Chapter 16 – Maggie
Am I really over my crush on Clay?
Who am I kidding? I’ll probably never fully get past my attraction to the youngest brother in the Cameron family.
But did I come to his fight in San Angelo tonight hoping he’d finally see me as the woman I’ve grown into, maybe even fall madly in love with me?
No, not at all.
I’d made my peace with the idea that whatever we had—if anything—it was never going to be like that.
I thought maybe we could even be friends this summer while I’m home.
I was excited to tell him I’d found a hobby and possibly even open up to him about my condition, explain how this will help me manage things better and get my dad off of my back with his incessant worrying.
But then I saw him in that ring, and every logical thought flew out of my head.
A girlfriend would’ve been terrified watching him take hit after hit, noticing the split in his cheek as blood trailed across his sharp jawline and down past his neck over that thick vein that pulses angrily when he is pissed off.
A wife would have been downright furious that he was doing this.
But I was neither of those things. Hell, I wasn’t even sure he considered me a friend and knew nor cared whether I was there tonight.
So, instead, I watched in awe as a man who had found something that brought him joy outside of his family ranch, fought with fierce determination.
And suddenly, I felt like I understood Clay a little better.
Maybe we are both a little broken, searching for meaning and to shed our youthful identities by doing something new and different that no one else might approve of.
I’m not the same girl people in Lonestar Junction—or even my dad—still see me as.
I’ve changed, grown, matured. I can take care of myself and have days that are good and bad, and both are totally appropriate and deserve to be acknowledged.
But everyone still sees sweet little Maggie. Always agreeable, kind, and shy. Including Clay. And that’s why I came tonight. To motivate me to push forward and to remind me that change isn’t always a bad thing, even if it means your childhood crush had changed.
I certainly didn't come tonight to get swept up in a punishing kiss from Clay that leaves me too dizzy to think straight.
I ease myself onto the scratchy towel that he’s laid across the cracked and worn bench in the dark locker room.
Ok... This is happening...
I’m not protesting, but I’m definitely a little in shock.
My childhood crush—the guy I never imagined would see me as more than a girl—is currently on his knees in a dimly lit, smelly locker room.
And here I am, sitting cautiously in front of him, wearing a dress that suddenly feels all wrong for this steamy occasion.
“Going to need you to spread your legs wider now, Mags,” he says in that deep voice I've had dreams about.
I glance down, realizing that I’ve pinched my knees together so tightly I’m bruising the bones. Slowly, I ease them apart. Clays cracked and bloodied knuckles trail up my calves, ending on my knees to nudge them apart even wider.
The fabric of my tight, light blue dress bunches around me. His hands move from my knees to push the material up past my thighs, then past my butt, and over my hips. I look down, feeling totally exposed and resisting the urge to snap my legs shut again.
I’ve never had someone go… down there before. The few times that Kaleb and I have had sex in the past, it’d been uncomfortable and fast. Little foreplay or cool down. Frankly, it left much to be desired.
Sure, I’ve fooled around in other ways during college: fingers, blow jobs, heavy petting, but I’ve never been thrilled about the vulnerability of having someone’s face… there, seeing me all up close and personal.
Clay’s eyes are laser focused on the pale grey thong I’m wearing that’s now clearly visible.
I pinch my eyes shut and feel my body shiver, embarrassed at how I must look to him from this angle.
I know that he’s way more experienced than me, which isn’t saying much.
Everyone in this town is probably more equipped for what’s about to go down, so I give myself an internal pep talk to play it cool and act like I'm not totally freaking out.
“What are you doing?” Clay’s deep voice asks as I peek my eyes open at him.
“Just... nothing,” I respond.
His gaze is heated as a handsome smile crosses his face while he looks up at me from where he’s still kneeling, “Maggie, if you’re scared or don’t want to do this, we can stop...”
“Don’t. Just don’t,” I snap harshly because if he tells me one more time how good, innocent, and naive I am I might lose it. I’m twenty years old and I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m a fragile little child. “I’m not scared, I want this. I want you.”
He nods and smiles before his fingers reach towards the front of my thong and brush over top where my clit is barely covered.
It zings to life and my toes curl in my wedges in pleasure.
My nipples pebble against the fabric of my cotton dress and I wonder if going braless tonight was the best decision.
I feel a surge of wetness between my legs and know that the thong I have on is skimpy enough for him to be able to see more than just the outline of me, so I look away, unable to make eye contact.
Pull it together...
“Look at you… I can see how soaked you are through this thin fabric. You weren’t scared watching me fight, were you? Does watching me fight turn you on, Maggie?” he asks as his fingers brush over the fabric covering my opening once again.
The cold locker room contrasting with the heat of my body is intoxicating and when he slips the panel of the cotton to the side, dipping one finger inside of me, I feel like I might lose it too soon.
A deep groan escapes from his lips, and I watch in raptured awe as he stares between my legs.
Together we experience his fingers disappearing in and out of my slit accompanied by a quiet squishing noise.
“Answer me, Maggie…” he murmurs gently, his gaze meeting mine again, “you like watching me hit bad men, don’t you?”
I bite down on my lip and nod, trying so hard to not let my labored breathing give my inexperience away.
You’ve been fingered before! Stop acting stupid!
But this is nothing like what I’ve experienced before. Though neither is Clay like any of the guys I’ve ever hooked up with.
“You’re so damn tight.” He swirls that one, calculated finger and hooks it slightly at my opening where the nerves are extra sensitive. My body clenches down instinctively as my breathing picks up.
He’s older, mysterious, and experienced, he clearly knows how to take care of me - or any woman, I’m sure. I’m completely out of my depth and suddenly insecurities creep in making me wonder if I’m totally bad at this.
Can you be bad at getting fingered?
“Watching you fight turned me on,” I respond to his question finally.
He hums, “Good girl,” and then slips another finger inside, “Do you like having a second finger in here?” Before I can answer, his thumb finds my clit and begins to brush back and forth firmly. My fingers fumble to hold on to the back of the bench and my thighs quiver.
“I can’t wait to taste your sweet cunt, Maggie.”
“Fuck…” I whisper, now gazing at the ceiling because what the hell do you even say to a man after hearing something like that?
“Look at me when I do. I want you to see just how much I’m going to enjoy eating you.”
“I… I don’t know if I can…” I huff, my chest rising and falling, and my heart beating way too loudly for the tight space. “I’ve never… no one has ever gone down there before.”
I hated to admit it—it makes me feel immature—but I feel like I should disclose that first in case my lack of experience makes me bad at receiving... cunnilingus.
Sure, plenty of girls my age are probably getting that regularly, but it’s always felt too vulnerable for me in past relationships, and with most of the casual hook ups that I've had, the guys want sex - which I’m not willing to give them - so they opt for a blow job instead.
I’m great at giving those.
Clay’s movements still. His fingers, slowly drag out of my opening and then across my clit where I feel him swirl my wetness.
He stays silent, deliberately pulling my attention to him.
I resist at first, but finally, I give in, glancing down where his eyes are locked onto mine, intense and unwavering, holding me in place.
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly raises his hand to his mouth, sliding his pointer and middle finger along his tongue from base to tip before sucking them in with deliberate ease.
His eyes flutter shut for just a second, then reopen, meeting mine with a look that sends a shiver down my spine.
Oh, shit.
“With how sweet you taste, that’s a fucking crime, Maggie. But I can’t say I’m not pleased to be the first one to have you like this. Now eyes on me doll because I intend on making your first time more than worthwhile.”
I gasp while Clay’s tongue spikes deep inside of me before retreating and delivering one long, exaggerated lick across my opening, ending with my clit between his torturous lips.
“Fuck me,” I throw my head backwards, gripping the edge of the bench and looking at the ceiling again. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes as I attempt to steady myself from slipping off while Clay ravages me.
I remember Lucy telling me a story about an orgasm she’d had that was so good, she temporarily lost her hearing, and I’d never understood when people say that the climax can make your vision blur, toes curl and abs crunch - until now.
Clay eats my pussy like it’s the sustenance he needs after a long and intense fight.
He eats like the winner he is, full of confidence and pride as he devours every inch of my swollen core.
And when I feel like I can’t take anymore, close to reaching my peak he slows down, forcing me to look at him until our gaze’s lock and he sends me another knowing wink.
He’s playing with me, completely aware of what he’s doing and way too in tune with my body.
After the third time of feeling like I’m going to come and him frustratingly pulling back, slowing things down until I watch him, I admit defeat, my eyes now fixated on him in awe as he feasts, his fingers pump, his tongue works and when he finally lets me come, I scream out his name, burying my face in the back of his sweaty hair and neck in a full body orgasm that feels like nothing I've ever known before.
“Wow...” I whisper because there is nothing else that I can say at the moment. I feel completely spineless hunched over him but force myself to straighten anyways. After that orgasm, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go back to not having my pussy eaten by a guy.
“Was it… was I too much?” I ask, suddenly feeling that nagging sense of vulnerability creep in again.
“You were perfect,” he states, standing up from where he’d been crouched and sporting an extremely tented pair of shorts that he palms with one of his big hands. “I gotta go take care of this in the shower or I’ll be tempted to do something that I’ll regret.”
Regret?
“I can help...?” I ask, feeling ridiculous that he’d assume he needed to go take care of himself when I have two hands and a mouth that can help.
Without hesitation he shakes his head no, and I feel it instantly: the rejection that I knew Clay would eventually deliver me as he slips back into his other personality - cold, broken, and aloof Clay Cameron who won’t let anyone take care of him and his needs.
Thankfully, I didn’t let my head and heart get ahead of my body this time.
“You should go home, Maggie. You really shouldn’t have come here.” His voice is low, the concern unmistakable yet completely misplaced and frankly, ridiculous. “This crowd isn’t like the nice folks back in Lonestar Junction. Something could’ve happened to you.”
What like get my pussy ate in the most incredible way by the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on?
He pulls his phone from his pocket, typing out a quick message. With a nod and a heavy sigh, he adds, “Dallas is waiting outside the door. He’ll walk you to your car and follow you back to the city to make sure you get home safe.”
I force myself to make no reaction to his words. I can’t say I’m surprised. Seconds ago, his face was between my legs like he couldn’t get enough, and now he's back to sending me away just like he had a few weeks ago.
Hot.
Cold.
Hot.
Cold.
I’ve been nursing this crush since I was a kid, but there’s only so many hits my pride can take before I realize my self-esteem is in the freaking gutter.
I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, embarrassment threatening to spill over, but I refuse to let him see it.
With a steady hand, I smooth my dress back down over my hips and legs, forcing calm into every movement.
My face remains neutral as I stand, lifting my chin high, determined to mask the sting of rejection with indifference.
I swallow what little pride I have left and remind myself that I deserve better and knew not to expect anything more from him.
At least I experienced my first orgasm via a mouth and damn was it a memory that I’ll never forget.
Plastering my most convincing smile on my face I respond, “Ok. Sure. I’ll see you around, Clay,” before I open the locker room door without a second glance his way.
I walk to my car with Dallas by my side, him giving me a nod like he knows exactly what went down in that locker room and I sure hope that he doesn’t.
The drive home is silent, my mind racing as I remind myself of the promise I’d made long ago: never let my heart fall for Clay.
And frankly, I don’t think I had. Sure, that was the most mind-bending orgasm I’d ever had.
Better than any that my toy or dildo collection could deliver, but sex could be just that - right?
Pleasure without connection. Even if it was delivered by a guy I’d once adored.
The thing is, the guy I’d once adored isn’t in there anymore, no matter how much my heart aches for the memory of him.
I’ve been foolish for too long, holding on to the hope that Clay would ever see me as more to him but that’s all over now.
I’m done acting childish and will never let my self-esteem be diminished by him again.