Page 14 of Strip It Down (Spoiled by My Blue Collar Man #4)

Gentry

He tricked me, and I let him. I let him because I’m tired of wanting and never having. I want this one taste.

I loved his sweetness when he was ten. His fire when at fourteen he took on an older guy. His love for his father and his commitment when he found his daughter. All the qualities of a good man. A man who would know how to treat a woman and not just use her.

My mom and sister never found that kind of man. The users and abusers found them. After being hurt once, I swore I’d never be a victim again.

Meeting Sayer, learning the true meaning of a man, I’ll never settle for less. But he deserves so much more than I am. He’ll grow tired of me. But I can be a fling and cherish every memory for the rest of my life.

I turn the knob on my door. He shakes his head and lifts me bridal style and indicates his door. “Our bed. Our room.”

He crosses to his room and pauses by the bed letting my legs slid from his grasp and cups my face. Slipping his fingers into my hair, he kisses my forehead, each eyelid, the tip of my nose before claiming my lips. Warm, gentle, tender.

“I want to kiss every inch of you. Taste all your sweetness. Savor every sound. I’ve dreamed of you my whole life. I’m so afraid I’m going to wake up and this will be yet another dream of you.”

“Y-you dreamed of me?”

“It has always been you, Gentry. Always.”

His words, his touch, his warmth soothe some of my unease.

Lifting the hem of my shirt, he pulls it over my head and tosses it aside before doing the same with his.

I slide my palms over his well-developed chest, and the contours of his ribcage and back up.

He’s hard and warm, his heart thunders under my palm.

A couple more scars mar his shoulder another low on his side, testaments to his life away in the service. “These?”

“Nothing to worry about.” He slides his hand behind me and undoes the clasp of my bra, letting it drop to the floor.

“Beautiful. So beautiful.” He rubs a thumb over my hardened nipple. “I used to lay awake at night imagining what color these would be. Deep rose. God, you are perfect.”

He drops to his knees, licking and gently suckling one nipple then the other. He caresses and plumps one before feasting on the next. Again and again. His mouth, his tongue, his hands are like magic shooting desire to my core. It feels so good. A hunger I’ve never experienced washes over me.

He slides the borrowed stretch pants over my hips and down, taking my underwear with, to my knees. Working one side, then the other past my feet, he tosses them aside.

“You are so fucking beautiful. So perfect. Please, sit.”

I do. He kneels before me, once again suckling and lapping my breast. Soon he urges me to lie back. Kissing a trail from my lips and down my torso he drapes my legs over his shoulders and nuzzles my core. “So sweet.”

I gasp, arching my hips when he licks a path through my labia. Giving his full attention to my clit, he sucks and licks. Harder and harder. Oh My God. What is happening?

“Come for me, baby. Come.”

Heat and need fill me. Everything inside me tightens then suddenly explodes and I’m awash in a trembling release.

Minutes pass, my breathing finally slows to normal. He lifts me, laying me the length of the bed, head on the pillow and snuggles next to me. Our eyes meet. He smiles and kisses me. So gentle, so thoughtful.

His hands, slightly roughened from the work he does, graze my body, raising goosebumps of awareness.

Lowering his head he licks and sucks my nipple.

The lassitude of my release is slowly giving away to another hunger.

The need to feel the same euphoria again builds in me.

His touch feels so good, his scent surrounds me, his warmth and sweet words.

He's holding me down. He’s heavy. He’s calling me names. Saying terrible things. He’s hurting me. He laughs when I cry out.

The world shifts and I’m free. I inhale and release. The dream fades. I open my eyes and meet Sayer’s worry filled gaze. He’s turned the bedside lamp on and his hands are on the pillow as if surrendering. I’m straddling his hips.

“Talk to me sweetheart.”

I swallow, but no words come out.

“We were fine until I rolled on top of you and my body settled between your legs.”

I struggle to talk, to explain. Fear of rejection, shame vie for control. Both keeping me mute.

“Sweetheart, who raped you?”

I shake my head dropping my gaze, refusing to meet his.

“Sweetheart. Please can you look at me?”

After a couple minutes I sigh and do as he asks.

“There’s my beautiful girl. Can you tell me what you need? What I can do. Should do. Do…do you need me to leave? To call someone?

“I understand rape can trigger PTSD. As a team leader we had some training to recognize signs. Just talk to me.”

I shake my head. “It’s not you. It’s me. I was in a support group for a while. I’ve only had—tried sex three times with someone since… since it happened. I think I need to be on top.”

“Your rapist held you down?”

“Yes.”

“You can achieve orgasm with toys or if you’re in control?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about me? Do I frighten you?”

“That’s the thing. I’ve never felt so comfortable around anyone.”

“That’s good to hear. Then it may have been the positioning. Or the fact we didn’t talk about this first.

“I will never hurt you. Never force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you being in total control is what you need, I can handle that. What I won’t and can’t do is frighten or cause you pain.

“I do need you to know that I love you. That’s not to put pressure on you, but hopefully to let you understand that this isn’t going to drive me away. This is something for both of us to learn about, communicate about and seek help if we need to.”

How did I get so lucky to find such a good man? But then he was a good boy.

He shifts, leaning against the headboard and fluffs the pillow next to him. “Can we talk?”

I nod but end up sitting beside him so I can see his face. He deserves to understand.