Chapter 44
44
BEVERLY, 1999
17 years old
“ Shhh ,” Blake whispered against my lips, deepening our kiss.
I giggled, tripping slightly over the threshold as we stepped into the house. He barely gave me a second to catch my breath before gripping my thighs and lifting me effortlessly.
“Blake—” I started, but he silenced me with another kiss, carrying me up the stairs as if I weighed nothing.
A laugh bubbled up, only to be swallowed by his lips on mine. “You’re ridiculous,” I murmured against his mouth, a little dazed from kissing too much in the car and too lost in the feel of him to care that it was well past midnight.
His response was a quiet hum as he nudged my bedroom door open with his foot. My back hit the mattress as he hovered over me, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.
“Let’s watch a movie,” I suggested breathlessly, expecting him to argue but knowing he would cave if I picked Clueless .
Blake let out a quiet groan and buried his face in my neck. “No, no, no, no,” he mumbled, already melting into sleep. “Just want to lay with you until I pass out.”
I should have let him. But instead, an idea sparked to life, curling around my ribs like something dangerous.
Smirking to myself, I ran my hand through his hair, the soft strands slipping through my fingertips, tugging lightly just to hear the sound he made when I did. “I have a better idea.”
Blake lifted his head slightly, his lips grazing my collarbone. “Yeah?”
He made a small noise of protest as I wiggled out of his grip, but he let me go, watching through half-closed eyes as I reached for my nightstand. My fingers wrapped around the paperback I had taken on our trip to Mexico—the same one he had stolen just to mock me, reading passages aloud in a terrible voice.
I waved it at him with a wink.
Blake’s eyes flickered with recognition. “Oh, no .”
“Oh, yes.”
“B, come on.”
“What’s wrong, Blake? You were so eager to read it last time,” I reminded him sweetly, shifting onto my side and making sure to keep the book visible between us.
He rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Because I was making fun of it.”
“Well, then let’s see if you find it funny now,” I challenged, flipping through the pages.
With a long, exasperated sigh, he sank deeper into the pillows, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
“Where were we?” I mused, skimming over the words, pretending I wasn’t already thinking about the parts I wanted to read out loud. The ones I secretly hoped he’d take as instruction.
Clearing my throat, I started to read.
“She felt a rush of anticipation as he led her to the bed, his hands firm yet gentle as he carefully lowered her onto the soft sheets.”
I stole a quick glance at Blake, trying to read his reaction.
His fingers flexed against the pillow, as if he was weighing the option of grabbing the book and tossing it across the room. But he didn’t. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, feigning boredom, though the quickening rise and fall of his chest betrayed him. He was listening, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he wasn’t.
I grinned inwardly, knowing he’d catch on soon enough; Blake was far too perceptive not to pick up on the hint.
“She shivered,” I went on, “as he traced slow, torturous lines along her leg, as though he had all the time in the world.”
I risked another glance at him, letting my eyes linger just a little longer than necessary. Blake’s lips parted slightly, and then—exactly as I knew he would—his fingertips skated lightly up my shin, tracing small circles along my skin.
My voice faltered for half a second, but I recovered quickly, flicking my eyes back to the words on the page.
“Oh,” I said lightly, “I think this part’s important.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nodded once. “His touch, unhurried and teasing, was meant to drive her to the brink, lingering in places long enough to make her heart race faster, to make her body ache with longing.”
Blake hummed, his thumb smoothing over the sensitive skin behind my knee. I swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.
“She barely had time to react before he tilted her ankle, pressing a kiss against the delicate bone there.”
Blake slowly pushed himself up and knelt in front of me.
He gently tilted my ankle, just as the book described, and then pressed a soft kiss to the bone there. “Like this?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to focus, trying not to react, but Blake— of course —noticed.
His eyes flicked up, watching me carefully, as if he had heard every unspoken thought, every unvoiced wish tangled in my words. “You were right. This is a much better idea than a movie.”
A breathy laugh escaped me. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
His fingers flexed against my leg. “Keep going, B.”
Turning my attention back to the book, I found my place again, pretending that my pulse wasn’t hammering wildly beneath my skin. “His hand slid further, his touch deliberate, his fingertips pressing into the curve of her waist as he leaned in closer.”
Blake’s palm spread over my side, following the words like a script. Even through the fabric of my hoodie, the heat of his touch seeped into my skin. I forced a slow exhale and glanced back down at the page, pretending to skim the words even though I knew exactly what came next. “He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip in a silent promise.”
His fingers found my jaw, tilting my face toward him until I had no choice but to look into those ridiculously green eyes of his. His thumb ghosted over my lower lip, unbearably soft.
“She gasped as he ? —”
Blake leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Did she?”
“Yeah,” I managed. “Yeah, she did.”
“Hmm.” His voice was thoughtful. “Interesting book.”
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”
“You gonna finish the passage, or…?”
I swallowed hard, the book in my hands suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. “—as he kissed her there, his hands still exploring ? —”
Blake kissed me—slow at first, just a whisper of contact, then deeper. He hovered over me, his hands braced on either side of my head, his body caging mine against the pillows.
The book slipped from my fingers as his flingers slid beneath my hoodie, a single knuckle brushing against my ribs.
Blake smiled against my lips. “Go on, B.”
My heartbeat quickened, but I grabbed the book again.
“His mouth trailed lower, down the column of her throat, lingering there as if memorizing the shape of her.”
Blake’s lips left mine, moving downward, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to my neck, my pulse betraying me beneath his mouth. I clenched my fingers in the sheets, barely holding still.
“Keep reading,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my jaw.
“His hands skimmed up, pushing fabric aside, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of her dress ? —”
Blake’s hand ghosted over the waistband of my shorts.
I stiffened.
His fingers paused, hovering there. “You okay?”
“Are you going to do everything I read?” I asked, half-joking, half-daring him to say yes .
“Maybe.”
I exhaled slowly, pretending to be unaffected, and continued, “Her breath came faster, chest rising and falling as he ? —”
Blake shifted, snatching the book straight out of my hands.
“Hey—” I started to protest, but he was already flipping it shut, tossing it somewhere behind him.
“Change of plans.”
I blinked up at him. “You don’t want to finish the chapter?”
“I don’t need a book to know what happens next, Beverly.”
I should have been nervous. I should have stopped to think—just for a second.
But I didn’t.
Because this was Blake.
Because Blake was safe.
Because I trusted him.
I trusted him with the parts of me that still flinched at certain touches, that still remembered hands that weren’t his.
I had spent so much time being afraid. Of boys. Of their hands. Of the feeling of being trapped.
But Blake wasn’t them. Blake had never been them. Blake had always been careful—so careful. He was all patience and steady hands, all quiet restraint and whispered reassurances.
This was what I wanted.
This was Blake hovering over me, careful and patient, his hands cradling my face like I was something fragile but not breakable.
This was his lips tracing the curve of my jaw, a quiet question in his touch—asking, always asking before he took anything.
And it was me deciding.
His hands skimmed over my sides, and I let him.
I let him touch, feel, memorize, until my heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it.
Blake’s gaze softened as he looked down at me. “B…” he said, his fingers trembling slightly where they pressed into my waist.
Like he was scared to ruin this. Like he was scared to ruin me.
I could feel the question in his caress before he even spoke.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
I nodded, let my body sink into the mattress, and whispered, “Keep going.”
Blake’s breath hitched slightly, just enough for me to notice, before he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the slope of my throat. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating against my collarbone.
And then, suddenly, he stiffened.
“I don’t have condoms,” he said, lips still pressed to my neck.
Reaching for my nightstand, I yanked open the drawer, fingers closing around the small foil package hidden inside.
Blake pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to something disbelieving, surprised, maybe even impressed.
I bit back a laugh. “From Tiffany,” I explained quickly, amused at the way his eyebrows shot up.
He blinked at me. “She just…what, handed you a condom?”
“She said,” I mimicked Tiffany’s voice as best I could, “‘You and Blake are inevitable, so when it happens, don’t be dumb.’”
Blake made a strangled sound. “I hate her,” he muttered, taking the condom from my fingers.
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted with a laugh, shaking his head. “Remind me to thank her later.”
Then his lips were on me again, tracing a slow, deliberate path down my neck and lingering over the spot where my pulse beat the hardest. His fingers curled at the hem of my hoodie, hesitating. I lifted my arms in silent permission. He peeled it off slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he was waiting for me to change my mind, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
“You trust me, right?” he asked, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I tilted my chin, looked him in the eyes, and said, “Yes, I do.”
Something in his face softened, like those words had settled inside his chest and made it easier to breathe. His fingers skimmed over my bare stomach, and I swallowed hard as his palm flattened against my ribs, just beneath my bra, his thumb brushing soft, teasing strokes over my skin.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and as he did, his fingers found the clasp of my bra, lingering for a moment before undoing it with a quiet snap. He slid the straps down my arms, his breath quickening as he took in the sight of me beneath him.
For a long moment, he just looked. His gaze swept over me, warm and full of something so intense it made my stomach tighten. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he couldn’t decide where to touch me first.
Then, his thumbs brushed over my ribs again, then higher, his mouth following the path his hands had made, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against my collarbone.
I arched beneath him, my fingers finding the hem of his shirt. I tugged at it impatiently, and he got the hint, sitting up just long enough to pull it over his head before tossing it aside.
I had seen Blake shirtless before. I had seen him wet and glistening from the shower, tan and golden from the summer sun.
But here, now, with the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across his skin, he was breathtaking.
And he was mine.
My fingers traced the hard lines of his chest, my nails dragging lightly down his stomach before I reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. His hands caught mine, stopping me.
My eyes snapped up, searching his face.
“I need you to be sure,” he said.
I cupped his face, running my thumb along his cheekbone. How could I not be sure? “I’m sure, Blake.”
When I reached for his sweatpants again, he didn’t stop me.
He lifted his hips, helping me slide them down along with his boxers. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts next. “Still sure?”
I nodded, swallowing past the dryness in my throat.
He exhaled, a shuddering breath that I felt against my skin, before peeling both my shorts and underwear down in one fluid motion. I felt the cool air rush over my bare skin as he tossed them aside and pushed up on his knees to looked down at me.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Do you know how many hours I’ve spent imagining you like this?” he asked softly. “I used to just stare at you, at the clothes you wore, and in my head, I’d undress you. Then I’d put your clothes back on and start all over again.”
My heart felt like it was seconds from breaking free of my ribcage. He reached for the condom, tearing the foil with his teeth before rolling it down over himself. Then his hands found my thighs, spreading them slightly as he settled between them.
I couldn’t hide my grin as I watched him. “You’re shaking.”
He let out a short, breathless laugh, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Jesus, B.”
I buried my fingers in his hair, tugging slightly. “Nervous?”
“Not nervous.” He lifted his head, and the look in his eyes nearly undid me. “Just trying to remind myself to take my time.”
Then he was pressed against me, heat searing where our skin touched. One of his hands braced against the mattress while the other traced a slow, deliberate path up my thigh, his fingers pressing into my skin just enough to make me gasp. “I love you,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been buried deep inside him for far too long, struggling to find their way out.
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
I could feel every inch of him against me, feel the slow, deliberate way he adjusted, trying to find the right angle.
I should’ve felt scared.
But I wasn’t. Because I had never felt safer than when he was looking at me like this—like he would never let anything hurt me, even if it was him. As if he could hear my thoughts, he whispered, “Tell me what I can do to keep from hurting you.”
The answer was right there, sitting on my tongue.
Never leave me. Instead, I whispered, “Nothing. Just…do it.”
Blake’s breath came out uneven, as if he was battling something within himself. But he nodded. He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips before moving slowly, cautiously, his eyes locked onto mine, searching for any sign of pain. I gritted my teeth and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to relax.
I wanted this.
My eyes shot open as a sharp, searing pain shot through me. Oh my God.
It felt like something was ripping me apart from the inside out, stretching too much, too fast. I tensed, trying to keep my body from reacting, but it was impossible to ignore.
A hiss of pain escaped between my teeth, and Blake stilled instantly. Panic flashed across his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. Do you want me to pull out?”
Yes! No —I didn’t know.
“No,” I forced out. “Keep—keep going.”
“I’m doing it wrong, aren’t I?”
“Oh my God, just keep going. You’re making this awkward.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re ruining it.”
“Fuck.”
This was not how I imagined this going. I had expected it to hurt, sure. But I had also expected some kind of… I don’t know, movie magic moment . I had pictured something easier—where our bodies just fit , where I was swept away by the intensity of it, lost in the pleasure, lost in him. Instead, all I felt was the sting, the burning discomfort of something foreign and unyielding.
Blake braced himself above me, muscles tense, his face etched with uncertainty. I could see the war in his eyes, the hesitation.
I groaned, frustrated at myself, at him, at all of it. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him down to me. “Just kiss me, Blake. Kiss me slowly.”
He did.
And it helped.
I didn’t think of the pain so much with his tongue tangling with mine. In fact, I felt turned on again. Blake had the ability to kiss like it mattered, like he had to savor my taste.
I felt him growing harder inside of me. How was that possible ?
None of the girls talked about this part. Why hadn’t I probed them more with their loss of virginity tales? There was nothing beautiful about the first time. It was all a lie. A terrible, cruel myth designed to make girls fear it less. Screw you, romance authors; those heroines didn’t gasp in pleasure, they gasped in pain.
They were all lia?—
I sucked in a breath when Blake shifted, adjusting the angle.
An unexpected bolt of pleasure shot through my entire body. I tore away from his mouth, my breath catching.
Blake froze, alarmed. “B?”
“That felt good,” I whispered.
His eyes widened, and I swore I caught a flicker of triumph beneath the worry. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Do it again.”
He did, slow and careful. And this time, it felt…different.
The ache remained, but beneath it was something else, something I could chase. Blake watched me as if he was trying to memorize every reaction, his lips curving slightly as my eyes rolled back. He took his time, moving slowly and deliberately to catch my expressions. He liked seeing what he was doing to me. Liked knowing he was the only one who had ever touched me like this.
My fingers dug into his back, my body arching toward him as he started moving with more confidence.
We both gasped.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice breathless.
I nodded, unable to form words.
His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, my hips. I clung to him, anchoring myself against the waves of sensation washing over me. He kissed me like he was trying to make up for all the times he had pushed me away, all the time he had wasted. And then, somewhere between the movements, somewhere between the desperate gasps and whispered confessions, I felt something else. Something that felt a lot like forever.
Blake’s breathing grew heavier. A soft sound slipped from his lips as his head dropped to my shoulder. “B…” he strangled out, his voice wrecked. “I—” His rhythm stuttered, and I felt the exact moment he lost control. I couldn’t stop touching him—his back, his shoulders, his face. He kissed me again, his lips parting against mine as I moaned into his mouth. It was messy and chaotic, nothing like the movies, nothing like the books.
As our breathing slowed and the heat between us began to settle into something softer, I traced lazy patterns along his back. “We’re going to tell Mom and Dad tomorrow, right?” I blurted out. “They’ll see your tattoo, and?—”
Blake nodded, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. “I promise.” He pulled me even closer, tucking me against him like I was something he had been trying to hold onto for years.
The way he held me—equal parts possessive and achingly tender—made me feel as if the entire world could fall away, and I would still be exactly where I was meant to be.