Page 24 of Ruining Hattie

HATTIE

B y the time I fall into bed on Saturday night, I’m exhausted.

Bastion made good on his promise to show me around the city today. We went up to the top of the Space Needle, he took me to the Pike Place Market, and we had a private tour through the Museum of Pop Culture, which was really cool. It was a jam-packed day full of new and interesting things.

But the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about our almost-kiss the day before. At least, that’s what I think it was. I’m not the most skilled or experienced person when it comes to that sort of thing, but I swear if my mom’s phone call hadn’t interrupted us, we would have kissed.

What I’m still trying to sort out is how I feel about that.

In the moment, I only felt disappointed by the interruption.

But that’s horrible because he’s my boss and much older and more experienced than I am.

But then I think about what he said about discovering who I am without the confines of all the barriers I’ve grown accustomed to, and I feel disappointment again.

My head is in a vicious cycle of wanting one thing, feeling bad about it, and then wanting it again.

Was Bastion right that sexuality is just a part of life and I owe it to myself to discover what role it plays in my own life without feeling ashamed?

I still hadn’t figured it out by the time I went to bed, and what made it even more confusing was that Bastion had been completely platonic with me all day.

Not that I want him to maul me in front of other people, but there was no sign of any attraction to me at all.

Maybe he regretted what had almost happened, and for him, the phone call interruption was a good thing.

When my eyes snap open and the room is dark, it takes me a moment to realize what woke me. Then I hear it again—hoarse screams coming from down the hall.

Heart racing, I whip the covers off me and rush down the hallway. It sounds as if it’s coming from Bastion’s bedroom. I whip the door open.

Bastion’s curtains are open, allowing some of the light from the city to filter into his room. It’s dim, but I can make him out on the bed, thrashing around, the bed sheets twisted. His eyes are closed, and he’s screaming, “No, no, no.”

“Bastion!” I rush to the side of the bed and stand for a beat, unsure what to do.

Are you supposed to wake people up when they’re having a nightmare? Will that make it worse?

But then he screams again, his face contorted as though he’s being tortured, and I can’t take seeing him in agony anymore.

I crawl over to him and place one hand on his shoulder to try to get him to stop moving and one on his cheek. “Bastion, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” He fights me a bit, so I apply more pressure. “Bastion, wake up!”

His eyes pop open. At first there’s a look of horror in his eyes, then he blinks and comes back to himself. His chest heaves up and down as he sucks in air and stares at me.

“You were having a bad dream.”

“What… what are you doing in here?” His voice is hoarse as he slides up his bed to rest his back against the headboard.

Suddenly, I realize that I’m in bed with him and he’s shirtless, wearing only his boxers. I can’t help but admire the lean muscles of his body. When his eyes drag over me, I remember that I only wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of underwear to bed.

“I’m sorry I barged in, but you were screaming. You were having a nightmare.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Right, yeah. I remember now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I run my hand down his cheek the same way my mom always does to me. I’ve always found the gesture comforting, and I’m hoping he might too.

He goes rigid, then closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “No, it’s enough to relive it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I frown, wondering what part of his past was traumatizing enough to cause that kind of nightmare. Pulling my hand away, I shift to move off the bed, but Bastion reaches for my wrist.

“Stay with me?”

My mouth goes dry. On one hand, I want to stick around to offer him comfort and make sure he’s okay. On the other hand, I’ve never slept in the same bed as a man. But the lingering fear in his eyes has me nodding and moving closer to him.

I lie back on a pillow, and when he pulls the blankets back up from where they ended up at the end of the bed, I can’t help but admire the muscles in his back. My nipples pebble under the cotton T-shirt, and I shift onto my side so that my back will be to him. I’m not here to ogle him.

I feel Bastion shifting into place behind me, getting comfortable, and his arm slides around my waist, pulling my back to his front. All the air in my lungs remains trapped there for a minute.

He moves his face into the crook of my neck. “Is this okay?”

I should tell him no, tell him I’m going back to my room. But I can’t. It feels too good—both physically and emotionally—so I nod and relax into his hold.

Darkness sets in minutes later.

I wake up in almost the same position, except now I can feel the rigid length of Bastion’s erection pushing against my underwear. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I arch my hips.

He groans from behind me, and I still. “No, don’t stop.” His voice is rough with sleep.

When I realize I want to do it again, the familiar shame that comes with a realization like that pushes into my thoughts, but I force myself to ignore it. This is exactly what Bastion meant when he said I should feel comfortable exploring my sexuality and figuring out what it means to me.

And I want to. In this moment, I want to so badly.

I arch my pelvis again, and this time, he arches his hips into me. A low moan leaves my throat, and I slap a hand over my mouth.

Bastion’s arm comes around me and pulls my hand away. “I want to hear every sound you make. Don’t you dare censor yourself.”

His words hit their mark when I realize that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. For years, I’ve been censoring myself, rather than figuring out who I am.

I arch my hips again as Bastion trails his nose through my hair and the side of my neck. His hand comes to rest on my hip, and he squeezes, pulling me back into him. My heart is a bass drum, and my breathing comes out in fast pants.

“Will you let me make you feel good, Hattie?”

“I… I’m not going to have sex with you.” After my experience with Rich, I’m far from ready for that.

“Who said anything about sex? I’m going to make you come without even putting anything in your pussy.”

The vulgar words coming off his lips should disgust me, have me running from his bed. But they have the opposite effect.

“Has a man ever made you come before?”

I shake my head. I may have had sex before, but I’ve never had an orgasm. Not even by my own hand. Every time I was brave enough to try, shame would arise, and I would stop.

“Let’s see if we can remedy that, shall we?” Bastion’s hand appears in front of my face. “Suck on my fingers.”

Before I register his intent, he’s pushing his index and middle fingers into my mouth. It takes a moment, but I do what he says, sucking gently on the two digits.

Bastion lets out a moan and bites gently on the curve of my neck while thrusting his hips into me. My breasts grow heavy, and the space between my legs aches. I arch into him some more, sucking on his fingers. He growls and pulls them from my mouth.

His hand comes to rest at the edge of my panties, and I hold my breath as the anticipation builds.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand under the waistband until it rests on my mound.

He strokes the hair there. Every muscle in my body goes taut as I wait to see what he’s going to do next, desperate for him to take me where he promised.

Finally, his fingers continue their journey, but instead of giving attention where I really need him, they slide further.

“Spread your legs, babe. Hook your top leg around the back of mine.”

I do what he says, opening myself to him fully.

Bastion’s fingers dip to my entrance, but he doesn’t push them in. Instead, he rims the entrance with the tips of his fingers, applying just enough pressure to drive me wild but providing me no real relief.

“Bastion…”

“Yeah, babe? What do you want?” He nips my neck again.

“More…”

He speeds up his pace, and my hips gyrate with a will of their own. It’s too much and not enough all at once. I feel as if I’m going to crawl out of my skin.

Bastion must know it too, because his deep chuckle rings in my ear, and he moves his fingers to exactly where I need them. He delivers the most primal pleasure with a circular motion of his fingers, and I’m unable to stop myself from moving against them.

“That’s it. Take your pleasure, Hattie. Take what you want.”

His words spur me on to do just that. I grind my pelvis against him, and my base need ratchets higher and higher. The feeling becomes so intense that I instinctively back away from it, stilling my movements.

“I don’t think so,” Bastion rumbles in my ear.

Then his fingers switch up their movement, applying more pressure, catapulting me toward the precipice. My hands instinctively grip his wrist, but he won’t be deterred.

Every muscle in my body tenses, and my back bows. Fear grips me as a feeling I don’t recognize takes over my body. I’m completely out of control, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating.

Then Bastion hurtles me over the cliff, and the most intense feeling of bliss showers my entire body. I’m crying out, jerking in his arms as I spiral out of control.

I don’t know what I do, what I say from there on, but when I come back to myself, I’m breathing heavily and Bastion is nuzzling my neck.

“Fuck, babe. That was something else.”

The fog from my orgasm clears, and I take note of where I am, what I just did, and who I did it with. Despite my earlier success at pushing back the shame, it now coats me like a bucket of paint thrown over my head.

I don’t know what to do, what to say, so I blurt out, “I should get up. I probably have to leave soon.”

After untangling myself from Bastion’s arms, I don’t turn around to look at him before I bolt from the room.

Despite my panic, I’m pretty sure I don’t regret what happened. How can something that feels that good be bad?