30. Helen
Thad has the TV on when I come out of the bathroom, and he’s found the classic movie channel again. It’s playing a film I don’t recognize, though from the dark coloring and intense expressions on the characters’ faces, I’m guessing it’s another noir.
He glances over at me, then immediately does a double take, eyes wide as he does a slow swallow that sends a little thrill of anticipation through me.
This is exactly the response I was hoping for, but I realize all at once that I have no idea where to go from here, and it makes me nervous. And when I’m nervous, I apologize. “Sorry! I didn’t want to sleep in my jeans, so…is this okay?”
Thad looks me over one more time before forcing his eyes back to the TV screen. And yes, I know I’m a bit biased, but I don’t think forcing is putting it too strongly. I can feel his energy still honed in on me, even though he isn’t looking at me, even though he’s trying his best to keep his eyes glued to the television. “Fine,” he says, doing another heavy swallow.
I’m thrilled at his reaction. Short of him rushing across the room to throw me onto the bed, this feels like a best-case scenario. I know I don’t have much experience with this—okay, any experience with this—but it feels like this response is good. He’s attracted to me. He might not be overwhelmed with burning lust, but he’s definitely aware of me in a nonplatonic way.
I think? I hope? Self-doubt quickly starts to set in, even as I do my best to stay confident and committed to my plan. It might only be that I’ve made him uncomfortable by dressing this way. I don’t actually know what it feels like to have a man want to sleep with me. It’s entirely possible that all of this is only in my own head, and he’s wondering why the weirdo nun is walking around in her underwear while he’s trying to watch a movie in peace.
I almost convince myself to retreat back into the bathroom and put on my pants again, but I stop myself. I know what I saw on his face, in his eyes. He’s holding back, but maybe it’s just because I haven’t made clear what I want.
How one goes about doing that, I’m not entirely sure. In my romance novel, Rosamund knows from the beginning that Axel is driven to distraction by his desire for her. It’s never a question of if, only when.
Worrying my lip, I glance at the TV screen that Thad hasn’t removed his eyes from since I came out of the bathroom. A strikingly beautiful woman is pouting at the detective, eyes gleaming with mischief. She is wicked, confident, irresistible. Thinking back on what I saw from Vera in old episodes of Bama Bounty, she had a similar quality to her. This must be the kind of woman Thad wants.
I can be confident, I resolve with myself. I can!
Clearing my throat, I move over to the dresser, trying my best to walk sexily, not entirely certain what that looks like but determined to capture it. My body feels unnaturally aware of itself as I try to sway my hips and draw attention to my backside. Bottoms are sexy, right?
With my back to Thad, I pick up my phone, clearing my throat again. “Oh no.” I look back at him over my shoulder with a little pout, trying to mimic the expression of the woman on the screen. “My phone’s almost dead. Can I borrow your charger?”
Thad steels himself before looking at me. His eyes hone in on my face, seeming to hesitate before traveling down my body again. “Sure. My phone’s been plugged in a while, so you can unplug it.”
This might be the least sexy conversation two people have ever had together. Nonetheless, I press on, determined to get him hot and bothered. “Where is it?”
He motions to an outlet next to the sofa he’s sitting in, opposite from where I’m standing, so it’s blocked from my view. “I can toss it to you?—”
“No, it’s fine.” A sudden idea strikes me and I saunter across the room again, hips swaying violently. There’s plenty of space for me to just walk around the chair to access the charger, but instead I stop right in front of him and lean across him to reach for it. Our bodies are close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, and I’m hyper-aware of my purple-underwear bottom sticking out. I’m pretty sure this would get him super excited, if he were a baboon. “There we go. Let me just stick it right in there…”
“Helen.” Thad’s voice sounds like I’ve never heard it before, sort of tight and curt, almost angry. “What are you doing?”
I straighten back up, trying to blink innocently, though I’m sure I’m red as a fire engine by now. “What do you mean?”
Again, his eyes stay honed in on my face, making some seriously intense eye contact. “You’re all…wiggly, and talking in a weird voice. If I didn’t know better…”
Wiggly? Weird? I am clearly not very good at this whole seduction thing, especially since he seems appalled to even put a name to what I’m trying to do. For some reason, unexpectedly, this brings out a surge of defiance in me. I fold my arms. “If you didn’t know better, what?” Let him say it out loud, coward. I’m calling him on his bluff.
Thad seems to be struggling, and I realize why as his eyes finally dart away from my face, down to my chest. Frowning, I look down and see that the action of folding my arms has pulled the material even tighter over my breasts, not leaving much to the imagination.
When he looks into my eyes again, I feel a flutter of excitement run through me. Down there. In my panty region. It sends another surge of defiance through me. “If you didn’t know better, what?” I demand again.
Thad is glaring at me—and okay, sure, anger wasn’t at the top of my list of things I wanted him to feel, but for some reason that look makes me feel even more hot and bothered. “You’re playing with fire, Helen. If you want something from me, you can’t trick me into doing it. You have to be the one to say it.”
He’s right, darn him. If I’m going to be brave, I have to actually be brave, not just dangle myself in front of him and hope he’ll take the bait. “Okay.”
I’ll take him up on his dare. I’ll tell him, outright, that I want to have sex with him.
Only, as my mouth runs dry at the thought, I realize it’s not quite that simple. Being that forthright, saying the actual words, is genuinely terrifying.
I wet my lips with my tongue, mostly for something to do, and feel another flutter of something as I see Thad’s eyes follow the motion. “I want you to touch me,” I say, breathlessly.
I must sound a little too winded, because Thad raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think it counts if you can’t say it without hyperventilating.”
The challenge in his tone ignites something in me. “Then let me tell you where I want you to touch me.”
His gaze intensifies, something scorching flashing through his eyes. He swallows. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
My arms fall down to my sides. I tentatively reach up one hand to touch my lips. “Here.” I let my fingertips drift down the side of my face to touch my neck, the rest of my body already shivering. “Here.”
I know where I’d want him to go next, but I hesitate, suddenly shy. No, not shy, afraid. I realize all at once that he’s right—this is playing with fire. What will I actually do if he touches me where I ask him to?
Thad’s gaze softens a little, and he looks away, running a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s okay, Sister Helen. It’s not too late to stop the game now.”
He starts to stand up, and I know he’ll find some excuse to lock himself in the bathroom, go get another room, or do something else that will end this moment forever.
“No!” Without thinking I move forward and stop him from getting up, pushing him back into the chair. He sits back warily, looking up at me.
“Everywhere,” I tell him. “I want you to touch me everywhere.”
A long moment passes. Something shifts on his face and he reaches for me, slowly, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll pull away. When I don’t, he rests his hands on my hips, the thumb on his right hand playing with the hemline of the shirt.
It’s such a little gesture, but it sets my whole body on fire, and I’m no longer shy, no longer afraid. Well, no, that’s not exactly true, but those feelings become muted. The need throbbing between my legs drowns out any other feeling. “Please. Please, Thad.”
He sighs raggedly, not advancing, but not releasing me either. “I want to, Helen. That’s not the issue. But I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re vulnerable. Your first experience, it should mean something?—”
“I don’t care if it means anything,” I blurt out, and it isn’t just the lust speaking. Maybe I’ll regret this in the morning, but right now, I’ve never meant anything more in my life. “I’m thirty-one years old and I’ve never been touched by anyone. I’m not asking you to make any promises. I know this isn’t some romantic fantasy. I just want to feel something. Please. Please?—”
I guess it’s the second please that does it. All at once, Thad pulls me forward, onto his lap. It’s clumsy and I’m not expecting it, so I have to readjust myself so I’m straddling him. He twines his fingers into my hair and pulls me into a kiss, not gentle or exploratory like the first time we tried this. This kiss engulfs me, drowns out the rest of the room, the rest of the hotel, so nothing exists except for him and me.
Even if I wanted to laugh this time, I couldn’t, because as our mouths are fusing, I feel his hands moving away from my hips. Roaming over my backside first, then up my back, around to my stomach, before finally finding my breasts.
I gasp into his mouth and Thad pulls away. “Fuck.”
I already feel bereft of his mouth and am about to chase his lips when I catch his expression. He is watching my breasts as he fondles them, seeming mesmerized. His thumbs chase my nipples, still peeking through the thin fabric of the T-shirt, and he circles them again and again.
At my gasp, Thad looks into my eyes. What he’s doing to my body feels incredible, but it’s honestly almost eclipsed by seeing his response to me. Being desired by him is a heady high, and I want him to keep going, to do whatever he wants to do to me, so long as it keeps that look on his face.
“Thad,” I breathe.
He captures my mouth again, hands releasing my breasts. I almost protest until I feel his fingertips sliding underneath the hem of my shirt and moving, ghost-light, over my skin, until he reaches my breasts again. His skin on my bare skin is electric. His mouth moves to the shell of my ear, down my neck, as he kneads my breasts. Almost unbelievably, his hot breath and warm mouth on my neck feels even more amazing than his hands on my breasts, but the dual sensation has my core throbbing. I am straddling one of his legs and start shamelessly thrusting against it, trying to relieve some of the pressure I feel building there.
“Fuck,” he says again, breathing it into my neck this time. “You need this, don’t you?”
With one hand, he reaches down to cup me over my panties. I cry out, begging, gasping, bucking against him wildly. “You’re so sexy,” he tells me as he rubs his thumb over my nub, again and again and again. “You’re so goddam sexy.”
I come apart, shaking and gasping and clinging on to him. After my shudders have subsided, Thad kisses me, long and slow, then nudges my nose with his. “Do you want to stop there?”
A murmur of protest escapes my throat. I grip on to his shirt, holding him in place, not wanting to lose his warmth for even a moment. “Don’t you dare.”
He laughs, quietly, under his breath. Then, standing, holding me, he puts me onto the bed.
I watch, breathless, as he takes off his shirt, his pants, leaving only his underwear on. He is…wow. I didn’t know people could look like that in real life. He’s broader than I would have imagined under his clothing, his shoulders wide and sturdy, his chest a map of muscle and ink and hair and scars. His erection tents through the thin material of his boxer briefs, and I stare at it, mesmerized and a little afraid.
“Can I?” he asks, reaching for the hem of my shirt.
I nod, helping him pull it up over my head. His eyes travel over my body, snagging onto my breasts again, before they find mine. He moves over me so our torsos are pressed together, my breasts against his chest, only the thin fabric of my underwear and his boxers between us.
His body feels so right against my body. The press of his warm skin, his hard muscles, his soft hair against my skin, my nipples, sends an unexpected jolt of want back down to my core, making my breath catch in my throat. I thought I was done. I didn’t know there was…more. He kisses me—not gently now, but urgently, and I can feel the shift in his touch as it becomes less about guiding me and more about him losing his control. His hands move to palm my breasts like he needs them, he needs to be touching them. I reach up to stroke his back, to tangle my hands in his hair, encouraging him, and he breaks the kiss to look into my eyes. There is something almost wild in his gaze, and I see him fighting to hold on to control.
I don’t want him controlled. I don’t want him worrying about taking things too far or hurting me. I want to make him feel what I’m feeling—helpless with want, a prisoner to my need. I slide my hands back down his back, over his ass, and encourage him into the cradle of my parted legs.
He groans as his erection pressed up against my core, his eyes losing focus for a moment before honing back in on my face, and the intensity there is maybe the most erotic thing that’s happened between us. He thrusts against me, again and again, moving now with wild abandon. He was right before, that I needed this, but I understand he needs it, too, maybe just as much.
The sensation isn’t enough to make me come again, but it feels so good, his hardness pressed against my softness, the soft material of my panties rubbing against my core. His rhythm builds to a frantic pace, and then he shudders and groans.
He’s holding himself up on his elbows, but I reach up, stroking his back and encouraging him to rest down on top of me. The weight of his body on mine, our skin touching, his hand wandering up to gently stroke my breasts again…it’s incredible. Overwhelming, but incredible.
After a while, he rolls over to lie beside me, holding my hand, his warm body pressed close to mine. As we drift off toward sleep, I assess what just happened. It wasn’t quite sex, but it was much, much closer than anything else I’ve ever experienced. I feel like in the last hour, I’ve gone from never having had sugar to eating an entire birthday cake by myself. It feels almost surreal, like it couldn’t have actually happened to me. It’s something I’ve imagined for Rosamund, or one of my other characters. Not Sister Helen.
I wait for the guilt or shame to catch up with me. I’ve been told for most of my life that everything I just did was a sin. But it didn’t feel like a sin as it was happening and it still doesn’t now. It felt…incredible. Not just the physical sensations, but the closeness, the intimacy. I understand why it’s such a rite of passage and people might call it life-changing…but at the same time, that depiction doesn’t feel quite right. I’ve heard it described almost as a fantastical experience, but that makes it feel far removed from reality. And yet it’s the realest, rawest experience I’ve ever had. It’s unlike anything else that’s ever happened to me, and yet it all felt natural, instinctive. It wasn’t magical, it was…holy.
For me, anyway. I remind myself that Thad has never made any promises. He’s never told me that he loves me or wants to be with me. This isn’t his first encounter, and we didn’t even have real sex. To him this was likely nothing special—and I don’t mean that in a self-deprecating way, but a practical one.
It doesn’t matter though. For me, it was something sacred, not shameful or sinful. Relieved, I let myself relax and fall into an easy sleep with him beside me.