August

Everybody makes mistakes. As soon as Dahlia arrives at my apartment, I know exactly what happened. She took that selfie with Kirkman, and somehow it got to Lori. She showed it to Lori, or maybe Lori just happened to see it. Then Lori took the initiative to try to snake my contract with Kirkman out from under me.

It happens all the time. It's nothing I really need to be concerned about.

But the look on Dahlia's face was heartbreaking. I could see the fear in her eyes, the terror that I was going to find out what she done. I'm not mad... how can I be mad at her? Especially once she stood there in the foyer of my building, trembling like a leaf, her eyes wide and pale, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

She followed me obediently, and as I climbed every stair I could feel my anger ebbing away. After all, she hadn't tried to argue with me at all. She had arrived of her own free will, ready for whatever I was going to say to her.

And I have to admit, I'm on edge. I am frustrated with Kirkman, frustrated with Trina or whoever is jerking me around on Instagram, frustrated with myself for even getting into the situation. I'm not a teenager. It's ridiculous to get caught up in this kind of drama.

“Let me see your nail polish,” I say, turning around to face her. She flinches again, but doesn't try to escape. She's very strong, resilient even. She's a fighter. I suppose I've always known that about her.

She holds her hand out toward me and I step closer. Her nails are bare, but still I circle her wrists in my hands, holding them lightly for just a moment. I feel the tender bones against my palms, so delicate.

She blinks as she stares at me, her lips parted. Her breath comes out in tiny animal gusts. I stare at her lower lip, thinking about what it would taste like…

No.

I'm just frustrated. I'm just beyond aggravated with everything and I need a release. I know that. This is not the right time, and this is not the right situation.

I try to turn away, and I feel a bit of resistance. To my surprise, when I look down, her fingers are wrapped around the fabric of my shirt. She's holding onto me, not letting me go.

“Dahlia, we can't,” I say, hearing how thin and hollow the words sound.

“I think we have to,” she whispers. Her voice is tremulous but convincing.

“Dahlia," I sigh again. What is she doing? She pulls me closer to her, but I'm not sure she understands what she's asking for.

“I can't be gentle,” I warn her. “That's not who I am. I'm not going to treat you like a delicate flower.”

“But…” she starts. Her eyelashes flutter ash she blushes and turns away.

“Dahlia, talk to me. What is it?”

“I’ve just… I’ve never… done this. I’m a virgin.”

My body clenches when I hear the word. Is that possible?

She smiles apologetically, somehow not understanding what that information is doing to me. I know I should retreat, but now I know that I can’t.

“That makes you incredibly precious, Dahlia, do you understand that?”

She shakes her head. “No, that can’t be right. I just needed you to know. But I’m not precious.”

I take her face in my hands. I need her to hear every word, to make sure she understands what I need from her now.

“Dahlia, I meant what I said. I want you so much now that I don’t think I can stop. And still…. I won’t be able to hold back.”

“I know that,” she nods urgently. “I don't need you to be gentle. Be who you are.”

The words unlock me. She unleashes what I've been holding back for so long. I reach forward, pulling her closer, sliding my arms around her so that I can draw her body against mine. She gasps lightly as I lift her from her feet, sweeping her toward the bed.

There are no more words. My hands are in her hair, her mouth is crushed beneath mine. I want to taste her, every bit of her. I kiss her lips, the line of her jaw, the salt in the pit of her neck. I tear the skirt from her hips, flinging her panties to the ground.

She moans beneath me, matching every impulse with the long, lithe lines of her body. She flings her ankles behind my hips, crossing her calves and drawing me closer to her. I feel her wriggle beneath me and struggle to keep from plowing right to the center of her.

She's so supple, so willing, I hold her knee back and aim the head of my cock toward her, sliding along her ruffled pink lips, letting her juices coat me. She arches her back and moans, ready and wanting.

“Tell me,” I growl. Her eyelids flutter she opens her eyes, struggling to focus.

“Tell me you want it,” I say. “Tell me now.”

“I want it, August,” she whispers, the words unsteady and broken.

“No, that's not enough,” I caution her. “I told you already, I can't be gentle. I want to know that you really, really want it. Tell me!”

“Give it to me!” she moans, lacing her fingers behind my neck and pulling me closer to her. I am off balance, there is only one place to go, and I am unable to stop.

She's tight and closed, almost too tight to take me. I hold back as much as I can, but I need to be inside her, need to feel her warmth all around me. Slowly, but undeniably, I bear against her, impaling myself slowly in her sweet, wet pussy. Her lips are open, her head thrown back. Still she pulls me closer, drawing me in until I'm buried within her, finally.

We move together, fusing our bodies little by little. Sweat breaks out between us and the noise of our skin fills the air. I'm up on my knees, plunging over and over again to her willing, pliant void, until finally I come, exploding in a white burst of fire and electricity that obliterates my entire body.

She wraps herself around me, holding on tight as I empty myself into her, finally free to experience this ecstasy.

For a long time after, she holds on to me, her body wrapped around mine. I kiss her humid brow, smoothing back her hair. Blue mist washes through me, replacing all that anxious energy with relief and bliss.

“I can't believe this is real life,” she sighs.

“A million times better than a fantasy,” I remark, reminding myself just how much better it is. What on earth have I been doing? Playacting a fairytale? When this was in front of me the whole time?

“A million times better than I thought it would be, yes,” she says shyly.

I push myself up on one elbow and stare into her pretty but exhausted features.

“You have thought about this before?” I ask her.

She smiles shyly. “Oh, maybe a thousand times. Maybe more,” she admits.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, you know… my dad…” Her voice trails off.

I nod tightly, swallowing. Ron. That's a discussion that I'm not eager to have. But it is a discussion I can probably put off for little while.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask her suddenly.

“Well, I have got work… and then, I don't know?”

“You are not working on the weekend, right? Can you get away?”

She shakes her head, a small smile of disbelief on her lips.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Would you like to go somewhere with me for the weekend? We could be alone? Well… almost alone?”

A grin breaks out over her pretty features, dimpling her freckled cheeks.

“I think that I would like that very much, August,” she replies breathlessly.

“So would I,” I admit, pushing aside all the doubts about all hundred things we’re going to have to figure out on top of all the other hundred things I was going to have to figure out. It's going to be a security detail with a twist, but it feels like the right thing to do.

I need this. I really do.