Chapter 9 Savannah #3
He’s begging me to let him make me come. I feel like I’ve slipped into some alternate dimension, some reality that I didn’t know was possible. And I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop, because it already feels so good, and…
He's right. Within minutes, I'm climbing again, that pressure building faster this time. His other hand is in my hair, holding me steady, and he's murmuring things in my ear—how beautiful I am, how perfect, how much he wants me.
"Romeo—" I'm close, so close. "I need—"
"What do you need? Tell me." He groans. “Please come for me, Savannah. I want it all over my hand. Please…”
"More. I need more."
His fingers glide down, hovering at my entrance, and for a moment, I think he’s going to push them inside of me. “God,” he groans, his fingers circling there, making my hips buck in frustration as I feel the orgasm plateau. "So perfect. I want—God, Savannah, I want to be inside you so badly."
The words should shock me. They should bring me back to reality, remind me that I'm engaged, that this is wrong, that I'm a virgin saving herself for marriage.
But instead, they make me feel even more desperate.
“Yes,” I hear myself breathe, as if I’m listening from outside my own body.
“Yes… please… Romeo…” I’m so close. He’s so hard against me, and I feel lost, drowning in a sea of unfamiliar desire.
I want more than I ever have before, and something tells me if we stop now, this might never happen again.
He goes very still, his hand still between my thighs. "Savannah—"
"Please." I twist, reaching for his belt, my hands shaking. "I want you. I want—"
And then the reality of what I'm doing hits me like a bucket of cold water.
I'm about to lose my virginity to a man who isn't my fiancé.
In a library. During a storm. Without protection, without thought, without any consideration for the consequences.
I'm about to throw away everything—my engagement, my reputation, my family's expectations—for a few moments of pleasure with a man I barely know.
The impending orgasm vanished. My body goes cold, and I feel suddenly sick. Shocked and horrified at what I’ve allowed myself to do.
"Stop." I push at his chest, suddenly frantic. "Stop, we can't—I can't—"
He steps back immediately, his hands leaving my body. "Okay. It's okay. We'll stop."
"I have to go." I pull my skirt down with shaking hands, trying to straighten my clothes in the darkness. "I have to—I need to leave."
"Savannah, there’s a shelter-in-place order—" He sounds genuinely alarmed, as if he’s worried for me.
"I don't care." I'm backing away from him, tears spilling over the edge of my lashes. "I can't be here. I can't—what did I just do? Oh God, what did I just do?"
"Hey." His voice is gentle. "It's okay. We didn't—nothing happened that you didn't want—"
"That's the problem!" The words come out as a sob. "I wanted it. I wanted all of it. I wanted—" I can't finish. I can't admit out loud that I started begging him to take my virginity against a bookshelf in a dark library.
"Savannah—"
"I'm engaged." I'm crying in earnest now. "I'm engaged to someone else, and I just—I let you—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"No." I shake my head even though he can't see me in the darkness. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I wanted it. I wanted you. And that makes me—" I can't even say it.
"It makes you someone who's allowed to want things. To feel things. To choose—"
A choked sound leaves my lips. "I have to go."
And I run.
I run through the dark library, down the stairs, past the startled librarian at the front desk who calls after me about the shelter order.
I run out into the storm, into the rain that's still coming down in sheets, into the wind that nearly knocks me over.
I run all the way home, my clothes soaked through and my hair plastered to my face, and my body still aching with unfulfilled desire.
I make it to my dorm and lock the door behind me, sliding down to sit on the floor with my back against it. I'm shaking from cold and shock, and from the aftermath of what just happened.
I let Romeo touch me. I let him make me come. Twice. I begged him for more. I was seconds away from letting him take my virginity in a library during a thunderstorm.
What is wrong with me?
I should feel guilty. I should feel ashamed. I should be horrified by my own behavior. And I am. But I also feel… alive. Or at least, for a moment, I did.
For the first time in my life, I felt truly, completely alive. Like my body was my own. Like my pleasure mattered. Like I was allowed to want something just because I wanted it, not because it was expected or appropriate or proper.
I strip off my wet clothes and take a hot shower, but I can still feel Romeo's hands on me, still hear his voice in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am, how perfect. I can still feel the echo of that pleasure, that overwhelming sensation of coming apart in his arms.
I should call Thad. I should confess. I should—
But I don't. I can't.
Instead, I lie in bed in the darkness, listening to the storm rage outside, and I think about Romeo and the way he kissed me, the way he touched me like I was precious, like my pleasure was the most important thing in the world.
And about the way he stopped the moment I asked him to, even though I could feel how much he wanted to continue.
My body is still aching for him, still wanting more. I can still vividly remember the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against mine.
I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad when I’m finished with my degree.
I'm supposed to be a good Southern girl who saves herself for marriage, who honors her commitments, who does what's expected.
But lying here in the darkness, my body still humming with the memory of Romeo's touch, I can't remember why any of that matters.
I can't remember why I'm supposed to want a life with Thad when Romeo makes me feel like this.
I can't remember why duty and family expectations should matter more than the way my heart races when Romeo looks at me.
I can't remember why I'm supposed to deny myself this—this feeling, this connection, this overwhelming sense of rightness—just because it's not what I'm supposed to want.
Why would anyone who cared for me want me to give this up, for a life that makes me feel like a prisoner?
My phone buzzes a few minutes later with a text from Romeo. Are you home safe?
I stare at it for a long moment. I should ignore it. I should tell him not to text me again unless it’s about the project, and that we’re going back to doing this over email. But instead, I type: Yes. I'm home.
His response comes immediately: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—
Don't. I type quickly. Don't apologize. I wanted it.
A long pause. Then: So did I.
I stare at the messages for a long moment, and then I delete them, making triple sure they’re gone from every part of my phone in case Thad decides to snoop again.
I feel my stomach twist with a sick sensation as I think of what it is that I’m doing…
going behind my fiancé’s back, letting another man touch me, wishing I was there with him right now.
But that same fiancé also wants to control me. He denigrates everything I am, everything I want. He touches me without permission, treats me and all my things like property.
I don’t know if, added up, all these wrongs make some kind of right.
But I can’t quite bring myself to fully regret what happened tonight.