Chapter Nine
Natalie
Dinner is . . . well, the nicest word I can think for it is “weird.”
It’s not that it’s bad. The food is great, and when I order a salad, Clay makes a face and orders me a steak, just like everyone else at the table is having. The business partner, Fred, turns out to be an older gentleman in a cowboy hat and bolo tie, and with a wife as round as I am. She’s the happiest, giggliest person, and I spend most of dinner smiling because they’re just such a sweet couple to be around. I’m the only one dressed up, and even though a couple of people give me funny looks, after a while, I don’t notice it anymore.
I’m quiet through dinner, listening as the two men discuss things like camouflage, hunting seasons, and then “responsive fibers.” From what it sounds like, Clay’s product is a camouflage that will respond to the environment, which seems pretty smart to me. I’m even more impressed when he begins discussing how to make it affordable for troops overseas. Fred wants to sell it to the military, but Clay isn’t having any of that. He wants it made cheap enough so that families can buy it for their sons serving overseas. He’s heard stories about soldiers having to have body armor sent to them and wants to do one better with the cheap camo. I’m impressed at his altruism, though I don’t point out that it’d be easier for him to just send body armor to the soldiers overseas if he wants to spend his money. There’s clearly enthusiasm for the project, and since I don’t know much about it—or the business—I just sip my glass of iced tea and listen politely.
It’s also clear to me that Fred and his wife think that I’m Clay’s girlfriend instead of his paid assistant. I can see why they’d think that, given I’m dressed up in heels and a slinky dress . . . and because Clay keeps his hand on my knee or around my shoulders at all times. Actually, he pretty much insists on touching me in some way all through the evening. Not in a creepy, grabby sort of way. Just as if he needs to reassure himself that I’m there. Like I’m a touchstone of some kind. It’s interesting.
I should hate it, but instead . . . it makes me feel like I did back when I was seventeen, and my world revolved around Clay Price and how good he made me feel. It’s completely different now, I remind myself. And yet . . .
It doesn’t feel all that different. I’m bigger around and Clay’s grown a big bushy beard and gotten a tan, but . . . those things don’t matter, I guess. Not when it’s the same person underneath.
Tonight, as he puts his hand on my knee and rubs it for what feels like the tenth time in a row, it does feel like the same person. It’s not the awful, brutal Clay of the past few days that’s made terrible deals and expected me to jump running. When he throws his head back and laughs, it makes me smile, and reminds me of the boy from high school, the one with the infectious smile that everyone returned. The boy who’d never met a stranger or made an enemy. I’d loved him so much.
Right up until he’d wanted me to stay home and be his little wife. Or at least, I’d thought that was what he wanted. If it was anything like tonight, it’d be something that sounds terrible in theory, but the reality would be cozy dinners together, laughing among friends with Clay’s hand on my knee . . . and kisses like the one we’d shared in the limo.
Somehow, I don’t think marrying Clay and being his “little wife” would have been so bad, after all.
The thought makes me sad. Why was I so angry when my dad brought it up? Why had he made it sound so terrible? I should have talked to Clay more instead of lashing out at him. But I can’t go back and change the past, just like I can’t go back and prevent my dad from having his stroke and turning my life upside down. I can’t go back and tell my dad not to spend his fortune.
I can’t go back and tell Clay Price that I would have loved to have been his wife.
That ship has sailed and it left without me. All I get now is to be his paid mistress.
Clay
Having Nat at my side’s like a dream. Being able to touch her whenever I want? Hearing her quiet laughter, seeing her pretty smile slowly cross her face. God. I wish I’d thought of this years ago. I don’t care that I had to buy Natalie to get her back. I love having her here. I feel complete. She’s mine now for as long as I want her. I glance down at my hand, but the R there—or was it an S?—has been completely rubbed away from washing my hands and then just the vagaries of the day.
Maybe that’s a sign that I don’t need revenge.
Nah.
As the night wears on, though, Natalie grows quieter. She’s always been a bit shy in social situations. One on one, she’s as charming as anything, but put her in a room full of people, and she clams up. I’ve always known that about her and thought it was kinda cute—how the prettiest, most attractive girl I ever met gets tongue-tied around strangers. Doesn’t seem right to me. Tonight it’s just four of us—me and her, and Fred and his wife, Irma. Nat’s gracious and pleasant to them, but she listens a lot more than she talks, and as the night goes on, her smiles grow less and less frequent. She’s got a sad look in her eyes that makes me wonder what she’s worryin’ about.
Probably her dad, I realize.
The thought makes me burn with jealousy. I hate that she’s with me and even now, she’s focused on that old man. That even if I pay Natalie to be with me—really be with me—her thoughts still aren’t here. Even now, Chap Weston’s pushin’ in between us, like the destroyer that he is.
It sours my mood, too. I keep up the act for Fred and Irma, though. They don’t need to know that I’m seething inside. Business talks wind up going nowhere, but that’s okay. I know Fred’ll work with me. Always knew that. Tonight was just to establish a bond between us and to show Natalie off a little. I’m proud of how sexy she is, even if I did have to buy her. That don’t matter to me.
When we get out to the limo, I nod to the driver. I’m stayin’ at a hotel in downtown San Antonio—one of the most expensive ones. Thought about bringing Nat back to my trailer, but that seemed wrong and insultin’ somehow. So I rented the fanciest suite I could get at Ivy’s suggestion. As we head to the hotel, though, she checks her phone again. And again.
And the sad, distant look on her face just keeps growin’. Any conversation I try to make with her falls limp, and by the time we get to the hotel, I ain’t even tryin’ anymore.
I’m burnin’ up with bitter anger. Didn’t I buy her? Didn’t I pay for her to be my assistant for as long as I want her? But even now, she ain’t with me. Maybe it ain’t her dad . . . maybe it’s someone else. A boyfriend I’m unaware of.
The thought fills me with rage. I didn’t even ask. What if she does have a man?
My hands clench into fists at the thought, and for the first time in my life . . . I feel murderous. It’s weird.
I hate bein’ jealous. I’m not that guy. Least, I didn’t think I was until I saw Nat again. Now I want to deck anyone that looks at her a little too hard. I feel possessive. She’s mine. Mine alone.
I’m moody by the time we get to the hotel. Nat makes a little noise in her throat at the sight of the hotel itself, but she doesn’t question it. Reckon she doesn’t wanna go back to my trailer, either. Then again, she might not know that I don’t have a real house. I ponder that. Maybe it’s time to see about gettin’ a real home now that I want to bring a lady back to my place. I’ll talk to Ivy, I think.
Tomorrow. Tonight I don’t wanna think about any girl but Natalie.
We head up in the elevator and I pull out my keycard. Natalie’s still quiet, though she’s starting to twitch at my side. I wonder if she’s nervous or if she just can’t wait to get away from me. The thought burns in my gut. Like I want her just rarin’ to escape. I want her hungry for more kisses.
Maybe that’s why I’m all surly when we pause in front of the suite. She eyes the double doors and gives me a curious, innocent look. “Is my room nearby?”
I push the keycard into the slot and then press my thumb to the reader to let it know that it’s me. “Only one room,” I tell her, and then hold the door open so she can enter.
She looks all surprised, her mouth open in a hint of shock, and I want to kiss it right off her face. What, did she not think I was going to just change my mind? Say, “You called my bluff. I don’t want ya in my bed”?
Truth of the matter is, I want her now more than ever before. So I wait patiently, holding the door open for her. Waiting for her to hold up her end of the bargain.
Natalie swallows hard and then sweeps past me, her chin held high. She clutches her purse under her arm like a football, and her back is stiff. I can see color in her cheeks, and it’s clear she’s ruffled. That’s all right. She’ll get comfortable when I get my hand between her thighs.
I follow her inside and toss the keycard down, along with my wallet, on the nearest table. “Make yourself at home.”
She looks around the room—a pretty fancy place, if I do admit—and then sits elegantly on a chair near a small round table. She puts her purse down.
I immediately go to pick it up.
“What are you doing?” she asks, reaching for it.
“I want your attention on me, not on your phone,” I tell her brusquely.
“Oh.” She relaxes and sits back in the chair, biting her lip. “I’m sorry about that in the limo. I was lost in thought, and distracted by the nurses attending my father.”
Least she admits it. I feel a little more relaxed at that. “You want a drink from the minibar?”
Her smile is faint. “No, thank you.”
I noticed she wasn’t drinking anything but tea at dinner. I had a beer, but just one. “So you don’t wanna be drunk for this?” I tease.
She glances down at her hands in her lap. “I’d rather not, I think.”
“I’d rather you were sober, too. I’d feel kinda shitty if you were drunk.”
“So it’s not okay for me to be drunk, but it’s okay for you to force me into this by paying me?” She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed with curiosity.
Got me there. I scratch at my head, feelin’ a little foolish. “Kinda? In my head it makes sense, at least.”
“None of this makes sense to me,” she admits. “I’m not sure why you want me, of all people. And why now.”
I could explain myself. But I’m not sure I feel like it. She just needs to know that I want her and that I’ll take care of her needs to ensure that she takes care of mine. “It ain’t important,” I say, and then sit down on the edge of the bed and pat the seat next to me.
Her eyes go wide and she gives me a nervous look. Kinda makes me smile to myself. She’s actin’ like a shocked virgin despite the fact that she’s twenty-five. I don’t expect she waited on me, so the ploy ain’t necessary. “You on birth control?”
“Of course not,” Nat tells me, frowning. “There’s never been a need.”
I go still. “This . . . ain’t your first time, is it?”
Her back goes stiff as she sits next to me, all prim and proper. “How many times do you think I should have done this, then?” She looks mighty uncomfortable.
I snort, because I mostly want her to get that pinched, worried look off her face. “More’n me.”
Natalie’s brows go down and she gives me a curious look. “How many times have you done it?”
Done it. Heh. Like we’re still two teenagers discussin’ the forbidden. “Haven’t,” I admit. “Waited for you.” I gaze at her pretty face, so lovely she makes my heart ache. “Then I waited to get over you.”
Her full lips part and her eyes grow shiny. “Oh, Clay,” she sighs. “Sometimes you say the sweetest things . . . and then sometimes I want to punch you right in the face.”
That just makes me grin. It sparks a memory of long ago, when I frustrated her back on a date and she threatened something very similar. “You still didn’t answer my question,” I point out. “You a virgin?”
Her cheeks are red but she nods, slowly.
Fierce pleasure ricochets through me. Holy fuck. She waited for me? Or . . . she waited because of something. Don’t care. All I know is that I’m going to be Natalie’s first anyhow. Doesn’t matter that it took us seven years to get here.
She’s mine. All mine.
With a fierce growl, I pull her against me and capture her mouth. I feel her stiffen in surprise, but then she melts against me, her hands going to my waist and resting there as I kiss her. She’s mine, and she’s gonna stay mine, I decide. I love the taste of her, and the way she feels against me.
Even so, I can tell she’s holding back—it’s not like the kiss we had in the car. She’s hesitant, and when her tongue flicks against mine, I can almost taste the worry rushing through her. I press a gentle kiss on her parted lips and then nip at her mouth. “You okay?”
Her nose brushes against mine as she ducks her head. “I’m nervous.”
I feel a ridiculously stupid surge of pride at that. She’s nervous ’cause it’s her first time. I’m going to get her first time. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was nervous, too?” I ain’t, but I’ll say whatever to make her feel better.
She chuckles and her hand smacks lightly against my side. “I’d rather you be confident so we do things well.”
“Oh, I’m confident,” I tell her in a husky voice. I let my thumb graze over her full lower lip, still wet from my kiss. “I’m confident that I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you, and then I’m going to strip this sexy dress off your even-more-sexy body. I’m gonna dip my fingers between your thighs and play with your pussy, and then—”
Her fingers push against my lips. “Clay,” she says softly, embarrassed. “You’re trying to make me blush, aren’t you?”
Actually, I’m tryin’ to turn her on. It’s clear that when she’s nervous, though, she can’t think beyond that nervousness. I remember that back when we were younger, too. Natalie took some coaxin’ to relax. When she got wound up, she was wound up tighter’n anyone I’d ever met before. Her family was always stressin’ her out when she was a teenager. Her dad had unreasonable expectations and her stepmom was a beast. I thought it might have gotten better since she’d moved back in with her daddy and her stepmom was gone, but some things don’t change, I guess.
That’s all right. I remember how to deal with Uptight Natalie. I remember she liked kissin’. A lot. And that it felt really good to kiss the hell out of her for what felt like hours on end.
I’m more’n happy to do that again right now.
I cup her jaw and tilt her mouth toward mine again. This time, I brush my lips gently over hers. Once. Twice. Then again and again. Light, feathery little kisses to distract her and make her keep guessin’ what I’m gonna do with my mouth next. Somewhere in the steady stream of light, unobtrusive kisses, she relaxes. Her body leans into mine a bit more and her lips move against mine with every caress. She makes a soft little sound in her throat when my tongue grazes over the seam of her lips, and I know she’s mine. She ain’t thinkin’ about anything but my mouth now.
Good. I’m claimin’ her tonight. I’ve waited seven years to make her mine, and I don’t want to wait another moment longer.
Our kisses grow hungrier, deeper. My tongue brushes against hers, and when she responds eagerly, I intensify the kiss. Over and over, I stroke my tongue, fucking her mouth like I want to fuck her cunt. Her hands curl against my shirt and she makes a little whimper with every drag of my tongue against hers. I don’t let up, though. I just keep kissin’ her with all the intensity I’m feeling at this moment. There’s nothing I want more than those little sounds coming from her throat. I live for that. I live for the sweep of her tongue against mine.
When I finally break away from kissing her, she looks dazed. The lower half of her face is bright red from where my beard has rubbed against her face, and I feel a twinge of guilt at the sight. Kissing me is tearin’ up her skin. She doesn’t look upset, though. She looks soft and fuckable and like she wants more. Makes me growl low in my throat, and I can’t resist pressing another kiss to her parted lips.
I’m the first one to touch this virgin territory. She’s mine. It just fuels my possessiveness. Natalie was born to be mine, I realize. I’m never lettin’ her go. Not now, not ever.
“I’m gonna take this dress off you now, Nat,” I whisper between kisses, and slip a finger under one spaghetti strap. “Or would you rather I get naked first?”
Her hands move to my shoulders. She curls her fingers against my shirt again, and then gives me a breathless shake of her head. “I don’t know.”
“How about I take my shirt off first, then?” I press a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, then the corner of her mouth. I keep kissin’ while she nods, distracted. Goddamn, she’s pretty. I can’t wait to get every inch of her naked. My cock aches fiercely at the thought.
“Okay,” she whispers, her mouth impossibly close to mine.
It tears me up to have to pull my hands off of her. I want them all over her—caressin’ those rounded, delicious breasts of hers, the ample ass that I’ve been eyein’ all day, her soft, pale legs with the most delicate ankles. All of her is appealin’. Ain’t none of it I’d kick out of bed for eatin’ crackers. I just hope she finds me half as appealing. I run a hand down my beard, noticing her flushed skin again. Nothin’ to be done about that now, though, and she hasn’t complained. I grab the front of my shirt and rip the buttons apart in a quick motion, not caring that the fabric makes a ripping sound. It’s just a shirt. I got plenty more of those. I toss it on the floor and wait for her to react.
Just like she’s changed since high school, I have, too. I’m a lot hairier, I gotta admit. Back then, I had a lean chest without much of a tan. Now I’ve got hair all over my pectorals and I’m burnt a dark tan by the sun. My belly ain’t fat at least, but I do wonder what she’s gonna think of me.
Nat makes a breathless sound and she puts a hand on my shoulder, then squeezes. “You’re . . . Wow. You look different than I remember.”
“Can’t help that,” I mutter. I ain’t waxin’ my chest. That’s just fuckin’ weird.
“I like it,” she tells me, and her hand smooths down one pectoral and then she reaches over and squeezes my bicep. “You’re so . . . big. I don’t remember you being so big.”
Well, damn. Makes me want to show off for her, flex my muscles a little like the vain idiot I am.
She gives a nervous little laugh and meets my eyes. “Is it weird that I’m scared? I just . . . waited so long and now it’s going to be like this—”
“It’s going to be amazing,” I reassure her, hatin’ that my heart squeezes a little at her words. “I would have wanted you to be my first anyhow. Always did.”
It’s the right thing to say. The smile returns to her face and she gives a little nod. “Me too. I just wish . . .”
The words trail off and I don’t want her goin’ down that path. I have a R on my knuckles, don’t I? I need to be ruthless. Or is it a scoundrel today? Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care. I just want to get that sad expression off her face. So I take her hand and put it on my breast again, and her fingers curl in my chest hair. She seems fascinated by it, and while she’s distracted, I lean in and press another gentle kiss to her mouth. She makes a delicious, toe-curling sound of pleasure when I pull away, and I take that moment to tug one of the tiny straps down her arm.
Or at least I try to. I tug at the strap but it’s digging into her skin and doesn’t seem to want to move.
“One of the perils of having a larger chest,” she admits, and eases the strap down her shoulder with a snap of the material. “You need more support than you think.”
I trace a finger over the red mark the strap left on her skin. Well, damn. If I’d have known it was gonna mark her up—I’d have undressed her hours ago. “You need to quit talkin’ about yourself like you’re shit now that you gained weight. I don’t like it.”
Her eyes go wide and the nervous look returns to her face. It doesn’t fade even when I lean in to press a kiss to one creamy white shoulder. “I just . . . You’re paying a lot of money, Clay. I don’t want you finding me . . . unpleasant. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I worry. I’m not the same size I was in high school. After my stepmom moved out, I realized she’d done a number on my self-esteem and it took me a while before I could eat like a normal person again. I packed on some weight. I . . . Well, normally I don’t care but you remember me as skinny—”
“I remember you as pretty,” I tell her. “And soft. And mine. None of that’s changed.” I trace a finger down her arm. Still so damn soft. “If it’ll make you stop worryin’, I like your big tits. I like your big butt. I like your rounded thighs. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna like your rounded belly when I put my mouth on it. And I know I’m gonna like it when I put my mouth on—”
Her fingers press to my lips again, and she gives a girlish giggle that warms my heart. “I get the point. No need to go into detail.”
“Party pooper.”
Her laughter is a beautiful thing, just as beautiful as this body she worries about. I kiss her shoulder again, and then ease—or fight with—the other strap, until they’re both dangling off her shoulders and her breasts look like they’re about to spill out of the tight top of her dress. And fuck, if that ain’t a pretty sight, I don’t know what is. I run a knuckle against the line of her cleavage. “Don’t see how you could see this as anythin’ but gorgeous, Nat.”
“I just want you to be satisfied with your purchase—”
“If I didn’t like the way you looked, I’d have never bought you in the first place,” I tell her, but I don’t even know if that’s true. Her ass could be twice as wide and she could have her hair in a buzz cut and she could be wearin’ a muumuu and I’d still want her because she’s Natalie Weston.
Seven years later, I’m still madly in love with her.
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It ain’t infatuation or obsession. I ain’t angry at her anymore. I just ache with wantin’ her. Knowing that she’s still a virgin—that she’s never taken anyone else to her bed, just like me—it frees up somethin’ in my chest. I feel . . . lighter. Complete.
I feel like the last seven years didn’t matter so much after all.
Maybe Natalie Weston didn’t wanna marry me seven years ago, but I can convince her that she wants to marry me now. First, though, I’m gonna claim her thoroughly. I put my hands around her waist, lean in, and bury my face in those glorious breasts of hers.
She squeals in surprise as I do, wriggling against me.
“Love these gorgeous tits,” I tell her as I slowly peel one of the cups of her dress down. She sucks in a breath, going stiff as I pop one nipple free from its confines. Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I lean down and brush my mouth over the pink tip, and Nat’s moan of response nearly makes me lose control. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” I tell her. “Lean back on the bed for me so I can look at you properly.”
Nat does, and it lets me feast on the gorgeous sight of her, dark hair spillin’ around her shoulders. She’s practically comin’ out of the top of that dress now, one bouncy breast freed from its confines and the other strainin’ to make its escape. Her eyes are wide and dark with need, and she’s breathing hard, either nervous or excited—or both.
I know just how she feels. I want to cover her with my body, to feel her naked skin, soft and smooth, against mine. More than anything, I just want to keep touchin’ her. “Remember back when we used ta make out in my truck?” I ask her, sliding my hand up the material of her dress and undoing the tiny little corset hooks that crawl up the front. “You would wear these dainty little sweaters and you never wanted me to put my hand under ’em, because you were shy. ’Cept we’d get to kissin’, and then you’d have your hands under my shirt and start beggin’ all kinds of things like, ‘Please, Clay, touch me.’ And I would, because that’s like askin’ a drownin’ man not to breathe air.” The hooks pop under my fingers, and as each one loosens, more of her pearly skin is exposed to the air.
She’s completely quiet as I speak, but her gaze is riveted to mine.
“And I remember reachin’ under those sweaters and brushin’ my hand over your tits and thinking that life didn’t get much better than that,” I murmur. The last hooks come undone, and then she’s spillin’ out of that dress, the material fallin’ away from her gorgeous body until there’s nothing but her gorgeous breasts in the open air. “Guess I shoulda dreamed a little harder, because right now, I can’t see how that could possibly compare to this moment. And then when I touch you again, it’s gonna get even better.” I lean in closer, because I want nothing more than to bury my face between those beautiful breasts. It takes everything I have just to gently rub two knuckles between the valley of ’em. “So now, I’m seein’ how perfect you are in this moment, and you know what I’m thinkin?”
“What?” She’s all breathless.
“I’m thinkin’ it ain’t gonna hold a candle to when I get my face between your thighs.”
The moan that breaks free from her is full of need. She closes her eyes and arches slightly on the bed, and it makes those magnificent breasts of hers bounce in a way that I can’t resist. I cup one, dragging my thumb over the budded tip, and love that she moans again. I want her to grab me and hold me against her, but I guess we ain’t there yet.
Yet.
I lower my head and drag my beard over her other breast, letting it prickle against her skin. I can’t wait to taste her, but I’m gaugin’ her reaction first. I know I can’t show up out of nowhere after seven years and expect her to get wet the moment I touch her, but that doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna try. I use my tongue, next, sliding it over the tip of one pink nipple and teasing the other with my fingers.
She makes a low, needy sound, and her fingers dig into the blankets on the bed. “Clay,” she pants.
Now, that’s more like it.
“These are some pretty nipples,” I murmur to her, and give one an appreciative lick. “Tasty, too. Think your pussy tastes half as good as these do?”
Natalie whimpers, pulling at fistfuls of the sheets.
“What’s that?” I tease. “Find out for myself? Don’t mind if I do.” I smooth a hand down the front of her dress, where it’s bunched at her thighs. I can’t find clasps like the ones that held the top together, though, and end up just rubbing her mound through the fabric even as I nuzzle at her nipple. My cock’s straining against my pants, and I feel desperately close to coming—even though I know we’re just gettin’ started. This is as far as I ever got with Natalie. Once, we dry-humped in the front seat of my truck until she had a tiny orgasm, but we didn’t go that far again. She was afraid to push it and I just wanted to make her happy.
Looking back, I was far too patient as a teenager. Because as I tease her nipples and rub my hand over her cunt through the dress, she makes wild, gasping noises and writhes on the bed. It’s clear that she likes it when I touch her.
Fuck knows why we both waited so long to make this happen. “Want to take this dress off so I can touch you the way you deserve to be touched?”
“Yes,” she tells me, and I reward her with a nip on her breast that makes her breath catch and her entire body shudder.
“Then show me how to remove this damn thing,” I tell her, tugging at the material. Never thought it’d be so hard to undress a woman.
Natalie reaches for something on her side, and I see a hidden zipper. Okay, weird that it would open in the front and on the side, but I’ve long ago accepted that women dress in bizarre creations. Of course, if her hands are busy, that gives me freedom to enjoy myself. I lean in and suck lightly at her breast as she fiddles with her skirt, and her surprised little moan sends a jolt all the way to my cock.
Then the zipper goes down and she’s pushing the material down her thighs. Good. I lick at her nipple again, and help her push the dress off of her body, though I nearly lose control when she raises one curvy, beautifully shaped leg into the air. Still wearin’ those damn wicked-looking shoes. God have mercy.
I’m distracted away from the shoes by the sight of her panties, though. They’re a delicate pink-and-white-floral cotton, a tiny scrap of fabric against the lush softness of her thighs. Fuck yeah. That’s more like it. Boldly, I push my hand between her slightly spread legs and cup her pussy. I’m shocked to feel that the fabric of her panties is already soaked. “You that turned on, baby?”
This time, she doesn’t haughtily demand that I not call her baby. She only shudders and gives me that hot, needy look that turns me on so damn much.
I bite back the possessive growl that threatens to rise in my throat. Love this. Love how turned on she is. How helpless before me. How lush and inviting. I nip at her breast again and she tilts her head back, crying out as I rub my fingers along the wet seam of her cunt through her panties. She presses up against my hand as I do so, and the need to cover her body and make her mine grows stronger by the second. My sac feels tight against my cock, and I know if I don’t pace myself, I’m going to blow it.
Literally and figuratively.
And she hasn’t come yet. She’s enjoying herself—it’s obvious from the dampness of her panties as well as the soft little cries she’s making—but she’s not there yet. It don’t matter that I bought her for my pleasure; I’m not getting off until Natalie does. I want her to want this—want me—as bad as I want her. I need to figure out what takes her from “enjoying herself” to “going wild.” It’s gonna take a little experimenting, of course, but that’s half the fun.
I shift in the bed, sliding my body alongside hers until I’m lying on my side next to her. Like this, I can lean over and kiss her, or pet her pretty breasts, or push my hand into her panties. She gives me a soft look, blinking up at me as I do, as if waiting to see what I’m going to do next. I feel like a king admiring his prize possession, or a man about to feast at a banquet. There’s so many places I want to taste, to touch, to tease . . .
But mostly, I want her to come. I think about that time in my car when she made the softest little cry into my ear as she rubbed up against me, and I know I want to hear that again. Scratch that, I want to hear it magnified by a thousand times. I want her clawing up and down my back with her need.
That’s what I want.
Kisses are the way to get there, I think. Starting with kisses. I lean in and brush my mouth over hers, and she responds eagerly. This time, she reaches for me, her arms going around my neck, her lips eager against mine. I rest my hand on her pussy again, and I feel her tense, though her kisses grow hungrier. I slick my tongue against hers until she relaxes in my arms, and then I push the fabric of her panties aside and explore her with my fingers.
She gasps against my mouth.
“Want me to stop?” I give her a light kiss. If she asks me to, I will. Don’t matter how much money I’ve spent—if she ain’t into it, that kills it for me.
But Nat shakes her head and bites down on my lower lip, then sucks on it. Her thighs tighten around my hand, and I can feel her quiverin’ but she’s still kissing me like her life depends on it.
And I’m lost. Touching her cunt is . . . indescribable. She’s impossibly soft, her folds slippery and wet with need. She’s scorchingly hot between her legs, too, as if all of the blood in her body is rushing here. I stroke her, exploring her with my fingertips. She didn’t shave, her mound capped by a trim thatch of hair, but I like that. I slide a finger up and down her folds, seeking out her clit, and I’m almost surprised when I find it. Her gasp is the only thing that tells me that I’ve struck the right spot, so I slow down in my exploring until I find it again—there, nestled in her folds, is the tiniest of bumps. When my finger brushes against it again, her body jerks in response.
Jackpot.
Nat whimpers into my kiss as I drag my finger over it again. I slick my tongue against hers, claiming her mouth with deep, tender strokes as I rub my finger over her clit.
This time, she cries out and pushes my hand away. “Too sensitive,” she pants, pressing her forehead to mine. “Sorry. It’s just—”
“Doesn’t feel good?” I ask. When she hesitates, I chuckle. “You gotta tell me yes or no, baby. I ain’t never touched another girl before, and I wanna do it right.”
“Never?” Nat whispers, surprise on her face. “Not even this?”
I shake my head. “Not even this.” In some ways, I’m just as innocent as she is, though my palm could probably attest to otherwise. Truth is, sex sounds good, but without Natalie, it loses its appeal. Sex with Natalie? Now, that thought makes me crazy with need.
She licks her lips, and the sight of that little pink tongue darting out makes me want to kiss her all over again. But she’s takin’ my hand in hers, and guiding me between her thighs. Fuck, that’s hot. She’s gonna show me exactly what she needs to get off, and I nearly bust in my pants at the realization.
“Soft,” Nat tells me, and takes my finger and guides it in a little circle around that spot. “Not directly against it. That’s too much.” She rubs her nose against mine and her mouth comes closer, as if she’s beggin’ for a kiss. “And then you can add fingers if you want to.”
Add fingers? I’m so dazed by the hungry, sexy look on her face it takes me a moment to realize she means that I should fuck her with my fingers. Of course. My brain’s just scrambled at how gorgeous she is and I’m not thinkin’ straight. I love that she’s being so honest, though, and I’m gonna do my best to give her exactly what she needs.
So I begin to touch her, just as she showed me. Tiny, soft circles around her clit, grazing and teasing the skin around it but never quite the nub itself. I kiss her again, my mouth light against hers.
This time, she doesn’t moan. Natalie sucks in a breath, and then another. Her eyes close and she whimpers again. Her hands go to my shoulders, then drag down my sides and her nails dig in, as if she’s desperately trying to find purchase. Her hips raise and she starts to meet the movements of my hand with her body.
Fuck, that is the sexiest goddamn thing I have ever seen.
Her eyes are closed and she buries her face against my neck, as if it’s too much. Ain’t too much for me. I wanna watch. I stare, fascinated as she raises her hips, and my fingers—slick and gleaming with her juices—work against her pink folds. I want to taste them so badly, but I don’t want to change the rhythm I’ve got going, because Natalie’s making soft little cries against my neck that are making my sac tighten in dangerous, pleasurable kinds of ways.
Her nails dig in to my skin painfully. “Clay. Don’t stop.”
“I ain’t never gonna stop, baby,” I tell her, panting. It takes everything I have not to change the rhythm I’ve got going with my hand. Part of me wants to add the fingers she mentioned, and part of me wants to just finger her as frantically as I feel my heart racing at the moment, but I need to give her what she wants. Need to—
She rubs her face against my neck, moaning, and then bites down on my skin and licks it hard. “Oh, Clay.”
Ah fuck.
My body shudders and I explode with release, groaning deep. My entire body seizes up with the force of it and I clutch her against me. There’s no air left in the room, no cum left in my body. I just empty and empty into my fucking pants and hold her tight as if the world’s ending.
Maybe it is. I just prematurely ejaculated with my dream girl in my arms.
Fuuuuuck.
Natalie
“Goddamn it,” Clay mutters against my shoulder.
I just stroke his hair and press soft kisses to his wonderful-smelling skin. I don’t know what he uses, but it’s either the most incredible smelling bar of soap or he just naturally smells like heaven. Either way, I love having my face buried against him. I don’t even care that he stopped petting me or that he jerked hard against my side, and now the fabric of his pants is all wet against my side.
I’m just really enjoying myself.
Well, okay, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to come. But god, it’s lovely to just be touched by another person. To be caressed and stroked and petted. I didn’t realize how hungry and starved for attention I was until Clay stormed back into my world.
Even though I tell myself this isn’t any of my choice, I’m craving the touches, the kisses, the attention.
“Fucking came in my pants like a kid,” Clay mutters, pulling his big body off of me. His hand leaves my panties and then I’m left on the bed all alone, sprawled and naked and still so needy. He gets off the bed and wanders away into the bathroom, stripping off clothes as he does. I catch a glimpse of buns—shockingly white buns compared to the deep brown of his back—and then he disappears behind a door, presumably to clean up.
And I guess . . . I guess we’re done. I think. I remind myself that this is all at his discretion, and it doesn’t matter if I come or not. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed, of course. I grab one corner of the blankets and delicately tuck it around my body while I wait for him to return. I wonder if I should get up and leave. Does he want me to stay? Or is he going to be angry that it happened and lash out at me? It doesn’t sound like the Clay I knew, but a lot of his demeanor doesn’t remind me of the Clay I knew. Sometimes it’s like he’s trying to be a completely different person.
“Well,” Clay drawls from the bathroom, catching my wandering thoughts once more. “That wasn’t exactly how I planned for shit to go down. But we can look at this as a blessin’, I suppose, because—” He stops as he leaves the bathroom, bare-assed, and frowns at me. “What’re you coverin’ up for?”
“I, uh, I don’t know,” I admit, distracted. I can’t stop staring.
Clay’s completely and utterly naked.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen his cock after years of wondering what kind of equipment he’d have. The severity of his tan lines are jarring, his skin above his waist a glorious warm brown, and the skin below his waist is what you would call . . . well, lily-white. He’s still incredibly muscular, though, and the tan line seems to cut right across his obliques, and from there, I can see everything. The line of hair that’s no more than a happy trail down his belly leads to the dark curls at his groin, and his cock juts out from there. Didn’t he just come? I didn’t expect it to look so . . . big. So deeply pink.
I . . . should have watched more porn us so I’d have more knowledge. Damn it. Books and movies don’t prepare you for your first time with a guy, not the way they should.
Because what he has is pretty impressive and I wonder if he’s average or well endowed or if I have no clue, because he looks enormous to me. And it makes my thighs tighten together, just a bit.
He moves to the side of the bed and then crawls back over to where I’m lying, throwing the blankets aside and revealing my body again. “Don’t you cover up from me. I like lookin’ at you.” He grins at me, teeth stark against his heavy beard. “It’s clear you like lookin’ at me, too.”
“Hush,” I say, embarrassed. “I was just . . . looking,” I manage with a strangled admission.
“You can look all you want.” At my silent nod, his amusement seems to increase. “You can ask questions, too, you know. I don’t bite.”
“Are you a shower or a grower?” I blurt out. I figure I’ll never know unless I ask. Or, well, that’s not true. I can just wait until we have sex and see for myself. I feel stupid.
Clay laughs. “Right now it’s a little of both. Dick’s still hard, but it’s not at full potential at the moment, because I busted a nut before I should have.” His eyes gleam. “It meet with your approval?”
“It’s fine,” I say primly. I do wish I hadn’t taken Lexi’s weird advice and “gone all Sasquatch.” I half want to ask him what he thinks of my pussy, but those words will never come out of my mouth. I’m too much Southerner, too much of a reserved Weston to ever say such things.
“Like I said, though, I’m gonna look at this as a good thing.” He leans in and presses a light, flirty kiss to my mouth before giving me another devilish grin.
“Why’s that?”
“Because that means I’m gonna be able to go down on you until you come without worrying about if I’m gonna lose control. Already lost it, so the edge is gone.” He presses another kiss to my lips, then begins to slide lower on the bed.
A worried squeak escapes my throat, the sound almost as embarrassing as what comes out of my mouth next. “You’re going to what?”
“Go down on you, baby.” He’s already moving to the edge of the bed, and grabs me by the ankles, hauling me forward a good foot or so. “Been dreamin’ about getting my mouth on this pussy for ages. Now that I’ve seen how sweet it is, you think I’m gonna lose this opportunity?”
I’m beyond flustered. Of course I want him to go down on me. At the same time, I’m utterly terrified. What if he doesn’t like my taste? What if he thinks I . . . look strange? Oh god, why didn’t I freaking shave?
I’m never listening to Lexi again. This is what I get for taking the advice of a woman who dresses up at Christmas as “Cthulhu’s Little Helper.” Lexi’s a sweetheart but perhaps not the best for dating advice. That does it. I’m picking up a Cosmo magazine the next time I go out. “Maybe,” I begin, rattled. “Should we wait? I mean, you don’t have to. It might not be your kind of thing or—”
“Nat,” he says, glancing up at me even as he grabs the waistband of my bunched-up panties. “Stop talkin’ already. I’m doin’ this and you’re not gonna hem and haw your way outta things, all right?”
Well, who am I to demand that a man not go down on me? I suppose if he doesn’t like it, I’ll know soon enough. Still, I can’t help but feel a little . . . stressed as I wait for the verdict. He said he liked the way I looked, but what if he hasn’t looked closely enough—
My panties roll down my thighs and then Clay flings them to the floor. There’s a look of delight on his face, like it’s Christmas Day or something. One hand runs down my leg, his thumb skimming the inside of my thigh. “You really do have the best damn legs, Nat. Fuckin’ thick and juicy.”
“You make me sound like a drumstick,” I mutter. Not exactly the sexy talk I was hoping for to ease my worries.
He just wiggles his eyebrows at me, grinning. “You know why? Because—”
“If there’s a finger-licking joke in there, I’m getting off this bed right now,” I warn him.
Clay throws his head back and roars with laughter, and I have to admit a little giggle sneaks out of me, too. “Busted,” he says between chuckles. “It was too good to pass up.” His grin turns sly and he leans down, kissing the inside of my knee. “Much like this pussy.”
Oh, heaven help me.
I watch as Clay drops to his knees. He pulls mine apart, spreading my legs, and I feel more open and vulnerable than ever before.
My nervousness ratchets up and I can’t help but hold my breath, waiting. Waiting for his mouth to touch me, or for him to get up and decide he doesn’t want to bother. I don’t know what to expect. Then his hand goes to my knee, and I practically jump off the bed in my anxiety.
“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs. “This ain’t gonna hurt a bit.”
I give a little snort, because that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard yet. Of course it’s not going to hurt. I’m distracted, though, and I don’t realize how far in he is until I feel his beard brush against the inside of my thigh.
Oh god. He’s about to—
And then he is.
And then I’m melting.
His mouth goes over my pussy and I feel his tongue drag against the seam. He makes a low humming sound in his throat, and then parts my folds with his fingers, and licks me again. This time, I feel his tongue move directly over my clit.
I nearly come off the bed.
This feels . . . indescribable. I literally have no words, no thoughts, no nothing. I’m just a big ball of mush. My bones? Gone. Voice? Gone. Everything is gone except my ability to feel—and it’s all concentrated squarely on wherever his tongue lands.
Clay makes that noise again, and I realize it’s not a hum as much as it is a groan. “Lemme know if I’m doin’ it in a way you don’t like,” he murmurs, and his beard brushes against the insides of my thighs again, tickling me. I can hear him kiss my pussy—oh god—and then his tongue drags over my skin again. “Wanna make this good for you.”
I’m having a hard time thinking. I’m having a hard time doing anything other than just melting in the bed. “S’good,” I breathe. “Y-you okay?”
He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, right where my leg meets my pussy, and it’s the most erotic thing ever. “Better than okay. Mind if I stay down here awhile?”
Do I mind? Is he crazy? “Only if you want to.”
“Baby, there is nothing I want more. You taste fuckin’ amazin’.” As if to prove his words, his head ducks down again and I feel his beard against my thighs a moment before his mouth goes over my clit again.
This time I can’t help the needy cry that escapes my throat. I press a hand to my forehead, as if that’ll somehow help me hold it together.
“That feel good?” he rasps, and presses his tongue against my clit again. A second later, he’s using it the same way I showed him how to touch me—light pressure around my clit instead of directly over it. And dear god, it feels amazing. I’ve never felt anything better—until he hitches one of my legs over his shoulder and slides a finger deep inside me.
My entire body jerks in response, and I feel as if I’m about to explode. “Clay,” I pant, and my hands go to his head, as if I can hold him in just the right spot.
“Come for me, Nat,” he growls against my thighs. His tongue circles my clit again and his finger pumps inside me. “Want you to come all over my face.”
The little cry is building inside me, and I dig my fingers into his thick hair. Oh god, I want to come, too. I want to come so badly.
He redoubles his efforts, finger thrusting deep as well as his mouth and tongue working over my clit. I tighten my grip on him, because I’m so close and yet terrified he’s going to pull away, or change his rhythm, and that elusive, slowly building orgasm is going to disappear before—
And then it happens.
Everything in my body seems to clench all at once, and something bursts inside me. I cry out, even as Clay continues to work me with his mouth and fingers, and then I’m coming so hard I’m seeing stars. Over and over, the pleasure washes through me, stunning in its intensity.
I’ve never come so hard before. Masturbation has nothing to the reality of Clay’s mouth.
I’m lost to the world, riding the wave of pleasure, until he lifts his head and his fingers slide out of me. He presses little kisses to the inside of my knee, his beard tickling my skin, and I sigh heavily when all of the strength ebbs out of me.
God, that was . . . Yeah. I have no words. I’m just stunned at the intensity of it all.
His teeth scrape against my inner thigh and Clay strokes my leg. “Feel all right?”
“Mmm, yes,” I breathe. I feel better than all right. I feel . . . remade. Like I’ve been beaten to a pulp (in a good way) and then reshaped again. It’s a weird sensation.
He chuckles. “Good. I’m gonna go grab a condom.” He gives my knee one more kiss and then bounds up from the floor. It takes my dazed brain a moment to realize what he’s just said, and by the time I sit up, he’s returning, a small foil packet in hand. I watch as he rips it open and then pauses by the end of the bed to roll it down his length. I’m fascinated by the flushed color of his skin down there, as well as the thickness of his length. Definitely bigger than before. Definitely fascinating. Definitely fills me with a lot of emotions at the sight.
Part of me’s not ready.
Part of me can’t wait for what’s next.
But then Clay’s climbing back into the bed and in the next moment, he’s over me. His mouth finds mine and then he’s kissing me with deep, hungry strokes of his tongue even as his weight settles over my body. And god, he feels incredible. The sensation of his weight pressing over me is surprisingly delicious, and I don’t protest when he puts a hand on the inside of my knee and pushes my thighs apart so he can move between my legs. His kisses are wildly distracting, and I wrap my arms around his neck, lost to the siren call of his incredible mouth. I love kissing him. I could cheerfully kiss for hours and never grow tired of it. How have I gone seven long years without kissing Clay Price? I’ve missed it so much.
I’ve missed him so much.
Clay reaches between us and his weight shifts on top of me. He braces one arm next to my head, and then I feel him drag the head of his cock up and down my folds. I squirm against him, sucking in a breath. “Clay?”
“S’okay, baby,” he murmurs, and presses light, feathery kisses to my mouth once more. “Just getting things good and slick so I can push inside you easier.” His tongue brushes against the seam of my mouth, and then he groans. “Love how fuckin’ wet you are, Nat. Feel how slick.”
And he drags the head of his cock up and down my folds again. I gasp when it brushes over my clit, sending little flutters of pleasure through my body again.
He kisses me again and then his weight shifts. The hard length of him is suddenly pressing against the entrance to my core, and it feels a little . . . intimidatingly large. I hold tightly on to him and close my eyes. I’m pretty sure this is going to hurt.
“I’ve got you, Nat,” he whispers. And then he pushes inside me.
It doesn’t hurt. Not exactly. But it doesn’t feel great, either. The overwhelming sensation is that of tightness, and little twinges of discomfort shoot through me. It’s not painful, but at the same time, it’s not exactly fun, either.
But Clay groans deeply, and he presses his face against my neck, his weight on top of me. “God, Nat. You feel incredible. You’re so . . . tight.”
“It does feel tight,” I say softly. Even if I’m not enjoying this part, I love his reaction to it. I’m sure it’ll get better with time, so I stroke his arm and just touch his skin, getting the pleasure I can out of this. Next time, it’ll be better. Next time it’ll be awesome. Heck, I already had one orgasm. More than that would just be greedy.
“Gonna go slow,” he rasps. “For you.”
I want to protest that he can go faster if it’ll speed things along, but then he pumps into me and I suck in a breath. Even though there was some discomfort with that, it also felt . . . good.
Clay’s mouth descends on mine again, even as he thrusts into me. I make a sound of surprise, because the ache is ebbing away and is quickly being replaced by a different kind of enjoyment. It doesn’t feel as intense as when he went down on me, but with each thrust, he rubs against something deep inside of me that feels better and better.
He lifts his mouth from mine. “Still hurt?”
I shake my head. There’s a lot of ways I could describe this, but “painful” isn’t one of them. As he continues to move on top of me, the enjoyable feeling slowly increases. I wouldn’t say it’s mind-blowing pleasure, but it has potential to get there, and I start to meet his thrusts with little raises of my hips, trying to increase the sensation.
As I do, Clay groans. “God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, Nat.” He grabs my leg and hitches it around his hip. “Want you to come again. Love seein’ your face when you do. Love the sounds you make.”
Well, I kind of want to come again, too. I nod and keep lifting my hips in time with him, though I’m not as good at keeping a steady rhythm as he is. My movements become awkward and I pause, only to have him kiss me fiercely again. His hand goes to my breast and he squeezes it, even as he thrusts fiercely into me.
It feels so good that I whimper.
He makes a low sound in his throat and the hand at my hip holds me tighter. He pumps into me with renewed enthusiasm, as if by the sheer force of his will he can make me come.
It’s working, too. As his movements increase, so does my pleasure. His movements are rougher, our bodies flung together with great force, and the elusive feeling is becoming less and less elusive and more like a sure thing. “Clay,” I pant, digging my nails into his shoulders and squirming underneath him, as if that will somehow help. “Clay, please.”
“Need you to come,” he groans. “Please, baby. I’m so close. Don’t wanna go . . . without you.”
“Trying,” I whimper. But the more I think about it, the more it seems to slip away. It’s like I was close . . . and then suddenly not so much. Should I fake it just so he can finish?
But then he growls low in his throat and shifts his weight, and then I realize he’s not lying on top of me as much as he’s sitting back on his heels, cock still buried deep inside me. He studies my body, spread out below him, and then then puts a hand over the mound of my pussy. I can’t figure out what he’s doing until his thumb brushes over my clit, and he begins to give it little circles.
A hoarse cry escapes me. That—holy crap—that feels a thousand times more intense with his cock buried deep inside me than it did before. My entire body responds and I’m practically coming off the bed.
“That’s right,” Clay murmurs, and there’s deep satisfaction in his voice. “You come for me, baby. Come around my cock. Wanna feel it while I’m deep inside you.”
I can’t respond—I’m too busy squirming and sobbing. I’m completely incoherent, and it feels like the greatest pleasure ever—and like I’m trying to come out of my skin at the same time. Everything is just so intense.
This time, when I come, it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. I’m gasping like a drowning woman, and when he keeps rubbing my clit, my gasping gets louder and louder, until I’m wailing my pleasure. I have to push his hand away before I can get my release, because it just keeps going.
Then, Clay is back over me again, driving hard into my pussy. He thrusts deep, over and over, and I’m coming all over again, and it’s that deep, intense feeling instead of the quick explosion.
“Can feel you,” he grits out. “Squeezin’ my cock.” He clenches my shoulder and buries his face against my neck, and then his entire body shudders against mine.
I’m barely aware as he surges over me in jerky motions, his own orgasm taking him. I’m too lost in mine, and in the pleasure that seems to flow on forever. I just feel so . . . good. Wrecked in the very best of ways.
Wow.
Clay shifts, and I realize he’s collapsed on top of me. His weight adjusts and then I can feel him slide out of my body. He leans in, presses a quick kiss to my mouth, and then bounds off the bed as if he’s got endless amounts of energy. Somehow. “Now, that,” he says, tossing a grin over his shoulder at me, “was the best thing I’ve ever paid for.”
It’s like a slap in the face. All the pleasure I’ve had vanishes in a single moment. He’s not wrong. He did pay for me.
I sold myself to someone for money. To my ex. And he hasn’t even tried to be nice about it.
Oh sure, he’s nice right now, but that’s because he just got laid. I look over at his sculpted, tanned body, watching his movements as he peels the condom off over a garbage can. He’s so different.
And I can’t quite forget what a jerk he’s been since he came back into my life. He’s been high-handed, rude, and he’s made me feel terrible. Like the comment just now.
This should have been a good moment, at least for a little while longer. Instead, I feel dirty.
I sit up in bed, tears pooling in my eyes. “Think I’m going to go clean up,” I manage, my voice hoarse.
Clay turns and looks over at me, a frown on his face. “You okay?”
I somehow force a smile to my face. “Fine.” And I rush for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Once I’m inside, I put the lid down on the toilet and sit down. I’m trembling.
I knew what I was getting into. I just didn’t think his words would have the power to hurt me that much.
I thought that once I agreed to this, I’d be Teflon. I knew what I was getting into and it didn’t matter what he thought of me.
Stupid, stupid me.
Clay
She’s crying.
Nat’s trying really hard to be quiet, but even on this side of the door, I can hear her sniffles.
I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
Here I thought the sex had been good. Great, even. My mind is still whirling with how good she felt underneath me, and I want nothing more than to fling that door open, drag her back to bed, and claim her again. I’m filled with possessiveness and the need to protect . . . but I don’t know what to do about her tears.
I’ve hurt her.
I don’t know if it’s because of the sex or if it’s because I had ta open my big mouth and remind her that I paid for her.
Either way, I fucked up. I don’t know how to fix it. I did pay for her. I forced her into my bed because I knew she was broke and desperate. I didn’t think I’d care. Thought I could be ruthless. A scoundrel.
I’m clearly an idiot, ’cause right about now, all I want is to comfort Natalie and prove to her how much I love her. That I ain’t never stopped lovin’ her.
But I made her cry after we had sex. If that ain’t a dick shriveler, I don’t know what is.
It’s clear I’ve been pushin’ too hard. The moment I saw her today, I made her kiss me. Made her dress up and dance to my tune at dinner, and then immediately took her back to the hotel and pawed her. I’m movin’ too fast. We dated for eighteen months in the past and I never made it below her belt. Now in the space of a day, I took her virginity.
No, didn’t take it. I paid for it.
That’s a hell of a lot to process, even for me. I can’t imagine how she feels. I know right now, I feel ashamed. I didn’t do this right. I should have met with her again, asked to have dinner. Reconnected like normal fucking people instead of being the “scoundrel” with no feelings.
That ain’t me. It’s never been me.
And now I’ve fucked up the only thing I ever cared about. I hurt the only woman I ever wanted. I get up and tug on my pants, then shove my feet into my boots. I grab my phone and a shirt, then head over to the door, where she’s quietly tryin’ not to cry and failin’. I knock softly.
“J-just a moment,” she calls out, and there’s a wobble in her voice that tells me I ain’t wrong, that she’s definitely cryin’.
I swallow hard. I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” seems kinda false because truth is, I knew exactly what I was doin’. I’m just sorry it hurt her feelings. And as an apology, that rings kinda hollow. So I swallow it back and try somethin’ else. “I’m goin’ out for a while,” I tell her. “Stay in the room. I’ll be back soon.” I worry she won’t stay after all. That she’ll run and our contract will be over. Panic makes me add, “I ain’t done with you yet.”
I wince the moment the words come out of my mouth, because that sounds bad.
It goes quiet in the bathroom.
“You hear what I said?” I call.
“I heard it.” Her voice is flat. “I won’t go anywhere.”
I grunt acknowledgment, and scratch at my beard. Shit. I’m fuckin’ this up more and more with every moment. Time to take a step back.
I cast one last unhappy look at the bathroom door, and then leave the hotel room.