Faith
So this is what being split in two feels like.
Okay, I’m being melodramatic. But Andre is a big man, you know? He’s not built for beginners, despite his stellar foreplay. So when he first pushes inside me, stern eyes watching me from above, he sees the breath seize in my chest. He sees the knee-jerk way my eyes brim with tears.
And the big jerk stops. Just like that, he’s ready to stop everything.
“Don’t you dare,” I wheeze, crossing my ankles behind his back. “It’s a lot to get used to, that’s all. Keep going, just… slowly.”
He doesn’t move, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t bear hurting you, Faith.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake. I throw my hands up, exasperated. “Well someone has to pop my cherry, Andre Silva. If you can’t stomach it—”
It’s an empty threat, but it sure gets him moving again, scowling down at me from above. His hips press forward, firm but gentle.
“Don’t even joke about that,” he says. “You’re mine.”
I poke my tongue out, a thrill skittering through my whole body.
And though it’s sore at first, though the invasion of him inside me feels like it should be impossible to overcome, though I’ve never felt so full in my freaking life… after a few minutes, we’re sealed together. As close as two bodies can possibly get.
And I feel him in there. The throb of blood through his shaft; the tap of his pulse. Every twitch and tiny adjustment.
Andre’s a statue. He stares at the wall over my head, clearly counting backward from one hundred or some nonsense, using all of that monstrous focus to make sure he doesn’t hurt me. Doesn’t move until I’m ready.
Well… I wriggle my hips to check, but there’s no pain. Only a delicious tickle of friction.
Yeah. I’m ready.
“Hey.” His shoulder is tensed harder than granite when I poke it. “Let’s do this. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“No?” Andre draws out slowly, so slowly, then sinks back in. My blissful sigh and arched back—yeah, he likes having that effect. Brown eyes scorch into me, reading my every reaction.
He draws out again, then presses back inside, brushing over hundreds of nerve endings that I didn’t even know I had. I whimper, rocking my hips up to meet him.
So. Good.
“So this,” I pant, lost for breath even though I’m lying on my back, “is what all the fuss is about.”
“No,” Andre grits out, bracing one hand by my head and changing angle, scooping his hips up to hit a new spot inside me. Sparks flash behind my eyes, and heat rushes over my skin. “This is special.”
The quilt drags against my sweaty skin, and I’m so over-sensitized already, writhing and gasping. “Does that mean you’ll want to do it again? Definitely?”
“Every day for the rest of our lives, Faith. Trust me on that.”
Trust him.
After four lonely years, after all but giving up hope… I need to trust him. Trust that this is real, and we’re in this for the long haul like he says.
“Promise?” I grin up at my neighbor, trying to play it for a joke, but he sees right through me. Of course he does.
Andre bends down and kisses me, long and deep and soulful. He’s still moving between my legs too, rocking in and out, and it all feels so good that I forget to breathe. “I promise,” he says against my lips. “This is it, sweetheart. I’m yours.”
And as we move together, clutching and moaning, pillows kicked to the side… I feel it too.
The certainty. The soft whisper of fate.
It fills me as Andre thrusts harder, faster, reaching between us to thumb my clit. It scorches through me as he sucks on my nipple through my white vest top, soaking the fabric until it goes see-through, then leans back to blow on the hard bead until my toes curl.
Mine. Mine.
This man is mine.
And he fucks me just like I need.
Like he owns me; like this is his act of worship. Like this is the single most important thing he’s ever done, and like he’ll spend every day honing his craft to make me scream louder—just like he said.
And I dreamed of this so many times, but my daydreams didn’t do this man justice. I forgot the details, you know? I didn’t consider the way his abs flex, the muscles pressing against his twisted black t-shirt; the way his long hair hangs down and tickles my throat. Forgot to add the low grunts and rough hands and scrape of teeth on my neck, and the merciless way he works me higher and higher.
I’m putty in his hands. Helpless to do anything except buck and whimper and plead breathlessly for more.
And he gives it to me. Andre Silva is a generous man.
When I can’t bear it any longer, tensing up on his cock, waves of pleasure battering me like an ocean storm… my neighbor frowns down at me without blinking. Like he’s committing this to memory too.
Like this has cracked his heart wide open.
I collapse back in a trembling heap. Andre moves to pull out, but I cross my ankles around his back again. “Nuh-uh,” I mumble, way beyond words now.
“You’re sure?” A tendon stands out taut in his neck.
“‘M sure.”
He fills me up with one endless, warm, wet flood.
* * *
One year later
Dear Hattie,
I wrote to you last year about my hopeless crush on my neighbor, and how I was drowning in all that unrequited love. And don’t worry, you gave me great advice—advice that brought me my husband.
He wanted me too, Hattie. All that time; all those years. But he was worried about the age gap and stubborn and so determined to do right by me that we nearly missed our chance altogether.
Kind of funny, right? I can laugh about it now.
It’s so much easier to see that funny side when I finally know, right down to the bottom of my soul, that this is it. We’re settled. We’ve chosen each other, and we’re thrilled with our choices. He proves that to me every day.
I know you’re an advice columnist, Hattie. You deal with problems, not happy endings. But hey, maybe you need a win occasionally too? After all, you’re only human, and all these tales of woe must crush you sometimes. I know in your position I’d stress about my letter writers constantly, hoping and praying that they find some relief.
So here it is, Hattie: a victory for your scoreboard.
Dear Hattie: one.
Repressed older men: zero.
Last week, our lives changed again—in the best way. I threw up for the third morning in a row, (that’s not the amazing change, I promise), and now it’s confirmed: our first baby is on the way.
My older brother is thrilled. I thought he might be all over-protective and weird about me hooking up with our older neighbor, but when he came home and saw us together three months in, he whooped and high-fived a stranger so hard the guy nearly toppled over. He doesn’t know he’s going to be an uncle yet. The pedestrians of our small town had better take cover.
So: no problems this time, Hattie. Just a thank you.
Your longtime fan,
Stubborn Heart
* * *
Thanks for reading the Sweet Cherry Cove series! I hope you loved it. :)