Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
BECK
What. The hell. Am I doing?
I know virginity is just a social construct, but I’m not taking Hattie’s social construct in a sweet potato shed.
No goddamn way.
Even if I’ve never been so turned on in my whole life.
“H-Hattie, honey, we can’t—” I shake my head, hoping the action will help reverse the flow of blood back to my brain. “We can’t do it like this.”
Those wide hazel eyes blink up at me. Her cheeks are flushed and a matching blush dapples her luscious breasts.
Jesus God, she’s so beautiful, it hurts.
“You mean standing?” Her pretty brows pinch like I’ve given her a riddle. “I can’t speak from experience, but I’ve seen porn with couples doing it standing. I’m willing to tr—”
“Hattie—” The air in my lungs escapes in a rush. It’s almost too much. Pressed against Hattie. Her legs wrapped around me. Her gorgeous tits in my face. Her lips, full and bruised from my kisses. Adding the image of her watching porn—of her touching herself while she watches—
Jesus Christ, I could come in my jeans.
But I suck in a sharp inhale instead and ease Hattie down until her legs release me and her feet touch the ground. She looks up at me with a mix of disappointment, confusion, and, worst of all, hurt.
“Wh-what did I do? What did I do wrong?” She yanks down her top and presses away from me—what little the wall behind her allows.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Nothing—” I reach for her face with both hands, but she lifts an irritated shoulder to brush me away. Releasing her immediately, I edge back. Not a lot but enough to put a little space between us.
“Hattie, I swear, you did nothing wrong. I just didn’t realize—” And then I shake my head again because why the hell didn’t I realize she’s a virgin?
Of course she’s a virgin.
I knew she didn’t have much dating experience. Of course that would mean she didn’t have sexual experience either, right?
Literally everyone who has seen me with Hattie—including my own father not twenty minutes ago—has been concerned for her. Afraid of something exactly like this. That some asshole would take advantage of her.
Hurt her.
I’m a goddamn idiot.
“I can’t let your first time be in a shed.”
“What?” Hattie cocks her head like she has misheard me. “You can’t let? Don’t you think that’s up to me? I’m pretty sure I get to decide where I do it.”
I gesture at the wooden crates, the fluorescent lighting, the ever-present layer of dirt on the floor. “B-but you deserve better than this your first time.”
Her brows pinch, and she looks at the wooden crates, the fluorescent lighting, and the ever-present layer of dirt before belting me with her glare.
“But if this were my second or seventy-fifth time, I wouldn’t deserve better?”
“That’s not—you—I mean—” I drag my hands through my hair and suck a deep inhale through my nose. “Wait. Gimme a chance to process here.”
The accusation in her eyes softens slowly. Then she nods. “I like that.” She presses her lips together, looking thoughtful. “I should do that more—ask for time to process.”
I take a second to breathe and feel my pulse slow while I get ahold of my body. We aren’t doing this now and we aren’t doing this here, but Hattie has a point.
“Look—” I lower my hands from my head and open them out to her, silently inviting her to place her hands—and her trust—in mine. When she doesn’t move, I silently beg. We need to touch. Hattie studies my hands for just a moment longer before she gives me hers.
When I’ve threaded my fingers through hers and we are gripping each other tight, she lifts her gaze to mine and her slow smile blooms.
And this? Standing in front of her with our hands locked like this? Her smiling up at me? God, it makes me feel rooted like never before. Like I’m a longleaf pine with a tap root that is anchored in the planet’s core.
“I want you like you wouldn’t believe.” Even this is an understatement, and I’m glad when the soft smile of hers lifts even higher. “But you’re right. This isn’t just about your first time. It’s about our first time.”
When she triple blinks, I think she gets me. That this makes sense for us both. That it means something.
“And I should’ve thought that through before we got carried away…
We’re new.” When I say this, she squeezes my hands, her eyes widening with what I think is excitement, and I squeeze back.
“That doesn’t mean there won’t come a time when I’ll let myself get carried away with you in this shed.
Or out in that field under the stars in the back of my truck. ”
Her lips part on a soft gasp as her eyes widen even more.
Note to self: Buy an air mattress and electric blanket with adaptive power cords for the truck.
“But I want our first time to be—” I stop myself before I say special because that’s not what I mean.
Hattie’s eyes narrow. “Don’t say special,” she warns.
“I wasn’t going to say s—”
“Because I have some salty associations with the word special.”
“Heard.” I stroke the side of her thumb with mine. “What I meant is that I want our first time to be good. Comfortable. Clean.” I give an innocent shrug. “Mattress-supported.”
This earns me a giggle.
“I don’t want to rush…” I bring one pair of our joined hands toward her cheek, and when she shows no sign of resisting, I let our knuckles caress her. Her eyes flutter closed. “I want it to last for hours.”
Slowly, giving her time to protest, I drag our joined hands up the wall behind her and press my hips into her.
Hattie whimpers in the sexiest fucking way.
And I can’t resist the pout of her lips. I lean down and taste them.
“Mmmm…” I moan. “I love the way you taste.”
She whimpers and squirms just a little beneath me.
“Beck.” She turns my name into a plea.
I fucking love it.
“What, honey?” I brush my lips against hers. Once. Twice.
She sighs, and there’s a hitch in it that snaps me to attention.
I draw back and look down at her. A smile wobbles on her lips, and her eyes shine with unshed tears.
I keep my voice calm. Soft. “What is it? What are you feeling?”
Hattie’s wobbly smile grows, and one tear slips free. I lean in, catch it with the tip of my tongue, and she laughs the softest laugh.
“I love that you asked what I’m feeling, not what’s wrong. I love that,” she says wetly. “Because nothing’s really wrong… Not really.”
I raise a brow. “Not really?”
She gives a little shrug. “Just a lot of feelings. It’s like my body is one of those crash carts on Gray’s Anatomy.
And the doctor just shouted ‘clear!’ but instead of zapping the patient, he just revved up the paddles again.
” She sniffles and gives me a watery grin. “I’m an overcharged crash cart.”
This woman. No one else is like her.
The more she shows me, the more I want to see.
“Tell me more about that.”
She blinks in surprise. “The overcharged crash cart of my emotions?”
I nod before releasing her hands and wrapping my arms around her. She tucks in her arms and leans against my chest.
This time when she sighs, it sounds different. Less empty. More full.
She clears her throat. “Well… All of this—” She wriggles in my arms, rubbing our bodies together and sending sparks to every nerve ending. “This—physical—a-arousing touch… It’s new. And good… Really, really good.”
I hum my agreement, another ridiculous understatement. But in the short time I’ve known her, I’ve learned that Hattie doesn’t generally hold back, so if she’s holding something back now, it must be a big deal.
“But?” I nudge.
Her shoulders tense. She inhales deep before her words come out in a rush.
“I didn’t know that things would feel a lot more intense when I was with someone I really liked.
That enjoying being with you and feeling safe and free to be myself would be a total fucking turn-on.
Like—that’s never happened before.” She hardly pauses for breath.
“I mean—I already knew that you asking for consent to kiss me was a total fucking turn-on, so I should’ve had a clue, but, man, I was about ten seconds away from coming when you gave me that condom—” Her arms gesture between us like she’s turning a crank, her voice wobbling again.
“And that current of sexual energy and all of these liking-you feelings have to go somewhere, so if I c-can’t come, I’m gonna have to—to cry right n-n—”
“H-hold on, sweetheart. Hold on,” I stammer, gripping her upper arms and willing my body to calm the hell down while my brain wraps itself around what she’s telling me.
Which is the following:
Hattie, this beautiful, singular, wonder of a woman who feels so deeply, feels safe and free around me.
She likes me—maybe more than she’s ever liked any other guy.
She was on the verge of orgasm just seconds ago.
I need to make her come right the hell now.
“You want to come, honey?” I hardly recognize the raw hunger in my voice.
I feel the shiver that runs through her, and she drops her forehead to my chest. “Yeah,” she says wetly. “But I understand why we can’t do it. Here. Now.”
I can’t help the chuckle that pours out of me like melted butter.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t make you come, darlin’.”
I feel the moment her whole body softens. “Beck—” Her hands clutch my shirt, and before she can sink to the concrete floor, I sweep her into a cradle hold.
“What—”
“I want you in my lap.”
Truly, I want her in my bed, but since that isn’t happening right now, I’ll have her in my lap so she can fall apart on top of me.
Sweet potato crates may not make good furniture, but they’re strong. More than strong enough to take our weight. And even though I feel splinters through my jeans when I slide us atop one of the crates against the wall, all that matters is Hattie’s body on mine.
I lean back against the wall and stretch out my legs, spreading them just enough for Hattie’s delicious ass to nestle between them.
“Lean back,” I coax, and she shifts in my arms, pressing her back to my chest, allowing my body to serve as her throne.