Chapter 11
11
ECHO
I’m sprawled on my bed, my head propped on one hand as I work through our assigned reading for Social Psychology when there’s a knock on the door. Frowning, I check the time.
Martina wouldn’t be knocking, and Anita is in class right now. Cassie would breeze right inside, not even realizing she might be disturbing someone, and Ryan rarely visits my dorm. So who is it?
Perhaps one of Martina’s admirers. Honestly, I’m just glad she rarely brings them back here. I don’t know where they go instead, but I appreciate her thoughtfulness. I don’t like having men in my space.
I get up and cautiously approach the door. I look through the peephole. It’s a guy I don’t recognize. I open the door, but not widely. No need to make him think he’s welcome to linger.
The guy is probably a couple of years younger than me, with enormous muscles and a baby face that’s at odds with the rest of him. He’s carrying a cardboard box that’s been sealed with thick tape.
“This is for you.” He tries to hand me the box. When I don’t take it, he awkwardly hovers there with his arms outstretched.
“I think you’ve got the wrong room,” I tell him.
He draws back and glances at the number on the door. “I’m pretty sure this is the right one. Are you Echo?”
“Yes.” I narrow the opening between the door and the frame, my anxiety growing. What is this about?
He looks relieved. “I thought so. He said you’d be the petite brunette, and that the curvy blonde is your roommate.”
Lead lines my stomach. “Who is ‘he’?”
I have a sinking feeling I know the answer.
“Oh.” His cheeks turn pink. “Um. Yep. He said if you asked that, to say he was your fairy godmother. Could you just take this please?”
“No. I don’t think I will.”
His face falls. “I promise it’s something good.”
“Like what?”
He doesn’t answer, leading me to believe he doesn’t actually have any idea what’s inside the box.
“Do me a favor, Echo?” His tone has become pleading. “If you don’t take it, he won’t put in a good word for me with Coach.”
I’m tempted to ask why that’s my problem, but I don’t have the heart to upset this guy. He reminds me too much of a golden retriever. I stare at the box, as if glaring hard enough might give me x-ray vision to see what lies inside.
“Pretty, pretty please?” he begs.
“Fine,” I huff. “Give it here.”
If worst comes to worst, I can toss whatever is inside in the dumpster out back, or add it to the growing collection of things I need to rehome thanks to Tyler.
He passes it off quickly, no doubt in case I have second thoughts. “You’re the best. I owe you.”
“Uh-huh.” I shut the door in his face and lock it, then I carry the box, which is heavier than I expected, to my bed. I find a pair of scissors at my desk and slice open the tape on top of the box. I pull the cardboard apart and peer inside.
All I see is bubble wrap. It’s oddly disappointing.
I remove the bubble wrap. Beneath it, the box is filled with pale green packing peanuts—the biodegradable type. I’m somewhat nervous to reach inside. I’m not sure what I think is in there. The possibility of a snake hiding within crosses my mind, but even I know that’s ridiculous.
I’m being paranoid. I’m sure this is another weird attempt at romancing me. Or perhaps a guilt gift. Or…I don’t even know what.
Irritated with myself for delaying, I empty the box upside down onto my bed. I shriek as several colorful silicon items and two boxes land in a pile in the center, the packing peanuts scattering around them.
Oh, lord. They're sex toys.
What the ever-loving hell?
I pick up the largest one, which is inside a bright purple box. According to the label, it’s a vibrating dildo made of soft silicon, with a built-in warmer to make it feel like a real cock.
I blink at it stupidly, wondering what the fuck is happening.
Moving on autopilot, I set the box aside and reach for what looks to be a tiny pink vibe. I push the button and it buzzes to life. Disturbed, I toss it on the bed, where it wriggles across the coverlet and falls onto the floor.
Why am I gazing at a collection of sex toys that would make a porn star proud? Just why?
Deciding to do a quick inventory, I clear the packing peanuts away and study what remains. There are two small vibrators, the impressively purple dildo, and several toys I don’t recognize, but the accompanying information proclaims them to be for external stimulation only.
Then, to top things off, there’s a bottle of ginger-scented massage oil, a candle that smells of strawberries, and a miniature bottle of sparkling wine, along with a note to chill before drinking.
I don’t understand.
That’s when I spot the letter.
It’s fallen off to the side, the corner of the envelope just visible beneath my pillow. I tear it open and pull out the cream card within. The letter is short, and to the point.
Echo,
From the depths of my heart, you will never know how sorry I am. There are a hundred things I could apologize for, but after the weekend, I know of one more.
It’s a tragedy that you’ve been robbed of your ability to get pleasure from sex. I can’t go back in time and protect you, or make different decisions, but I hope these might help in some way.
Tyler XO
There’s a phone number scrawled beneath his name. I grab my phone and call it. He answers immediately.
“Kinsey.”
“This is not okay,” I tell him. “You’d already crossed a line, but now you’re stomping all over it. This is way too personal. My sex life is none of your business.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and then says, “Like it or not, I care about you. You don’t ever have to speak to me again if you don’t want to—although I hope you will, and I’m not giving up—but you should try them out. You deserve to feel good.”
I gape. I honestly have no idea how to respond to that. In a way, it’s sweet. But he’s also way overstepping and butting in somewhere he’s not welcome.
“When was the last time you came?” he asks.
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His tone is gentle, but he isn’t backing down.
“I’m not answering that.”
Years. It’s been years.
To add insult to injury, the last time I orgasmed was with him inside me. After our breakup, I was too upset to be interested in sex, and then The Incident damaged something in me.
“I’m guessing way too long.” He doesn’t seem daunted by my refusal to cooperate.
I clench the phone, my breath growing erratic. Why can’t I hang up on him? It should be easy. All I need to do is press one button and then block him. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Shut up,” I say weakly.
“Mm. I thought so. I suggest you light the candle, get comfortable, and try out the least threatening thing in that box. Maybe the clit stimulator.”
I flush. It’s a good thing he can’t see me because I must be ten different shades of red. How can he talk so calmly about women’s sex toys?
I recall his comment about not having been with anyone since me. Yeah, right. He’s way too calm and seems too familiar with these toys to have had such a long dry spell.
“Just try it, baby,” he urges. “Light that candle. I know how you love strawberries.”
To my absolute amazement, I’m tempted. I remember how good he used to make me feel, and based on how my body has been responding to him recently—despite my best efforts to pretend he doesn’t exist—the chemistry between us is still alive and well.
But I can’t, can I?
It isn’t right. He hurt me.
Besides, I haven’t orgasmed since high school, so what makes him think I’ll be able to do it now?
I end the call.
I sit on the bed and stare blankly at the sex toys, my mind firing at a million miles an hour. I set my phone aside, ignoring it when it starts to ring.
I hate to admit it, but Tyler has a point.
I deserve to feel good.
Eric Weston stole something from me. He’s serving time for his crime, but by refusing to even try to reclaim my ability to experience sexual pleasure, I’m allowing him to continue to steal from me.
The only person that hurts is me.
But I’ve tried before, and I wasn’t able to get out of my head enough to get turned on.
I can’t do it alone. But perhaps I don’t have to.
Experience has taught me not to trust Tyler, but however badly he may have screwed me over, he was gentle with me when we were intimate.
Not to mention the fact that he knows what happened to me. If I can’t shut my mind off properly by myself, then I need to involve someone else. The last thing I want is to have to explain to some random guy what I want and why I need to be treated with kid gloves.
Tyler gets it.
With shaking hands, I pick up my phone and redial his number. He answers immediately.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I—”
“I’m willing to try,” I whisper, interrupting him. “Tell me what to do. But if it’s too much, you have to stop as soon as I say so.”
“I promise,” he vowed. “You’re in charge. But Echo, are you sure you want this?”
I swallowed to wet my dry throat. “I have to try. I owe myself that much.”
“You don’t owe anyone anything. Even yourself.” His tone warms. “If it gets overwhelming, say ‘stop’ or ‘no.’”
“I will.”
“Good. Now light that candle.”
I drag in a ragged breath, hoping like hell that I’m not making a terrible mistake in trusting Tyler to guide me through this.
I double check the lock on the door, take the lighter from my handbag—which is well-stocked with mace, a Swiss Army knife, an incredibly loud whistle, and several other items I’ve taken to carrying around.
I place the candle on the nightstand and flick the lighter above it until the flame transfers to the wick.
“Have you done it?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Yes.” I speak softly, as if that somehow makes what I’m doing less real.
“Is your bed clear?”
“Not quite.” The toys are still piled in the center.
“Clear it.”
I move them to the desk, all except the one he called the clit stimulator, which is a wand-shaped device with a round end that almost looks like a tiny suction cup.
“Now, lie down,” he orders. “Head on the pillow. Get comfortable.”
I do as he says. Somehow, following his instructions makes it easier to get out of my head.
“Should I turn on the toy?” I ask.
“No. You’re not ready for that yet. I just want you to touch yourself. However it feels good. If you don’t want to get naked, then just rest your hand over your pussy. You need to be reminded of how great orgasms are.”
I bite my lip. It should feel strange to be doing this with him, but it’s surprisingly easy to forget the pain and lies that drove us apart when I can’t see his face. His voice in my ear is soft and tempting. Heartbreakingly familiar.
“Stop thinking,” he says. “Just feel. Concentrate on me, okay? Don’t let those whirling thoughts get the better of you.”
Closing my eyes, I rest my hand lightly over my pussy. I’m wearing yoga pants, so it’s easy to stroke myself through the soft fabric.
A memory flashes through my mind. Darkness as I cross the empty school parking lot, heading home from an evening tutoring session. A rough hand over my mouth. A hard body pinning me to the concrete no matter how hard I fought. Pain like nothing I’d ever known, and a bone-deep terror that has never quite faded.
I gasp and yank my hand away.
“You can do this,” he murmurs. “Don’t let him win, Echo.”
I grit my teeth. He’s right. I can’t let that monster take anything else from me.
I release a shaky breath. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” His tone is approving, and I hate how much I like it.
“Keep talking. Stay with me?” I plead, wondering whether I should kick my own ass for essentially handing him the bloody pulp of my heart and asking him not to destroy it again.
But it’s too late. I’ve made the decision to allow myself to be vulnerable with Tyler, and as Dr. Rodriguez always points out, there are so few people I can be real with.
“I’m not going anywhere.” The somberness of his voice tells me it’s the truth, and I relax a fraction.
“Tell me what to do.” I need to be able to turn off my brain, otherwise this is doomed before it begins.
“I will. I’ve got you, baby girl.”
I open my mouth to protest the term of endearment, but then close it again. I’ve never been someone who can dissociate sex from emotions, so perhaps it will help me feel safe.
“Is your hand still on your pussy?” he asks.
“No,” I admit.
“Then put it there, and I want you to rub over it, nice and slow.”
I brush myself and to my surprise, a faint sizzle of lust lights under my skin. I firm my touch slightly and repeat the movement. The sizzle builds as I continue to stroke myself, until there’s no denying its existence.
“How does it feel?” he asks.
“All right.”
My thighs instinctively part to make more room and I slip my hand beneath the waistband until all that prevents the touch from being skin on skin is the cotton of my panties.
“Just all right?”
“Nice.”
For the first time in years, it occurs to me to consider my plain underwear as something other than safe. It’s a bit boring. Silk or satin would feel so much nicer against my skin. But I made the decision three years ago not to wear anything too provocative.
Despite the fact I know victim blaming isn’t right or healthy, I can’t help believing that I should do everything in my power to remain safe—including covering up.
“Stay with me,” Tyler says. “Let’s see if we can do better than ‘nice’. Did you see the lube that came with the dildo?”
My face flames. “Um, yes.”
“Do you think you’re ready to touch yourself with nothing in between?”
I weigh the question, refusing to answer impulsively. I don’t want to spiral into a panic attack and have Martina catch me hyperventilating over a pile of sex toys.
“I think so,” I reply. It will push my limits, but perhaps that isn’t a bad thing.
“No pressure if you aren’t,” he says. “There’s absolutely no rush. I can call to talk you through however much you’re comfortable with every day until you do get there, if that’s what you want.”
His patience eases my nerves.
“No,” I say more firmly. “I can do this.”
He hums his understanding. “Then, if you’re sure, I’d like you to squirt some lube onto your fingers and use it to get your pussy nice and slick.”
I stiffen. “I’m not putting anything up there.”
Not today. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that.
“I won’t ask you to,” he assures me. “Trust me.”
Yeah, because that’s gone so well in the past.
“I promise.” Emotion is embedded in his every word. “I will not let you down this time, baby. I’d rather carve out my heart than hurt you again.”
I blow out all the air that’s built up in my lungs and do my best to let the tension go. I don’t trust Tyler. Not completely. But I believe he means what he’s saying.
I get up and find the lube, then open it and squirt a blob onto my fingers. I return to the bed, lie down, and use my free hand to shimmy my yoga pants down to my thighs. With a few deft motions, I spread the lube on my pussy, which is still dry even though I’m a little turned on.
“Are you with me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I want you to rub one of your fingers down the center of your pussy. Don’t go further than you’re comfortable with. Once you’ve done that, circle your clit, but don’t touch it. Got it?”
“Mmhmm.”
I dip one slick finger into the heat of my pussy, but stop as I draw close to my entrance. I’m not ready for anything to touch me there. Then I head back to the safer area at the top, where I trace that same finger in gentle circles around my clit. A zap of heat shoots through my lower body and I whimper.
God, it’s been so long since I let myself even think about sex that I’d forgotten how addictive that slow build of desire could be.
“I bet you look so pretty.” Tyler’s voice is tight. “Pink cheeks, bright eyes. That perfect little pussy.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip. The way he sounds, I can almost believe that he truly wants me as desperately as he claims. A thrill of power zings through me. After years of feeling powerless, it’s incredible to have him in the palm of my hand—metaphorically speaking.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve gotten myself off to memories of you,” he adds. “I know it’s wrong, but nothing else feels right. I don’t want to see anyone else, or even imagine a stranger. I’m yours, Echo. Every fucked-up part of me.”
I don’t reply. I don’t know how to.
Instead, I continue the gentle circles, my hips arching in an attempt to get more. More friction, more pressure, more of the heat pooling low in my belly.
“Turn on the toy, baby,” he rasps.
I reach for the clit stimulator and start it up. The device buzzes to life. I touch the tip of one of my fingers to the end and giggle at the vibration.
“Fuck, I love your laugh. It’s been too long since I heard it.”
I close my eyes, wondering when I relaxed enough to let my guard down with Tyler listening. For a second, I try half-heartedly to reinforce those walls, but I don’t have the motivation to do so. Not when this feels like progress.
“Do I use it now?” I ask quietly.
“If you want to. If your clit is throbbing and needs attention.” He sounds wrecked.
“Tyler…”
“What, baby?”
“Nothing.” My cheeks blaze hotter.
“Tell me,” he orders.
“Are you…touching yourself too?” The question makes me want to vanish in a puff of smoke, I’m so embarrassed. But I need to know.
“No, my sweet shooting star.” His tone has softened, but it’s still ragged. “This is just for you.”
“Okay.” For some reason, I like that. All of his focus is on me. He’s not getting off on this weird interlude. He’s here for me.
I touch the wand to my pussy and jerk as pleasure zaps along every nerve in my body.
“Oh, my God,” I cry, torn between pressing it closer and pulling it away.
“Beautiful. Take what you need. I’m right here.”
I roll my hips, a shudder tearing through me as everything inside me knots tighter. “It’s good.”
“Yeah, it is. You’re fucking perfect. Don’t stop.”
I roll my hips again, whimpering at the burst of sensation. My head falls back and my lips part.
This is it. I’m going to come.
For the first time in more than three years, I’m going to prove to myself that I’m not broken.
“Keep it up, baby,” he growls. “Don’t you dare fucking stop. Fuck, I wish I could feel you clench around me.”
His words send me flying into space. I stiffen, then jerk as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, carrying me away on a tsunami of sensation. I gasp and whimper, clinging to the orgasm for as long as I can. But as I fall apart, all I can think is…
This is the boy I fell for.
I come back to earth with a crash.
No, he’s not. The boy I fell for didn’t exist. He was a figment of my imagination created by a cruel person who enjoyed toying with my emotions.
“Oh, no,” I whisper.
“Are you okay?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was legitimately concerned.
Maybe he is.
Maybe everything he’s said since he reappeared in my life is true. But I can’t think about that now. Not with all of the hormones coursing through my body courtesy of my first orgasm since our breakup.
I need distance. Perspective.
“Um, thank you.” I sound as awkward as I feel. “I have to go. There’s someone knocking on my door.”
“Right.” His disappointment is clear, as is the fact he knows I’m lying.
“I appreciate you, uh—”
“You’re welcome,” he says briskly. “I hope it helped. If you want support while you try anything else from the box, remember that I meant what I said. You can call me any time.”
“Thank you,” I repeat.
If I know what’s good for me, I’ll block his number as soon as we end the call. Somehow though, I don’t see that happening.
“By the way, the dildo is the same size as my cock—or at least as close as I could find—so I know you can take it. That is, if it’s something you’d like to work up to.”
My jaw drops, but before I can respond, the line cuts out. He’s hung up.