Page 31 of Letting Go

I raise a hand and place it where his collarbones come together. The hollow at the base of his neck deepens. Slowly, I slide one hand down while the other lightly touches his hip. His obliques tighten further.

"Fuck, you're killing me."

I shake my head. "No, no I'm not."

He adjusts his weight. "It's been a long time hasn't it?"

Instead of feeling ashamed, I just feel seen. "It's been a long time since it's been normal." I pause. "Or anything approaching good."

His breathing grows more ragged, like he's in some kind of exquisite pain. "What do you need from me?"

What do you need from me?

I look at him, every muscle straining, hovering above me like some sexy angel, every fiber engaged, willing himself to only touch me when I say he can.

"Let me do this first," I say and start touching everywhere, tracing arms, shoulders, chest muscles, all tight beneath my fingertips. His skin is damp especially at the small of his back. I drag fingernails gently across his ass.

Even though it couldn’t be possible, he tenses even more, bends his elbows, and drops closer.

Cocooned in the down mattress, with Bryce above, I suddenly have this fleeting feeling of being trapped and my heart thrums. Looking around for an escape I don’t want, he senses this change, drops to one side, throwing a leg across my abdomen.

"Breathe," he says. "Easy. Slow down."

Let it go.

Let it go.

Refocus. It’s Bryce. You know him.

I close my eyes when he places the flat, warm palm of his hand on my chest and starts a slow figure eight around my breasts.

His voice resonates in the dark behind my eyelids.

"Breathe, Chloe."

In a minute or so the panic seems to resolve into something else, but the adrenaline rush is real and so are Bryce's hands on my body. The pressure of his leg over my pelvis is churning feelings in my crotch and when he begins tracing my hairline with a finger, I'm surprised to hear my own voice.

"It's been a real long time since I've wanted someone."

And now I want it so bad.

That's all he needs. That's all the permission he needs. Shifting his leg off my pelvis, he places one hand on my pubic bone and presses down.

He parts my labia with his other fingers and begins a slow massage. Not fast, not hard, but very slowly. At the same time, he keeps pressing down on my pubic bone, creating a delicious, indescribable pressure. There's a fullness there and I am so wet the sheets must be wet as well. Bryce slips a finger and then another up inside curls it around my pubic bone.

Instinct kicks in and my arms come up. He's pushing down on my pubis with one hand while deep inside me with the other and he's stroking rhythmically, confidently, from the inside and the outside simultaneously.

"Bryce, oh my God," I say struggling, trying to get up on my elbows but the down mattress is too soft and I just keep sinking. "No one's ever, Oh!" my body shudders, and my back arches. My body is not my own. My feet start to curl and my legs draw up.

I'm going to explode in about two seconds if he doesn't stop. But I don't want him to.

"Bryce!" I cry out. And now it's too late. He slips an arm under my neck and presses me to his chest. His skin tastes salty. One hand is still inside me rubbing stroking. The scream is full-throated, strangled, loud, and guttural a real measure of how undone I am the moment I start convulsing, wave after wave after wave after wave after wave.

And then it’s over, my thighs quivering, gasping, my heart thudding, and I am limp in his arms.

I can't believe this happened so fast.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I say in a whisper.