"Rachael," I groaned, "I need to be inside you. Are you ready for me, my love?"
I could feel him getting hard again against my stomach. Could taste myself on his lips, an oddly sweet flavor mixed with something more. A slight shiver of trepidation worked through my body that I knew he could feel. We are so pressed together there was no way he would miss it. Hoping he would think it a shiver of excitement or a remnant of the pleasure he just gave me, I didn't answer and just kissed him again. But somehow, he knew.
He let me kiss him, then he pulled back to look at me. Eye contact is important to him, I realize, but it's never been that easy for me. I rarely look people in the eye. But, Jesus, his eyes are so intense. I've never seen a man stare so intently at a woman, not even in a movie. This man can see into my soul. I'll never be able to hide a thing from him. It scares me and thrills me at the same time.
"No, sweetheart. Give me actual words. I need to hear you tell me you want my cock inside you." His voice is husky but strong. Insistent. He cups his big hand over my cheek, not letting me look away. His palm rested gently on the side of my head. I closed my eyes instead. This is so intense. "Look at me."
He waited. I took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, I lifted my gaze to meet his intensity again. This man makes me feel things I don't even have the mental bandwidth to unpack right now. I may not have words, but I can look at him.
"Consent is important. Especially for you. For us. Tell me you want me." He wasn't even breathing, but I could feel his body trembling in an effort to stay in control. He's nearly at a breaking point I realized. This man wants me so much he's actually shaking in an effort to not lose his mind and take what I won't freely give. The patience is nearly killing him, but he doesn't realize I've wanted this with him just as badly. Because you never told him. I groan.
All the lonely nights as a teenager, ignoring most of the other boys, content to sit in my room night after night, writing old-fashioned love letters and texting him, and talking on the phone. For years the distance kept us "just friends". We had made plans to see each other once. He wanted to take me to my high school prom, but two months before the night, his father got transferred again, this time overseas. It wasn't just a simple flight anymore. I spent my prom night home, talking to him on the phone, both of us sad, knowing that distance and conversation were all we had.
I've been in love with him for most of my life. I'd had a few boyfriends, kinda. Dates that never went farther than a goodnight kiss and holding hands. I never bothered to tell Jesse about those boys. There was nothing to tell. They broke up with me as soon as they realized I wasn't going to do more than kiss. I never wanted to hurt Jesse or make him jealous. Even before what happened in college, I never wanted anyone but him. Then after, I figured Jesse wouldn't want me. I was soiled. I couldn't even handle the idea of being physical with a man, even him. Whatever budding libido I had in college died and so did my degree. I never went back to college. The thought of accidentally running into that guy made me vomit.
Those first few weeks after the party I was too scared to even leave the house. I spend most of my time locked in my room, just sleeping and staring at the ceiling and listening to music. There were even a few moments of irrational thoughts about my father whenever I heard his steps outside my bedroom door, and I was even scared of him. Not that he'd ever touched me like that or given me any reason to fear him. But he was a man. I put a lock on my bedroom door. A flimsy token of safety I so desperately needed, no matter how absurd it was to my rational mind.
When I eventually found out I was pregnant, the shock stole what was left of my mind. I couldn't just forget it happened now, and it was probably too late for a safe abortion. I locked every emotion away, focusing instead on working. I got a job as a waitress, and another at a clothing boutique off-base. Days bled into nights, and I became more cold and numb as my belly grew, secretly wishing that the monster's overgrown sperm was Jesse's baby.
Eventually, my father realized I was pregnant. I never told him. But I couldn't hide my belly anymore and he realized the bout of flu was a baby. He got the truth out of me and then dragged me to the base doctor, who gave me a referral to therapy.
More months went by and therapy kinda helped snap me out of my fog. As I got closer to giving birth, I realized that I couldn't give the baby up for adoption. No matter the circumstances of his creation, there was no way I could hold my baby and then give him up to strangers to raise.
In the back of my mind, secretly, I convinced myself that he was Jesse's baby. It helped me to feel something good toward the baby. I blocked that night from my mind, and just focused on loving my baby through the last part of my pregnancy, pretending he was Jesse's baby.
I tried to write to Jesse to tell him, but I just couldn't figure out what to say. He'd ask too many questions I didn't want to think about. So I stopped writing, stopped responding to his texts, and didn't answer his calls. Eventually, he stopped calling. I got one more letter after that, but I couldn't even bring myself to open it. It was a shitty thing to do, to ghost him like that, but as more time went on, it became harder and harder to write that next letter, and even more difficult to make a phone call. I convinced myself that it was for the best, and that he was probably too angry to take my call again after so much time had passed.
I always wondered if I would ever have this moment with Jesse, if he would show up and honor our pact, or if I was right and he would stay angry with me. I promised myself, if I ever got the chance to see him in person, I would tell him the truth. I'd let all the emotions out, be present and give myself to him, freely. Enthusiastically. No matter what, he deserves that. So do I.
"Rachael. Come back to me." He kisses me softly. Reverently. He knows my mind went to the dark place and he's gently bringing me back as only he can. How the hell does he know me so well after so many years apart?
He groans, "Fuck. Please, baby." He's still waiting for me to speak. Holding himself still above me. Staring into my eyes. "Say the words. Tell me you want me or tell me to stop. Whatever you need, I'll do it."
A blush crept up my cheeks. I couldn't help it. I've never had much practice flirting with a guy. He wants sexy talk from me. Needed me to actually say words, and I don't know how to tell him all that I'm thinking without ruining this with bad memories. This moment with him is so overwhelming. But even if I tell him just that, he'll stop, and I don't want that. I can't let him stop now. I swallowed.
There's so much I wanted to say...needed to express. But my mind went blank now, staring up at him. I get so lost in his eyes. My body hummed with languid pleasure, but there is still a burning. An ache deep in my core. A need I knew instinctively only he could assuage. No one else could ever make me feel sexual. And I want more of that feeling. I need it like I need air to breathe. I can feel my body, the heat rising. I can feel the flush creep up my neck and over my face.
"Babygirl, I was just between your legs, making you moan and shake and scream for me. There's no reason to be shy with me now," he chuckled. "If you need to blush, I think it's sexy as fuck," he leaned down and kissed my chest, my throat, and each of my hot cheeks, "But I still need you to say you want this."
"Yes." I breathed. I can't put words to all the things I feel. Not yet. Not now.
"Are. You. Sure?" He asks, kissing me in between words. Playful. Teasing. Sliding his body against mine. His hot chest rubbed against my hard nipples, sending shivers of pleasure through me. His cock slid up between my folds, the bottom of his shaft rubbing up over my clit, and I hissed in pleasure. Hot need surged through me and I'm back in the moment with him.
