Page 27

I whisper yes against his throat as he continues to stroke me, his fingers touching me intimately before he pushes one deep inside of me.

I whimper, and he stops. “Is that okay?”

I nod, having a hard time using my words. I’m having a hard time shaping my thoughts into language.

But he stops, and I know that he’s waiting for me to tell him for sure that everything is fine.

I told him to treat me like he would anyone, but in the moment, I’m glad he’s treating me like this, not because I want to be treated like I’m fragile.

But because it makes me feel special. Like he’s entirely aware of who I am, and it matters.

In that first feverish haze, I thought I wanted to be just like all the other women he’s been with. But I want to be special.

Oh, that sad, small part inside of me that always wants to be special. But I don’t let it make me feel bad, not now.

I embrace it .

As part of the moment. As part of who I am, and part of what we are.

His hand begins to move again, his finger pushing deeper inside me, his thumb slides over my clit, perfect, the rhythm he establishes sending waves of need through my body.

And before I know it, the wave of my climax crashes over me. My entire body shaking as I cry out his name. As I cling to his shoulders, I experience my first orgasm with another person.

Tears are streaming down my face. But they aren’t sad tears. I’m just so happy. So happy that it’s him. So happy that it’s us.

And for a brief, wonderful moment, I feel like everything might be okay. I can’t remember the last time I ever had that feeling. And then I do. With shocking, blinding clarity. It was the first moment I met Dallas.

A scared child, moved into my first foster home, barely verbal. Completely taken apart by everything that had happened to me.

And then I saw the strongest, most handsome boy I’d ever seen in my life. And I was so sure that he could slay every dragon for me. That he was my rightful king. The one who would take care of me and save my whole world.

I lift my head, and our eyes meet. He’s trembling. Just like I am. And there’s an expression in his eyes that I can’t quite read.

“Sarah,” he says. “Can I take you to… Can I take you to bed?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

There is no hesitation. This is right. This is mine. This is what I was always supposed to have. This is the thing that I thought I wasn’t worthy of, that I thought I was too broken for, and I still get to have it. Because of him.

Because one day I met the most beautiful boy in the whole wide world, and he never, ever forgot me.

And that is an epic story by every metric.

He takes my hand, and he leads me slowly into his bedroom. My heart is thundering, but now I know for sure it isn’t fear. No. I’m not afraid of anything right now. Because I’m with him.

“You never done this before?” he asks.

I shake my head, and then remember he wants me to use my words.

“No,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “I have. Quite a few times.”

That annoys me, but I realize he’s telling me that to put me at ease. I realize he’s telling me that so that I know that he knows how to take care of me. So I choose not to be up in arms about it.

“I’m going to make it good for you,” he says.

“But if at any point you want to stop, if at any point you don’t like what I’m doing, then you just tell me.

You’re not going to make me mad, you’re not going to hurt our relationship, do you understand me?

Nothing could ever do that. Because we’re not like that, okay?

We’re not like anybody else. We always find each other, don’t we? ”

I nod, and then he kisses me. He kisses me and I nearly tremble to pieces.

Because it’s really happening. His hands go to his belt the buckle, and I reach between us and touch him.

My breath escaping in a gasp. He’s so hard, and…

Very, very big. I feel him through his wet jeans like an iron rod.

And there’s a minute there where I feel some very real trepidation .

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve got this.”

“Oh, are you used to walking women through their first time?”

“No,” he says. “I mean, not since my first time. But I do know what I’m doing.”

Yes. He knows what he’s doing. And that is a good thing, I remind myself.

A good thing that I’m going to benefit from.

So I try to relax into him, and he continues to work his belt free, and I let out a shaking breath.

He pulls his belt through the loops of his jeans, undoes the snap on them, and then lowers the zipper.

He doesn’t have any underwear on, and suddenly I realize exactly what the fabric was he threw on the floor in the entryway.

Then, that realization just doesn’t matter. Because all I do is stare at him, my mouth dry. I’m not sure that I ever thought I would be able to find a man beautiful.

I find him beautiful.

His body is a glorious testament to all the ways in which masculinity can be something good and caring and protecting. Strong.

And I want him.

Over me. Under me. Inside of me.

“I want you,” I say.

Because I know that matters to him. Because I know he wants to hear me say it out loud.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because I want you.”

And then, there’s no more talking. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. He pulls my dress-up over my head and reaches behind my back, unhooking my bra with deft, practiced fingers. And he’s right, I appreciate it.

Then he lays me down gently on the bed, stripping my underwear off, looking at me in a way that makes me feel beautiful.

His desire makes me feel good. His desire fills me with confidence.

It makes me feel new. It makes me feel like I own every part of myself.

I’ve done a lot of work on my own. I’m proud of how strong I am.

But I’ve always needed Dallas, and I’m not ashamed of that at all.

He was the missing piece to this. And I’m completely okay with that.

He moves to me, kissing me, hands going between my thighs again as he strokes me, bringing me back to that state of oblivion. Where I’m not thinking too deeply about us, about the past, about what I haven’t done, or what is left to do now.

I’m just lost. In feeling good. In feeling his.

Tears prick my eyes, and I close them, clinging to his shoulders as he pushes a finger inside of me, then a second.

As he brings me to the edge before kissing his way down my neck, drawing one nipple into his mouth and sucking it in deep.

I arch my back up off the bed. It’s wonderful that it’s Dallas. But this intimacy… It’s…

And then he kisses his way down my stomach, and I know exactly what he’s planning on doing. He forces my thighs apart, and he’s past asking. He lowers his head, and he licks me. Right there.

He looks up at me, all that blue. That familiar blue, as he starts to eat me like I’m the most delicious dessert he’s ever had.

All I can do is surrender.

All I can do is give myself over to the incredible sensations he’s creating in my body. I didn’t know that it could be like this. I didn’t know anything could be like this.

I knew that the body could endure a whole lot of indignity. A whole lot of pain. A whole lot of suffering .

But I had no idea that it could endure this level of pleasure. I didn’t know that I had the capacity for this.

I am made new by it.

All of a sudden, there is no end to the beauty in the world. I was so world-weary and cynical for so long, I felt like I’d seen too much of life. Now I think I haven’t seen enough. I realize that I don’t know much of anything. I feel small, gloriously so.

There are miracles out there, and I haven’t even scratched the surface of them. But now I know of their existence thanks to Dallas Dodge’s talented, wicked tongue.

He pushes two fingers inside of me as he continues to tease me with his mouth. The slow, aching rhythm building a new climax inside of me that’s deeper, more intense than the one that came before.

And when I come this time, I cry out his name, my arm thrown over my eyes as my back arches up off the mattress, as I try to keep myself from flying into millions of pieces.

I’m not sure that I succeed. Maybe I’ve shattered completely. Maybe I’m going to blow away on the wind.

That feels reasonable. And fine.

Because he’s still there. And that’s all that matters.

He kisses his way back up my body, lips skimming over my breasts before he licks his way up my neck and claims my mouth again.

I taste my own pleasure on his lips, and there’s something deeply beautiful about that.

That the evidence of how much I want this, of how much I enjoyed it is right there, between us. Undeniable.

He pauses for a moment and grabs a condom from a drawer in his nightstand. Then he tears it open and rolls it onto his thick length. I watch, transfixed as his large hand grips that gorgeous part of him. It’s so erotic, and I had no idea something as basic as protection could be so…sexy .

He presses his forehead against mine, his hand moving to my hip as he spreads my thighs wide, positioning himself between them.

I feel the blunt head of his cock up against the slick entrance to my body, and he begins to push inside of me, slowly, achingly so.

There’s an apology in his blue eyes, I see it.

But he doesn’t speak. He’s sorry that it hurts. That he’s stretching me.

But I’m not.

Because it makes it feel real. It makes all of this feel real. And it’s a different kind of pain than anything that’s come before. Because I want this. I want him buried as deep inside of me as he can go. I want everything. All of him.

And then he’s there. As deep inside me as he can go. And it’s like everything makes sense. Like he was always meant to be there.

Mine. Mine .

Inside my body.

I want to cry, but I don’t, because I don’t want to freak him out, so I bite my lip to keep it back. And I just let go. I surrender myself to the experience. To the feeling of him moving inside of me.