he'd taken dancing lessons and wondered if they were coming in handy now. For it being his first time, she was very impressed. So he wasn't a talker; most people weren't, she had to remember. This was about him finding out what he liked, not about knowing what she already liked.

However, she was a little surprised when he finally did speak.

“Faster,” he urged. She chuckled and started riding him harder.

Then she was really surprised when she felt his hand on her chest. He was pushing at her, forcing her to sit upright. She was happy to do so, moaning when she felt him even deeper than before. Her hands went into her hair, lifting the long tresses off her neck and shoulders.

His hands, once he'd started moving them, didn't stop wandering. They slid around to her back, pressing down hard to enough to feel like a massage. She groaned when they finally came back to her breasts, cupping them and lifting them. She knew it was all supposed to be about him and letting him lead the way and whatnot, but she couldn't help herself. She dropped her hands to his, squeezing them over her breasts, then she dragged his right hand up to her face. She wrapped her lips around the base of his index finger, then slowly pulled it free, sucking as she went.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, and it was probably the most uncontrolled she'd ever heard him sound the entire time they'd known each other.

Who knew that would be so hot?

She couldn't handle it. Sanders could be as quiet as he wanted, but she simply couldn't.

“Oh, god,” she gasped for air as she rocked on top of him. “I'm going to … I can't … I'm going to come.”

“Is too soon bad?” he asked through gritted teeth. She laughed, then let out a sharp cry as a tremor ripped through her body.

“Coming is never ever ever a bad thing,” she replied, pressing both her hands against his chest. He finally opened his eyes and looked at her.

“I don't want this to end yet,” he breathed. She shook her head.

“It's not ending any time soon,” she promised, starting to shake all over.

But he was full of surprises. She let out a shriek when he abruptly rolled them over, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight. When they finally came to a stop, he was on top of her and she was impaled on him. She couldn't remember how to breathe.

“Is it always like this?” he asked, not moving. It took her a few seconds to be able to answer.

“No ...” she squeaked out, scratching her nails down his chest, silently begging him to move and alternately praying that he'd stay just where he was. “No. Sometimes … it's not good. Not fun. But this … this ...”

“This is so good,” he groaned, pulling out so slowly she thought she was going to go insane.

“Fuck, yes. Yes, it fucking is,” she agreed quickly.

“You said I could do anything, correct?”

“Yes. Anything. Whatever you want. Please.”

“I think I like it when you do that.”

“God, what? I'll do anything. What did I do?”

“Beg.”

Kinky little fucker.

“Please, Sanders,” she breathed his name as she started moving around. She had some practice with begging – maybe she and Sanders had similar tastes, after all. “Please, please, please. Do whatever you want to me. Do anything you want. I want you to. God, so much. Please. Don't stop.”

He slammed into her and she screamed. She was worried for a second it would scare him, but he didn't even pause. She dragged her nails down his back and babbled incoherently while he fucked her. She made somewhat of an attempt to continue begging, but she was pretty sure most of it was nonsense.

How could she possibly think when he was everywhere? His hands were all over her, constantly moving and pushing and squeezing. Exploring, just like he'd said, yet it didn't slow him down at all. He kept pushing and thrusting and pounding away at her. God, so much. She felt like she was going to explode and she started coiling herself around him, lifting her legs and squeezing her thighs against him.

“You were right,” he panted, running a hand down her thigh and then cupping her asscheek. “You are very, very good at this.”

“I have a good partner,” she replied. Her nerves were being wound so tight, her teeth actually started to chatter. He dug his fingers into her flesh and dragged his hand back up her thigh.

“Tatum,” he said. It was the first time he'd said her name since he'd been inside her, and it almost undid her right then. She bit down on her lips and tried to concentrate on his voice. “This has been very amazing, but I need to know one more thing.”

“Anything, anything, anything,” she chanted in time to his thrusts.

“I'm going to come,” he breathed. “Please ...” He didn't finish the sentence.

“Please, yes, I want you to. Anywhere you want,” she urged, turning to look at him. She was surprised to see him staring right back at her. His forehead dropped down to hers again.

“I want you to come, too,” he said.

“Don't worry,” she whined, her voice high pitched and thready. “I'm going to.”

“Please, for me. Just this one time. I want to know I could make someone do that, at least once.”

“Oh god,” she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut tight, trying to stave off the orgasm until he was finished. She felt his fingers against her face, tracing over her lips.

“Don't, don't, don't,” he whispered. “Don't hold back from me. Don't ever do that.”

Funny how she could stand harsh words and stinging hands so well, yet a dear friend speaking so softly and sweetly could just shred her.

She screamed when she came, her entire back arching off the bed. His index finger pressed down hard against her bottom lip, setting off the nerve endings there, then dipped into her mouth. Stroked over her tongue. She moaned and cried, gently biting down on him. She heard him give a loud groan and he started thrusting even harder. The headboard banged against the wall in time, making a loud, sharp, smacking sound that seemed to reverberate through the room.

“Oh my god,” she sobbed when he finally pulled his hand away. “Holy fuck. I can't stop … god, please, Sanders …”

If she'd been in her right mind, she would've been worried about leaving scars on his back, but her right mind was a million miles away. No, her current state of mind was set to “well fucked” and she paid no attention to the deep scratches her fingernails were leaving behind on him.

He didn't seem to mind, though. One of his hands was clenched around her breast and the other moved to grip the top of the wiggling headboard. He used the leverage to pound harder still and she really did go cross eyed.

She was of no use to him, locked in her orgasm. She could only moan and shriek and say his name. Over and over again. Finally, he let out his own shout. He let go of her breast and when she opened her eyes, she saw that both his hands had the headboard in what looked to be a white-knuckle-grip. His erection throbbed and grew inside her, and then she could feel him coming. Felt him pulsing and twitching.

Her orgasm had just started subsiding when he collapsed on top of her. His face was next to hers, buried in the pillows, and their chests fought against each other as they both tried to catch their breath.

“Well then,” she panted, sliding one hand gently up his sweat slicked back. “Now you are officially not a virgin anymore.”

“Yes,” he grunted, and she felt him nod. “I think it is safe to say that I am most certainly not anymore.”

They were quiet for a while. Her hips were aching and her thighs were trembling, but she didn't say anything. Just kept one hand in his hair and kept rubbing the other up and down his back.

When they could both breathe normally again and the warmth in the air started to dissipate, he finally slid off her. He pulled the sheets over them, then laid on his stomach next to her. She stayed on her back, smiling up at the ceiling.

“I did alright?”  he finally asked. She barked out a laugh.

“Uh, yeah, Sanders. You did 'alright',” she snorted. “I'm pretty sure every single person in this motel knows just how 'alright' you did.”

“Do you know, I always wondered how you could stand to be so loud. Why it didn't embarrass you,”  he said. “But now I think I understand. I didn't even care when it was happening. Didn't even think about it.”

“We'll see how you feel about it tomorrow at breakfast when you have to face all the other guests,” she joked.

“I don't think I'll care then, either.”

“No, you probably won't. When sex is that good, you never do.”

“Was I as good as some of the other people you've slept with?” he asked boldly.

“Yes. Good god, yes, you were.”

“Even for it being my first time?”

“Shockingly enough, yes. Did you study for this or something?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, how do you study for sex?”

“I can be somewhat obsessive when I want to know about something, and I have had a lot of alone time to thoroughly think things through and read up on the subject. The only thing missing was someone to engage with.”

“You should teach a course,” she suggested.

“So I was better than some of your other partners?” he asked. She loved that he asked so outright. No shyness, no hinting, like other men would do.

“Than most of them,” she told him, then she reached out and pressed her hand against his back. “I'd put you in the top ten.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That is quite an honor, considering how many people you've slept with.”

She burst out laughing and swatted him.

“Watch it, you're not good enough to be giving attitude during pillow talk.”

“Was I as good as Jameson?”

Ah. She had wondered if that question would be asked. Wasn't surprised to hear it. She turned to face him and found him staring at her.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” she asked. He nodded.

“Always.”

“No,” she was honest. “No one has ever been as good as him, at least not for me. Not only does he have a lot of practice, but he's … he's my other half, Sanders. It's like my body was built specifically for him. He knows where all the switches are, all the buttons. He knows exactly what I like, what I want to do, what I want to hear. Sex is good with anybody if they're halfway decent at it, but with Jameson it's … someday, you'll experience it with somebody.”

“With me it's just sex,” Sanders understood. “With him it's making love.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “As fucked up as it is, he and I make love. It's something completely different, and it'll happen for you. You'll find your other half and you'll know what it feels like. It's … there's nothing like it.”

“Then I look forward to it.”

“You're gonna break some hearts,” she sighed, rubbing her hand up and down his side. “I'm almost jealous.”

“Almost,” he chuckled, and then he reached out his own arm and wrapped it around her waist.

“Whoever these girls are, you better warn them that I'll kick their ass if they treat you wrong,” she told him, turning onto her side. He'd closed his eyes again, but he smiled at her.

“Thank you, Tatum. For tonight. You were right, I wouldn't have enjoyed myself with anyone else for my first time, and now I feel more comfortable with the act. What you did – what you both did for me – I know how important it was, and I am very honored that you chose to do this. I will remember tonight always, and with great fondness,” he told her. She sighed happily and combed her fingers through his hair.

“Well, tonight's not over,” she pointed out. His eyes popped back open.

“Excuse me?”

“We have this room for tonight and tomorrow night,” she reminded him. “I rented it for only one purpose. We have the rest of tonight, and then tomorrow we'll go get breakfast and maybe go shopping, find somewhere for dinner. Then we have tomorrow night before this all turns into a pumpkin and we have to go home.”

He was silent for a long time and for a moment, she wondered if she'd scared him off.

Too much, too soon?

“Do we have to leave the room at all?” he asked.

Tate burst out laughing and pushed him away.

“I do believe I have corrupted you, Mr. Dashkevich.”

“Forgive me, but I do believe you are right, Ms. O'Shea.”