Chapter 7
Rafi
I'm a lucky asshole that Emma is sweet and willing to give me another chance. It was stupid to bring her to Viola. Being one of my local sponsors, and the owner pouring money into my fights and always bragging about how many stars his restaurant has, I thought it was a no-brainer. And Stetson’s brought dates there, he thought it was a good idea too.
I wanted to impress her. Instead, I almost fucked everything up. Emma grew up in a loving home, solidly middle class, and is completely unimpressed with materialistic shit. Lesson learned.
Tonight will be better. I'm the one with the strict diet, Emma will eat anything. But I know she loves tacos, so I swing by the taco truck outside my house, and the guy who owns it helps me collect all the ingredients so she and I can put them together ourselves. I've got foil and a bag to keep everything warm, and I grab a couple of bottles of cold horchata, and I head to her place.
To the coffee shop. I can't believe all this time that's where she's been. I know she doesn't like to go out much, but it makes me wonder if I stopped by there more often closer to closing time, if I'd catch her hanging out or reading. Maybe she likes to hang out in the park across the street.
She's waiting at the curb when I pull up. She's wearing skinny jeans and an oversized tye-dye t-shirt that's cropped, showing a sliver of her small waist, with a wide neck, so it falls off of one shoulder. She's got an eclectic style, a little bit hipster, a little dorky. It's very Emma. Understated but with a hidden wild side, something she doesn't let just anyone see.
"Hi," she says softly after climbing in. "Oh! It smells so good in here. Wait, is there food in your truck?" She looks around, turning in her seat.
I laugh and pull away from the curb. "Yeah, we're going on a picnic. Is that cool? You like tacos?" I know she loves tacos.
She's excited when she answers yes, practically bouncing in her seat at the idea of a picnic. My relief is palpable.
We make light conversation on the short drive to the water, talking about the area, and since I've only been living here for the past year, she shares her favorite hang-out spots. She does read in the park across the street from her apartment when it's nice out, and I make a mental note to catch her more often when I'm out for a run.
Emma asks me where we're headed, but I don't want to spoil the surprise, especially if she hasn't been here before. Coach Max told me about this beach spot when I mentioned this morning that I was looking for a nice area that isn't crowded with people. I drove out here an hour ago, just to be sure, and it was perfect. It's secluded and private, a short walk through a path covered in brush, off one of the main beaches.
I park in the lot next to the beach, knowing I made the right choice, when she smiles wide, taking in a deep breath of the salty ocean air after we climb out of the truck.
"I love living here. Sometimes Cali gets a bad rep, you know?" She's looking up at the sky, my eyes on her.
I wait for her to join me, holding out my hand. She tentatively lets me take hold of her, and it's like a zap of electricity when we clasp hands. Like a lock sliding into place, a sense of rightness in the universe. I don't know if she notices, but there's more acceptance between us tonight than before.
The beach is quiet today, the sun is still out, but it's going down and will set soon. That's fine, though. The quieter, the better. The path through the reeds and bushes is well-worn, but I don't let go of her hand until we come out the other side. This spot curves into a small alcove, creating a little well that allows the water to lap in quick succession to the larger tide outside the cove.
We move over to a small section of sand and set everything down to open up the blanket. I glance at Emma while I set up, just to gauge how I'm doing, and the quiet smile on her face leaves me hopeful. She kicks off her shoes, and I follow suit, and we sit down at the center of the large blanket.
"This is… Raze, this is incredible."
"I agree," I say, looking at her. Her gaze meets mine, and she blushes furiously. "I hope this makes up for last night."
"Oh, it's leaps and bounds better. Already." I cringe, reminded of how much I fucked up. She catches it, "Seriously, this is amazing. I know we're only fifteen minutes in, but this is already the best date I've ever been on."
There's nothing I can do about last night except to try and make it up to her, so I focus on that. I pull everything out, and she insists on helping, so we assemble carne asada and carnitas tacos together. We eat, and since we agreed to talk more about current events instead of the past, the conversation between us is effortless. I tell her about my upcoming fight and my position in the league.
"Aren't you worried about getting hurt? What if you get a concussion?"
I swallow my bite and take a sip of the horchata before answering. Emma doesn't know her friend Rafi fights professionally. When I was still a teenager and getting more invested in it, I told her I found a gym with free jiu-jitsu lessons. She proceeded to send me a list of statistics involving head injuries.
Even though I didn't mention the fighting to her again, she still peppered in facts and worries to me long after I first mentioned it. I think she suspected I didn't let it go, but she has no clue I've taken it to where I am today. We're both pretty vague about the specifics of our lives when we write, leaning more on the existential.
"I've had a couple of concussions, but it's been a few years since the last one. I don't want you to worry about it, though. I'm good at this. Really good. I've never been knocked out in a professional fight, and I've been undefeated for a while now."
"What's your goal, exactly? I mean, is there a certain level you're trying to reach? I'm sorry, I don't know anything about what you do."
"Don't be sorry. I'd like to win Internationals, but they only host a worldwide fight every four years. The next one is only in a couple of months, and I won't be ready for it. The timing works out, though. I have to win my next fight in less than 2 weeks, then it's about 6 weeks to Nationals from there. As long as I can stay relevant and in shape, take a few televised fights a year, I'll be qualified for Internationals in another four years."
"Can I ask how old you are?"
"I'm 25. A lot of the guys at the International level are in their late 20s or early 30s, so the timing works."
She listens intently and continues to ask thoughtful questions. It's a nice change of pace. Usually, I answer reporters during interviews who want to know my stats or who I'm dating. They don't care about my interest in the sport, my process, or why I love it so much.
But Emma listens. It's like another piece clicks into place. My pen pal Emma and real-life Emma are the same.
We finish eating, but I'm nowhere near ready to go. Emma doesn't seem to be either when she lies down and stretches out on the blanket to stare up at the darkening sky. I clean up from dinner, shove everything back into the bag, and drink the last of the cinnamon horchata.
I'm still sitting, with my arms draped on my bent knees, feet on the ground. I could watch her like this all day. I notice the fabric of her shirt, the way it's fallen flush against her body, lifted and showing off her stomach, her pebbling nipples poking through the material. Fuck.
I feel myself getting hard and look away, adjusting slightly in my jeans. I haven't been with a woman in a while and I'm becoming increasingly aware of that fact the more time I spend around her.
"Are you cold? Do you want my hoodie?" I ask, forcing my gaze away from her perky tits. She's still smiling gently, looking up at the sky.
"I'm okay. I know you told me to bring something warm. I didn't listen," she says softly. Sitting back up and hugging her knees into her chest, she’s more than a foot away from me, and it's too much distance.
She tilts her head, looking pointedly at me. "Tell me something honest, Raze.”
I know this game. She likes to say this in her letters. Tell me something real, Rafi. Tell me something you've never told anyone before. Be honest, Rafi.
But I'm not Rafi right now, I'm Raze. "Like what?"
She looks up at me, resting her head on her knees. "Tell me something real. Something that makes you uncomfortable."
"You like discomfort?"
She lifts her head quickly, "No! I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just something I… I don't know. I'm always uncomfortable in my own skin, but when I can be honest, I feel more free. It doesn't always work out so well with other people, when you show them what's inside you. But I know that it doesn't matter what other people think if I can be honest with myself. You know?"
She sounds sad, and I wonder if Emma’s been hurt. Maybe I don't know her as well as I thought I did.
"You don't have to tell me anything. I'm being weird. Sometimes I think when someone else asks the question, you can give yourself permission to let go. Does that make any sense? I'm sorry. I'm rambling." She covers her face in her hand and laughs at herself, but I reach over and pull her hand away so she can't hide from me.
"Yeah, it makes sense." Tell her something honest… I love you. I'm Rafi. I want to marry you, and I would do it tomorrow if you agreed. But I can't tell her these things, not yet.
"I love to fight," I settle on. She lifts her eyebrows, trying to hold in an eye roll. "I know, it's obvious. What I mean is… every guy I've ever fought with, my coach, Stetson, everyone is obsessed with winning. And don't get me wrong, I love to win. But I also don't really give a fuck when I lose. I don't do it because I'm winning, I do it 'cause I fucking love it. But I kinda have to fake it for the promoters and fans, you know? All wins, get the W, undefeated, all the time. It's tiring. Sometimes I just want to ask the guys I'm fighting, are you having any fun? But I'd probably come off as more of an asshole since I'm the one kicking their ass."
I feel lighter the more I talk. I've never told anyone I felt that way. And it's really not a big deal, but it's also something that weighs on me whenever I have to talk about my wins, which is often, like it's the only thing I should care about.
Emma listens raptly, with all of her attention. Another barrier is lifted when she releases one of her knees and leans toward me, hesitant, but it's all the invitation I need.
I close the distance and kiss her, teasing my tongue between her lips, and she opens for me with the same softness as she did with our first kiss. But there's fire there too, a little piece inside her that she holds back.
A small moan escapes her, and it's everything I can do to keep from climbing on top of her. With one hand around her neck, I hold her close, and explore with my other, sliding down to her collarbone, fully exposed by the wide neck of her shirt.
Another sound of quiet desperation leaves her, she's breathy and burning up, hands gripping my shoulders tightly, pulling me in but also keeping me in place. Emma doesn't know yet what she wants, and I know she's not a virgin, but she is inexperienced.
My hand roams her body at an excruciatingly slow pace, across her collarbone and down the side of her breast, cupping her, squeezing her tit. My thumb grazes her pebbled nipple, and she moans and pushes toward me again. Pretty soon, I won't need to worry about climbing on top of her, she'll have already done the job.
Emma kisses me back with so much honesty, so much intensity, I find I'm the one needing to put a little distance. I'm ready to fuck her right here, right now, but I don't want to freak her out, so I slow the kiss. I think she surprised herself, because she pushes back and looks away from me.
"Are you okay?" I'm so hard right now I feel like my head is swimming.
"Yes," she whispers but doesn't look at me.
I move over on the blanket and sit in front of her, boxing her in with my knees, protecting her from the gentle breeze coming off the ocean behind us. I reach my hand up and caress her cheek, and she gives me a small smile, leaning into my hand. "Tell me something honest, Emma. Something real. Something raw." I repeat her question back to her.
She pauses before pushing her face back into the heat of my hand and squeezing her eyes shut.
"I'm scared of what will happen when I tell you my truth."
"You told me you'll feel more free if you can just be a little brave. You can trust me, Emma. I won't hurt you, I promise."
"Something uncomfortably honest? Okay. I think about you. All the time. Too much. But especially at night when I'm…" her eyes squeeze tighter, afraid to look me in the eye.
The sound is audible when I swallow. "At night, when you're…" I encourage her.
"When I…" she whispers, pressing her lips together. Her whole face is trying to hide and if she wasn’t such a fucking turn on, I’d probably laugh at the ridiculous expression she’s making.
But there’s nothing funny about her telling me she thinks about me at night, when she's… damn. Is she serious?
"Do you touch yourself? When you think about me?"
She hides her big brown eyes from me, lips still pressed together tightly, and slowly, solemnly nods.
"Fuck," I grind out and she finally opens her eyes. "That's pretty fucking hot, Emma."
In all honesty, I feel like I can't even stand, I'll blow right in my fucking jeans like a teenager if I move an inch.
"Are you… do you want me to touch you?" She asks, shocking me, her voice just above a whisper.
"I want to say yes more than I want to breathe right now. But you don't have to. We can just sit here quietly and not reveal any more truths tonight, until some of the blood rushes back to my brain and I can function again."
A giggle escapes her, and I had no idea Emma could be so bold. She bites her lip and presses her hand against my chest, pushing me back. I move as she wants me to until I'm leaning all the way down, resting upright on my elbows, while she climbs on top of me.
She's entirely focused, a hunger in her eyes I've only seen in my dreams. I stretch my legs down, and she straddles me, and with complete confidence I had no idea she had, she unzips my jeans and pulls out my cock. This is moving along faster than I anticipated, but I'm not complaining.
"Babe, you don't have to—oh fuck!" I hiss when she grabs hold of me with her whole hand. Emma fucking Baker has my cock in her hand. The sight of her in my lap, holding me against the quiet ocean backdrop, makes me wonder if I got knocked out in practice today and am unconscious and dreaming.
She twists her fist down my length, gripping me at the base, squeezing and motioning upward. Precum drips from my tip, and she rubs her thumb over it. I shudder, involuntarily pushing into her.
How the fuck does Emma give a handjob like a porn star? I'm sweating, and I can't decide where to look, between her hand, now fisting me root to tip, giving me just the right amount of pressure, or her face, with such calm determination. The choice is taken away, though, because it's not long before I feel my balls tighten, and I can barely see straight.
She bites her lip, eyes fused to my cock in her hand, a hungry look on her face, and she pumps me, fast, firm, again and again.
"I'm gonna come, babe," I manage to grind out, and then she does the unexpected, but no doubt, the best possible thing she could do. She opens her mouth and takes me in, deep, and I'm suddenly thrusting my hips upward, and she keeps working the base of my cock with her hand.
I accidentally hit the back of her throat, but she doesn't gag, and I think I'm in heaven. Her mouth is warm, her tongue sliding along my length, gently sucking me in, bobbing her head, cheeks hollowing out. In and out, I thrust up, and she grabs my hips with her hands, encouraging me.
"Ah, fuck, I'm coming!" I rasp, and a second later I explode into her mouth. I see stars, and I'm grunting like a fucking animal. I don't know how much time passes, but Emma sucks my cock dry. She wrings out every drop of cum inside of me, and when my dick feels too sensitive and I'm shaking, she releases me with a pop of her lips.
She sits back, a little below my knees but still straddling me. And, for the second time tonight, she does something so unexpected that I realize I don't know this girl at all.
Eyes glued to mine, she swallows slowly. I've never tasted cum myself, but I hear it's not pleasant. But Emma fucking savored it.
It feels like she's testing me, gauging my reaction. I can barely move, after having the best orgasm of my entire fucking life inside the mouth of a woman I'm in love with. I reach forward, wrap my arms around her, and drag her down, so she's lying on top of me.
I hug her tightly, and she allows her weight to collapse on top of me. We're quiet for a few minutes, but I need to say something. "That was… I don't know what that was…"
She relaxes against me, sliding her hands over my shoulders, exploring the planes of my chest. I'm finally regaining feeling in my lower half, ready to return the favor. Opening my palm, I slide it down her low back, feeling the soft skin underneath her shirt, gliding my hands over her ass, squeezing her gently. She rocks into me, but with less intensity than before.
I look down, her vulnerability is plain as day, shining in her big brown eyes. I want to tell her I love her. I felt it before, but right now, it's so fucking real and deep. I love Emma, and I would do anything for her. I need to tell her the truth soon. The longer I go, the worse it'll be.
I reach down to kiss her, waiting for her to meet me halfway. I'm relieved when she does, but the kiss, her lips pressing into mine, is sweet, less rushed.
We kiss and explore with less desperation, getting to know each other more slowly. I'm getting hard again, and she starts to grind her pelvis into me. I wrap my hands around her ass cheeks and encourage her to find a rhythm that feels good. When she starts to moan, I grip her ass and shift us, so she's lying on the blanket underneath me.
I'm about to kiss my way down her body when she stops me and presses her hand against my chest, pushing me away. I'm breathing heavily, floored that I managed to get hard again so quickly.
"What's wrong?" I ask, lifting up enough not to crowd her. She seems a little sad, and my concern skyrockets. Does she regret what we just did?
"Nothi—" She pauses, pressing her lips together. I wait, impatiently. When she doesn't continue, I push up to a seat and pull her up to join me.
A half-smirk forms, and she continues, "I was going to say nothing, but I don't want to lie to you. You've probably guessed I can be pretty shy. Or maybe not after what I just did,” she laughs at herself. “To be honest, I don't have a lot of experience in the, you know, physical department. I'm not a virgin or anything, but I could probably calculate the number of times I've had sex."
She doesn't say anything for a couple of minutes, and I wonder if she's chickening out. "Emma, you can tell me anything. I swear. I want to know everything there is to know about you. It might seem kind of sudden to you, but I'm… I'm very fucking into you. Tell me whatever you want, and I'll listen."
I take her hand and rub her wrist with my thumb, encouraging her to continue. She looks at me hesitantly. The only sounds around us are the ocean waves, the wind pushing through the brush. I watch as determination crosses her face, and she doesn't break eye contact.
"Umm, okay, here goes. I like sex. A lot, even though I rarely have it. I have a lot of, umm, fantasies… It's embarrassing, but I don't really date because I'm always afraid if I meet a guy and get to know him, and try to, you know, experiment with him, that I'll freak him out and scare him away. It's happened before, actually." She leans back a bit, chewing on her thumb nervously.
"The only reason I'm telling you this is because I really like you. You've been kind of the star in a lot of my sexual fantasies lately, and I want to be honest and tell you upfront so you can run away now rather than later when I'm really attached. Just rip off the band-aid and tell me I'm too much. So, that's all. I'm a freak."
I open my mouth to respond, but close it again. I'm a little confused as to why this scares her or why the fuck she thinks it makes her a freak, but I don't want to downplay her feelings. She's got sexual fantasies? Doesn't everybody?
"Emma, I'm not sure what you thought my response would be, or what kind of useless, dickless idiot ran away from your confession in the past, but I need you to know I'm not going anywhere. You've fantasized about me?" I ask.
She bites her lip and nods rapidly, making me chuckle.
"Wait, if you don't have a lot of experience… not to sound like an asshole but how the fuck do you give such good head?"
She presses her lips together and giggles, slapping her hand across her forehead. "Promise you won't tease me if I tell you?"
"I don't know, can teasing involve spanking? Tell me."
"I used to watch a lot of porn. I don't anymore, I don't really like it. The stories are always so stupid and it always kind of grossed me out. Buuut, I did watch a few specifically to try to learn how to get good at, you know…" She clears her throat, her voice more of a whisper, "sucking… you know…"
"You're pretty fucking phenomenal at it, I think you should be able to say the words," I tease. She's such a dichotomy, it's crazy.
"God, you're right. Sucking cock. Blow jobs. There, I said it. Blow jobs. Anyway, there are a lot of techniques I want to try, but I've never had someone to… you know, practice with? So, I use toys." She sighs, like she's disappointed.
It's my turn to feel out of place because I'm not sure if I'm the one being pranked now. Her confessions are insanely hot, and I keep accidentally squeezing her wrist or her shoulder to keep from shoving her back down and devouring her. I take my hands back and, for the second time in twenty minutes, shift uncomfortably in my jeans.
There's a slight tic in her eyebrow. I don't know if she's worried that I'm going to somehow bail on her after this bizarre conversation, but I'm about to reassure her when she says, "Look, I don't know if you're thinking this might be a dream come true for you 'cause you get to do all sorts of whacked out shit to me, but that's not what I'm saying, and it's not what I'm inviting."
"That's not at all what I thought—" but she interrupts me, determined.
"And," this time she sits back a bit, putting a little more distance between us, "just because I have these fantasies doesn't mean I'm ready to act on them. I haven't had sex in three years. I want to try things, but I have to go slow. I'm as terrified as I am excited about it. I might try something and absolutely hate it. I'm looking for a partner who's willing to be patient with me. So, do you want that?"
She swallows and her eyes are getting watery again. She's embarrassed, but she's brave, because she continues, "I know this is a lot to just throw at you when we barely know each other. I just don't want to get hurt and I already know you could hurt me, big time. So, I won't be offended if you need some space from me, or if I freak you out or whatever, okay? I promise." She drags her finger across her chest in an X shape. "Cross my heart. Just tell me you're not interested and we'll end it now."
I inch closer to her, slowly, still giving her the option for space. "First of all, yeah, I fucking want that. I'm not going anywhere. We'll go as slow as you need. We can use a safe word if you want. And if, or when you're ready to try something new, we can talk about it, or whatever you need."
I want to say a fuck of a lot more to her, but honestly, I'm gonna need more than a minute to process everything. "I don't think you're a freak, I think you're… extraordinary. Like, a massively fucking cool chick, and I can safely say I'm way more into you than you realize. So, don't be afraid to tell me things, especially if we do something you don't like. For now, we'll take it one day at a time. Is that cool?"
It's fully dark out now but there's no mistaking the shine in her eyes. She lets the tear form and drop across her face and I slide my thumb over it to clear it away. I lean in and kiss her cheek, then her sweet mouth.
"And for the record, I've had a lot of sexual fantasies about you too," I tell her and she laughs.
We kiss again, but without taking it further. Eventually we drag ourselves up from our alcove and pack the blanket away and I reluctantly drive her home.
This was the strangest, most surreal date I've ever been on. I know one thing for sure. Emma Baker is mine.