15. Only you
Chapter 15
Only you
TOMER
N ever have I been this conflicted in my thirty-seven years.
She needs more time.
Physically. Mentally.
She damn sure isn’t emotionally prepared for sex.
But she’s begging me— literally begging—with utter desperation painted on her battered face. The tears welling in her eyes break me. Down to my marrow, I long to ease her ache.
I hope this isn’t a colossal mistake because I’m powerless not to give her what she’s asking for. She can use my body.
With reluctance, I acquiesce. “Okay.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
She wipes her tears, then places a watery kiss on my lips. “Thank you, babe.”
“Get on your back, sweetness.”
“Uh-uh. I want to be on top.”
“Not yet. I need to ensure you’re ready.”
After a tentative nod, she slips off my lap. Her nose scrunches up as she rolls onto her back like I requested. Although she’s hurting from her injuries, she’s too damn stubborn to admit it.
With deliberate slowness, I pull down her shorts and panties in one, smooth motion. Every part of her body clenches. Not only the parts I can see, but also her lungs, as evidenced by the way she holds her breath.
She’s fucking terrified.
Why is she forcing this so soon?
Attempting to push past my apprehension and give her what she begged for, I contemplate how to proceed. If ever there was a time to think through a plan of action and prepare for all potential outcomes, this would be it.
Before we go any further, I should ensure she knows she’s fully in control.
“Lettie, you can stop me at any point. You’re in charge. All of this is at your pace. I’m not your Dom, and you’re not my sub, okay?”
She nods repeatedly, her hands twisting at the hem of her shirt. “Got it.”
“Do you want to keep your shirt on?”
Her face contorts. “Um. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“How do you want me?”
Jaw hanging slightly, she crooks her head to the side in confusion.
“Clothes or no clothes? What would you prefer?”
“Oh wow. When you said I was in control, you really meant it, huh?”
“One hundred percent.”
I suspect this tactic is working, judging by the softening of her facial features and her steadying breaths.
“Um . . . I think clothes off. For you.”
Without hesitation, I strip, pile my clothing on the chair in the corner, and rejoin her on the bed. “Mouth? Fingers? Toys? What do you want first?”
“Fingers,” she starts, then quickly clarifies. “On the outside, initially.”
“Good girl. You’re doing great,” I reassure her. “Keep talking to me. It’s okay to take your time to think about what you want. If you change your mind, just tell me.”
“I will.” She licks her lips nervously, but a slow grin slides into place. “Thank you.”
“Your manners are back,” I tease, hoping to tap into some of our familiar banter. “You know what they do to me.”
If she wants to feel normal, I’ll try my best to give her that.
Her smile grows, sparking a filament of joy inside me.
Maybe she was right about this.
Damn . When will I learn to trust her to decide what’s best for herself? I keep making the same mistakes.
“If I’m starting with my fingers, where do you want my body?”
In a bratty huff, she flops her head backward and rolls her eyes. “I can’t make all these decisions.”
I skim her leg with my palms, moving up her outer thigh to her hip and down again. She drapes one arm over my shoulder, pulling me close until my mouth hovers above hers.
I’m trying to focus strictly on bringing her pleasure, but out of nowhere, a nauseating thought slices through my mind. My stomach coils into a ball of twisted barbed wire.
The video.
Her yelling stop. Screaming no .
I don’t want her to have to say that to me if she decides she’s not ready to continue.
Everything that happens here should be about making her feel safe, protected, cherished, and loved.
A plan crystallizing in my mind, I resume stroking her leg and hip. “What’s your safe word, sugar?”
She answers almost immediately. “Butterfly.”
One of her cheeks twitches with a budding smile, just enough to banish the darkness residing inside my chest.
“That’s my sweet girl.” I kiss her pixie nose. “Do you still want to do this?”
While wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she nods repeatedly. “I do. I need this.”
She seems to grow more comfortable as I caress her. Her grip on me becomes more resolute where she kneads my shoulders and the back of my neck. In turn, some of my apprehension fades.
“You just relax now. I’m going to make you feel good, baby. I promise to take care of you.”
Her breath fans across my lips as she whispers, “I know you will. You always have.”
“Do you want me to kiss you? Or do you want to keep your eyes open to watch what I’m doing?”
Not even taking a moment to think, she rushes out, “Hold me and kiss me, babe. Run your familiar hands all over my body. I want to get lost in your touch.”
Right before our mouths join, I tell her, “Remember, everything stops if you say butterfly.”
She grips me tighter and lifts her face to close the distance, sealing her lips to mine.
Starting us off gradually, I keep it chaste to let her relax into the moment. I bring my hand up to tilt her chin gingerly as I intensify the kiss. She licks the seam of my lips, and I open for her. When our tongues touch, she sighs into my mouth exactly like she’s done a hundred times before.
So far, so good.
As much as I’d love to get lost in her body, I need to keep my focus. Carefully, I study every move she makes and each trembling breath that escapes her mouth, searching for any sign of panic. If I do this right, I should sense it coming as soon as she does. By the time she says butterfly, I’ll have already stopped.
For the record, I fully anticipate she will use her safe word. I’ve already cataloged how to handle it when she does, depending on which activity or position brings it on.
Applying more pressure with my fingertips, I squeeze her hip and pull her closer to me. Intentionally, I keep my entire body beside her instead of on top so she knows she’s free to escape.
Lettie has always favored an abundance of touch when we’re intimate. It seems crucial for me to straddle the line between keeping her close enough to feel desired and far enough away so she doesn’t feel trapped.
This shit isn’t easy. Given how messed up my head is, I’m surprised I haven’t already fucked it up.
She moans into my mouth, wordlessly communicating that I’m doing okay so far.
Despite our activities, there’s no blood rushing to my cock. Not even a stirring of arousal. Most likely, it’s due to my preoccupation with the potential for shit to go wrong or fear I’ll cause her panic.
I wouldn’t give a second thought about not getting hard at a time like this if I wasn’t worried she’d see it as a reflection on her. With everything going on in her mind, I’d hate if she thought I found her less than utterly intoxicating.
Being careful not to aggravate any of her injuries, I trail my free hand across her low belly. While I massage her supple, delicate flesh, she grows more aroused, mewling and digging her fingers into my upper back. It reminds me of how needy she was when she was grinding on top of me.
Her hands are everywhere.
Her grip is punishing.
And the sounds coming from the back of her throat are music to my ears.
When I break the kiss for some much-needed oxygen, I bathe her in tender reassurance. “You’re doing so well, sweetness. Are you feeling okay?”
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” she snarks, her bratty side returning with a vengeance.
For the first time, my dick twitches.
Fucking hell. How did she make me crave her bratty side?
Encouraged by her demeanor, I tentatively lower my hand and stroke the insides of her thighs. She lets her knees fall open, giving me room to work.
“Such a good girl. Want me to touch this pretty pussy?”
“Yes, please,” she whines.
When my fingertips come into contact with her silky pink flesh, I’m surprised to find her wet. She’s not as soaked as she normally would be but certainly not dry. It further eases my worries. Maybe she was right all along.
Unfortunately, my relief is short-lived. Almost instantly, her body stiffens, and her grip on my shoulders intensifies to the point of pain.
“It’s okay, Lettie,” I whisper as I return my hand to her lower stomach.
“I’m good. Keep going.”
She is still such a bad fucking liar.
But in a different way than me. I’m bad and a liar.
Shaking it off, I return my attention to her body language and the sound of her breathing. Once I think she’s ready, I skim my hand under her shirt and cup one of her breasts.
She opens her eyes, her gaze quickly finding mine. There is a hint of shock mixed with arousal glistening in her beautiful sapphire irises.
Testing her reaction, I pinch and roll her nipple with the slightest pressure. She exhales in a delicate whimper and catches her lower lip between her teeth.
Blood flows slowly into my cock, making it twitch again.
“Beautiful. You are sooo fucking beautiful, Lettie.”
While I remain entranced in her brilliant blue eyes, still red-rimmed from her prolonged crying, my hand journeys back down her body. As it glides over her midsection, I’m careful to avoid the yellowing bruises over her ribs.
Once my hand nears the apex of her thighs, she lets her legs fall open again. Her fingers stroke the base of my hairline in such a loving gesture.
I place a kiss under her ear. “I’m gonna touch your clit now, baby.”
She nods, her breathing getting choppy.
“Eyes on me if you can,” I encourage, aiming to help her avoid getting lost in the past.
Dragging two fingers up her slit, I delve deeper to find the sensitive bud. As I explore, she begins grinding herself harder into my touch. Rolling my fingers over her clit in small circles, I study every mesmerizing flex of her hips and how her breathing matches the pace. Her eyelids flutter, and she sighs in a quiet moan.
“Good girl.”
It’s not empty praise. I’m so damn proud of her.
Remembering how she wanted to get lost in our kiss, I rejoin our mouths as I stroke and tease her pussy. Eagerly, she twirls her tongue with mine.
I delve my fingers closer to her entrance to gather some wetness, then return to her clit. She shows no sign of fear with that movement, so I increased the speed and firmness of my ministrations. Soon enough, her hips buck and thrash like when she was on top of me earlier, and her cries of pleasure echo around the bedroom.
Holy shit. Is she about to come?
Didn’t expect this to happen. Not one bit.
Doing more than twitching, my dick finally stiffens. I suppose since it’s clear she’s enjoying it and not just putting on a brave face, I can find enjoyment too. Even though I have no intention of getting off, it’s still pleasurable anytime I make my sugar bear feel good.
Lettie’s my one true kink.
She gets close to climaxing repeatedly yet can’t seem to get there, which makes perfect sense. For women, often more than men, it’s a mental game. Although she contends otherwise, her head isn’t in the right space for this.
Nonetheless, she wants this. She needs to prove to herself she’s not broken or damaged.
And I want her to have everything she desires.
Hoping to give her the edge she needs, I break the kiss and lower my head to her breast. Over the shirt, I find her pert nipple and suck it into my mouth. The fabric grows damp as I work my tongue over the hardening bud and pinch it with my teeth gently. She grabs my head with both hands, holding me firmly in place. The tiny thrusts of her hips speed up, and she keens in pleasure.
“That’s my good girl. You may come for me, sweetness,” I mutter around her nipple, granting her the permission she’s used to waiting for. “Give it to me. Come all over my hand.”
Her moans crescendo as she clamps her thighs together and convulses with her orgasm. Unlike usual, she doesn’t curse, yell, or say anything as she crests the peak. Instead, she simply rides it out with raspy breaths and a few cries of pleasure she’s unable to stifle.
And I let her, content to witness her reclaim a part of herself.
Once her breathing shallows and her body grows still, I capture her lips. My kiss is sweet and tender, only a little something to soothe the longing to reconnect with her.
When I pull back, I hover my face over hers for a long few seconds, watching her come down from her pleasure-filled high.
“You’re so damn enchanting.”
No matter how desperately I want to tell her I love her, I won’t do it yet. My words aren’t worth the risk of ruining this moment for her. If she doesn’t want to hear it now, or worse, doesn’t believe me, it’ll shatter the peace she’s found in this important first step in her sexual recovery.
“Told you I was ready,” she announces, her face tinted in a triumphant smirk.
“I never had a single doubt,” I joke, making us both chuckle.
She lifts her head, instigating a sweet kiss. Just a tiny peck that peppers itself straight into my soul.
“Thank you, James.”
A cringe rolls through me before I can fight it off.
She inhales, the air hissing through her teeth.
I regret my reaction immediately. Although I never wanna hear her say that damn name again, I’d be a solid gold asshole on top of a liar to make her feel bad about it.
With her eyes pressed firmly closed, she makes a tsking sound to chastise herself. “Sorry for calling you that.”
“Don’t apologize. You can call me anything you want.”
Always so expressive, she puckers her lips almost playfully. More than likely, she’s sorting through her card catalog of sassy retorts.
Instead of a bratty quip, her face suddenly hardens. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepen when she throws a glare at me. “Wait a damn minute.” She raises up on her elbows. “Is that why you never let me call you James in bed?”
Although there was no prior that to refer to, I know precisely what she’s getting at. Opting for honesty, I admit, “Yes.”
Her gaze casts over my face as something dark flashes in her eyes. A pulse of anger. “Why was it okay during every other moment we spent together but not when we were havin’ sex? Didn’t those other moments mean anything to you?”
Ouch.
I never thought of it that way before.
All I can give her is my truth and hope it doesn’t make her more upset. “It was never okay, Violet. From the moment that name passed my lips, I hated it every time you said it back to me.”
The shadows behind her eyes fade, but specs of them linger. “Then why did you only correct me during sex? It’s like you only wanted me for my body.”
Shaking my head, I prepare my rebuttal.
She doesn’t give me a chance. “Believe me, I still want to wait to talk about all this mess. I knooow I can’t handle anything else. Yet it’s impossible to stop wadin’ through all the chaos, tryin’ to make heads or tails of it.” Her palms cradle her head, shielding her sorrow-filled face from me. “As much as I try, I can’t silence my thoughts. I’d ask you to put me in suspension since that’s one of the only things that can stop my mind when it’s racin’ like this. Except I know I’d freak the hell out from being restrained.” Her fingers dig into her scalp punishingly. “ Fuuuck .”
She flops back onto the bed in a defeated huff. After a tense couple of seconds, she opens her eyes again.
I move in closer, speaking as earnestly as I can. “First off, I never wanted you only for your body. Never . Every moment spent with you is precious to me. You are precious to me. As to why I only corrected you in the bedroom, it was probably a few things combined.”
Her expectant eyes, clouded with worry, burn a path to my soul.
Pausing, I try to shake off the avalanche of regret burying me. “During those times, it was physically painful and repulsive to hear you call me James. I didn’t want you to have sex with him . I wanted it to be me, yet I couldn’t reveal the real me. Knowing you were giving me this gift of being with you—one I don’t deserve—was too much to take. I just snapped that first night. Once I put it out there, I realized sex was one time when I could make a clear distinction you wouldn’t find too strange. I mean, nothing about me is normal, but this was a place I could draw a line for you. I was sparing myself. It was selfish. But I promise you that the reason I hid the truth was not selfish.”
Her brows furrow, and she licks her lips. “Me-n-you are gonna mix if you don’t stop putting yourself down.”
After all I said, she’s focused on correcting my self-image.
Ignoring her topic redirection, I double down to ensure she knows my feelings for her extend far beyond the physical. “It was never about your body. I hated you saying that name in the coffee shop on the day we met. At the beach. At the urgent care. At the club. In your hotel room. At dinner. At the fucking grocery store. In my house. In my bed. It hurt to hear it every fucking day.”
By the time I get it all out, my fingers are shaking as much as my voice.
She rolls onto her side, cupping my cheek with one of her dainty hands. I close my eyes and lean into her touch. Being allowed to feel her skin on mine is a precious gift, calming me like nothing ever has.
When I meet her gaze again, there’s a darkness coating her face. Her skin pinches at her temples, and her chin lifts in the slightest upward tick. Even with my sub-standard ability to interpret emotions, her expression showcases hers so ardently.
She’s not angry anymore.
She’s heartbroken.
For me, not because of me.
Me.
Why isn’t she furious or screaming? It’s what I deserve.
“Don’t feel bad for me, Lettie,” I warn, my voice thick and weary.
Oxygen races from her lungs with an audible tremble. “I’ll feel however I want to feel.” She sniffles. “It helps to hear that your motivations weren’t selfish. I hope I still see it that way when I’m strong enough to learn what they were.”
Fuck . I hope she does too.
She loops her hand around the back of my neck to pull my forehead to hers.
After we hold each other quietly for several seconds, the silence must get to her. “I’m a bit tired of feelin’ like a damned fool.”
“You’re not a fool, sugar.”
“Here I was, all along, thinking the name thing was a bedroom quirk of yours.”
“Not at all.” I shake my head vehemently. “I never cared with anyone else. Only you.”
She lifts her chin, moving her mouth closer to mine. “Only me, huh?”
“What I was called in bed is the least significant of all the things you’ve made me care about, Lettie. Nothing mattered before you. Not a damn thing.”
A tear spills down her cheek, immediately soaking the pillow. “No one loved you before me, did they?”
Unable to trust my voice, I simply shake my head.
“Well, I’m glad I found you at that gas pump when I did.”
And then she smiles at me, bright and warm as the sun.
At me.
When she looks at me this way—with unbridled affection and acceptance—my father’s voice is barely a scant whisper in the dark. I almost can’t hear it.
Almost.
No one will ever love you, boy.
Almost doesn’t count, though.