20. Dannica
DANNICA
brEAKING NEWS: LOCAL WOMAN REALIZES DREAMS REQUIRE PARTICIPATION
I don’t think I’ve ever been this aware of my own body before.
Every breath, every place where we touch feels amplified.
It’s like someone turned the volume up on everything at once and forgot to turn it back down.
I’m on my back, his weight braced over me, his hands sliding along my sides like he’s imprinting me to memory.
Like he’s learning everything about me, like he’s not in a rush to get anywhere except right here.
It’s slow, intentional, and I stretch, full, amazing.
The way he moves with me instead of just against me, the way he watches my face like my reactions matter as much as anything else happening between us.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, grounding myself because it’s a lot—too much and not enough all at the same time—and when I shift under him, I feel the delicious build.
Something in his expression changes, like that’s exactly what he’s been waiting for.
“Dannica,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sound of it sends a fresh wave of pleasure through me that makes my breath catch.
He flips so his back is on the mattress, effortlessly positioning me on top of him like we’ve choreographed this.
The position change has him deeper inside me, grazing me in just the right place.
If I thought it felt good before, this takes the cake.
“Take what you need from me.” His voice rasps over my skin like calloused hands, rough but delectable. I shift my weight so I settle better on him, then I start moving. Closing my eyes, I give in to the sensation, taking him completely into me. Not just my body but every part of me.
I press my hands on his arms, needing to touch him as I rock my hips back and forth. He feels so good inside me, stretching me wider with every movement I make.
With his hand clamped on my hip, Teddy presses the pad of his thumb to my clit. He doesn’t move, doesn’t add more or less pressure, simply allows me the option of rubbing myself on him while I chase my release. So I do.
I’m still sensitive from my earlier orgasm, but even so I can feel my body respond to him.
It builds steadily, a slow, undeniable climb that pulls me higher with every movement, every brush of my clit against his thumb, every gasp or groan as if he can’t quite get enough.
I bend to kiss him as I move, losing track of everything else—of time, of where we are, of anything that isn’t him and this and the way my body reacts without asking me first. My nails drag lightly over his arms, and he exhales sharply against my mouth, like that did something to him too, like we’re caught in the same current and neither of us is trying to get out.
“Dannica.” He says my name like it means something different here, and I feel it in my chest, in the way everything tightens just a little more. I break the kiss and straighten.
“I—” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Nothing useful. Nothing coherent. I tip my head back, my grip on him tightening as the feeling crests again, closer, sharper. I can’t hold on to it the way I want to, can’t control it the way I think I should be able to. “Teddy…”
“Look at me,” he murmurs, and I do, even though everything feels like it’s slipping, because something in his voice makes it seem important.
He sits up, his forehead presses to mine, his breathing rougher now, matching mine.
There’s something about the way we’re right there together, not separate, not one leading and the other following, that pushes me the rest of the way.
The sensation hits all at once, pulling the breath right out of me.
My body tightens, then lets go, and I cling to him as it rolls through me, overwhelming and incredible.
He follows right after, like we’re tied together somehow, one pulling the other with them. His breath breaks against my skin, his fingers digging in slightly as he lets go too. For a second, everything goes quiet except for the sound of us trying to catch our breath.
I let out a shaky laugh against his shoulder, my hand still curled against his back as if I forgot to let go, and he huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it’s soft, quiet, like he’s still in a daze.
We don’t move right away. I don’t want to.
Eventually, I roll to the side, and he pulls me against him until my head’s resting on his chest and my leg is draped over his.
He wraps his arms around me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I stay there, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing under my cheek.
This feels different. Not just the sex, but everything.
We lay like that until our breathing falls back into a normal pattern, and I feel the pull of my heavy eyelids.
“Hey,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now, his fingers tracing absent patterns along my arm.
“Hey,” I murmur back, not lifting my head.
There’s a small pause, but it’s not awkward, just… full.
“You should write,” he says.
I blink, lifting my head slightly so I can look at him. “That’s your post-sex takeaway?”
His mouth curves a little. “One of them.”
I snort, nestling my head back against his chest. “You’ve never even read anything I’ve written.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s a bold claim.”
“I can tell,” he says simply.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “From what? My award-winning descriptions of the diner specials?”
“From the way you see things,” he says. There’s no hesitation in it, no teasing. “And how your brain works. You turn everything into a story without even trying.”
My chest tightens a little at that.
“That doesn’t mean I’m good at it,” I say.
“It means you’re meant to do it,” he replies, just as easily.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because the thing is, a part of me wants to believe him.
I yawn against his chest, and he chuckles.
“Get some sleep,” he adds quietly, brushing his fingers through my hair, grounding me before I can spiral too far into that thought.
I hum softly, settling closer into him, my eyes already starting to feel heavier. “Bossy.”
“Very.”
I smile as I let myself drift.
When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember where I am. There’s warmth at my back, an arm wrapped loosely around me, steady breathing just behind my shoulder. I lie there, letting it settle.
Then my brain catches up. Suddenly…
LOCAL WOMAN REMEMBERS EXISTENCE OF RESPONSIBILITY. REGRETS EVERYTHING.
The application.
I shift carefully, slipping out of his hold as gently as I can so I don’t wake him, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. My heart rate’s already picking up, that familiar mix of nerves and anticipation bubbling up as I open my email.
Okay. Okay. Today’s the day. I can do this.
I pull up the application link and frown. That’s… weird. I refresh the page. Nothing. Try again. Still nothing.
A small knot forms in my stomach as I scroll, reread, click around. Maybe I missed something. Maybe there’s a button I’m not seeing, some hidden link or something…
Then I see it. Applications are now closed.
My stomach drops. No. No, that’s not…
I check the date. Check it again and again. It doesn’t change. I missed it. I actually missed it.
I stare at the screen, like it’ll fix itself if I look at it long enough, hoping the words will rearrange into something else, something better. They don’t.
Oh my god. I can’t believe this.
“Hey.”
I don’t realize I’ve made a sound until I feel the mattress shift behind me, his voice rough with sleep.
“You okay?”
I swallow hard, blinking at the screen because my vision’s starting to blur. That’s ridiculous. It’s just an application, it’s not…
“Hey,” he says again, softer this time.
I shake my head quickly, trying to stop the sting building behind my eyes. “It’s stupid.”
“It clearly isn’t.”
His hand slides slowly up and down my back, steady and warm.
I stare down at the screen. “I kept thinking I had time to submit the application.”
“What was it for?”
The question settles over the room quietly. No pressure in it. Just curiosity. Like he genuinely wants to know every piece of me.
I let out a shaky breath. “A journalism mentorship program. In Chicago.”
I feel him still slightly behind me.
“And you wanted it?”
The answer comes too fast. “Yes.”
It hangs there between us, bigger than I meant it to sound.
I swallow hard. “I mean… not just the program. Everything that came with it.” I grip my phone tighter.
“Getting out of here for a while. Writing somewhere bigger. Seeing if I could actually do this for real instead of just…” I gesture vaguely toward the window and beyond, toward the diner, toward town, toward my entire life.
His silence somehow makes it easier to keep talking.
“I didn’t tell anyone because saying it out loud made me feel selfish.” I laugh weakly. “I should be grateful for what I have.”
“You’re allowed to want more than one thing, Dannica.”
The words hit me embarrassingly hard.
I blink quickly, looking down at the bright blur of my phone screen.
“I think part of me knew if I applied, if I actually got in…” My throat tightens. “I might’ve left.”
There. It’s out now.
The room goes quiet except for the sound of our breathing.
“And that scares you?” he asks gently.
I let out another soft laugh that doesn’t sound much like one. “Everything scares me lately.”
“Fair.”
I finally turn to look at him properly, hair messy from sleep, eyes still heavy, one arm stretched toward me across the sheets as if he’d reached for me before he was even fully awake.
And suddenly this hurts in a completely different way. Because now there’s him. Not just the diner. Not just Grandma and Mom. Teddy.
“I don’t even know what I would’ve chosen,” I admit quietly.
His expression softens further, something careful and understanding settling there.
“You don’t have to figure out your whole life this morning.”
I huff out a weak laugh. “That’s good because I’m doing a terrible job so far.”