Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Marley
“How did you lose your virginity?” Kelechi’s voice broke through my thoughts. Now, if there was anything I expected to hear after a night filled with intense lovemaking, this wasn’t it.
“Why do you ask?” I asked, watching her carefully.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I just… want to know everything you’re willing to share about yourself with me.”
We were lying in bed with just the bedcovers barely covering our asses, both facing each other. She was lying on her side facing me, while I was lying on my stomach close enough to feel her warm breath against my chest.
I reached out and traced her lips with my thumb, slow and absent-minded, following their shape before pulling my hand back.
“I did it myself,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up immediately as the words left my mouth. “What do you mean?”
I shifted slightly, propping my head on my arm.
“I was sixteen, and I’d never been interested in boys.
Like, never. While all my friends were giggling and obsessing over crushes and first kisses, I was…
completely indifferent. I knew I liked girls, had known for years, but I also knew I wanted to understand my own body before I was intimate with anyone else. ”
She was listening intently, her eyes never leaving my face.
“So one afternoon, when my parents were out, I used the handle of my hair comb,” I said matter-of-factly. “It was just… practical. I wanted to know what it felt like, wanted to be in control of that experience.”
“Did it hurt?” she asked softly.
“A little, but not as much as I expected. Mostly it was just awkward.” I smiled at the memory. “Very German of me, really. We approach everything with the detachment of a science experiment.”
That made her laugh. “That’s so you.”
“I’ve never been with a man,” I continued, wanting her to understand completely. “Never wanted to be. The whole idea just… doesn’t appeal to me at all. I figured that out pretty early.”
“How early?”
“Eight, maybe nine? I remember having this massive crush on my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Weber. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” I grinned. “I used to bring her flowers from my mum’s garden every day until my parents figured out why.”
“You were down bad at nine?”
“Hopeless,” I admitted. “My parents figured it out before I even did.”
Her eyes lit up. “How did they react when you came out?”
I chuckled, remembering that day clearly. “They were ridiculously cool with it. I’d been agonising over how to tell them for months. I finally worked up the courage one evening after dinner, and I gave this whole prepared speech about how I was attracted to women and I hoped they could accept me.”
“And?”
“My mum just looked at my dad, and my dad looked at my mum, and then they both burst out laughing. Not mean laughing, just… amused laughing. Then they both hugged me, and my dad said, ‘We already knew, sweetheart. You’ve been obvious about it since you were six and refused to wear that frilly pink dress to your cousin’s wedding because you said it made you look like a cupcake. ’ Apparently, that was the first clue.”
Kelechi burst out laughing, covering her mouth to stifle the sound. “They said that?”
“Word for word.” I grinned. “My mum said she’d been waiting for me to figure it out and tell them officially.”
“You’re so lucky to have parents like that,” Kelechi said, but something shifted in her expression as she said it. A shadow crossed her face, and her smile became strained.
I noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, but I could see the way her shoulders tensed.
“K.” I brushed my fingers over her cheek. “What just happened? You looked sad all of a sudden.”
“It’s nothing, really. I just…” She sighed, not meeting my eyes. “I was just thinking about how different our experiences have been, that’s all.”
I could tell there was more to it, but I didn’t want to push. Instead, I shifted the conversation gently. “Tell me about something else then. What’s your favourite memory from when you were little?”
She seemed grateful for the subject change. “Mmmm... uhmm... There was this mango tree in our backyard. I used to climb it every afternoon after school and sit in the branches reading. My mother would call for me to come help with dinner, and I’d pretend I couldn’t hear her.”
“Awww… you were a rebel,” I teased, and was relieved to see her smile return.
“I was terrible. I’d stay up there until it got dark, and then I’d sneak down and act as if I’d been inside studying the whole time.”
“Did she ever catch you?”
“Oh, she knew. Mothers always know. But she let me have my hiding spot.” Kelechi’s expression grew fond. “She’d leave a plate of food on the kitchen counter and pretend to be surprised when it disappeared.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, and I meant it. I loved hearing about her childhood, loved the way her face lit up when she talked about the good memories.
“What about you? Any secret hideouts?”
“The garage,” I said immediately. “My dad had this old motorcycle he was always tinkering with, and I’d sit on the floor and hand him tools. He taught me how engines worked, how to change oil, all that stuff.”
“Is that where you learned to be so good with your hands?” she asked, then blushed furiously at the implication.
I grinned wickedly. “Among other things.”
She buried her face in the pillow, groaning with embarrassment, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable she was.
But as her laughter died down and we settled back into comfortable silence, something nagged at me.
The realisation of how much I’d just shared hit me like a cold wave.
I never talked about my parents’ reaction to coming out.
Hell, I never talked about coming out at all with the women I’d been with before.
It was always just understood, a given, not something worth discussing.
And the virginity thing? I’d never told anyone that story. Not even Atlas or any of my closest friends knew about the hair comb incident. Yet here I was, spilling my guts to Kelechi like it was the most natural thing in the world.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I’d always been the one who kept things surface-level.
Physical attraction, good chemistry, maybe some fun conversations, but never this deep sharing of personal history.
I’d learned early that opening up too much scared people off, made them think I was too intense, too much.
Especially the feminine women I usually dated, who seemed to want the fantasy of the confident butch without the messy reality of actual emotions.
But with Kelechi, it felt different. She asked questions like she genuinely wanted to know the answers, not like she was just making conversation. She listened with this focused attention that made me feel heard in a way I wasn’t used to.
Still, the vulnerability made my skin crawl a little. This wasn’t me. I didn’t do heart-to-heart conversations in bed. I didn’t share childhood stories and family dynamics. I kept things light, kept people at arm’s length where they couldn’t hurt me or decide I was too complicated for them.
Yet looking at her now, her hair spread across my pillow, her eyes soft and trusting, I found I didn’t want to take any of it back. For the first time in my life, I’d found someone who made opening up feel safe instead of stupid.
“I’ve been wanting to say something, ugh,” she said, balling herself up more and covering her face with her hands like she was cringing hard.
“Go ahead, you’re making me curious now,” I replied, gently pulling her hands away from her face so I could see her properly.
She looked embarrassed, her cheeks flushed that deep red I’d come to adore. “It’s just… when we’re together, intimate, I mean… you’re always the one giving. Taking care of me. Making sure I feel good.”
I felt my brow furrow slightly. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, princess. I love watching you—”
“But that’s just it,” she interrupted softly. “I want to make you feel good too. I want to learn how to touch you the way you touch me.” She bit her lip, looking vulnerable and determined all at once. “I want to give you pleasure too, Marley. I just… I don’t know how.”
Something warm unfurled low in my chest at her words, because this was new.
The women I’d been with before had rarely expressed that kind of curiosity about my needs; they were content to let me take the lead and focus on them.
But this woman in front of me was worried about reciprocity, wanting to learn how to please me.
“You don’t have to—” I started.
“But I want to,” she said firmly, and there was a strength in her voice that surprised me. “I want to know what makes you feel good. I want to hear you make those sounds you make me make.” Her blush deepened. “Will you teach me?”
Christ.
I stared at her, feeling something shift in my chest. This beautiful, innocent woman who blushed at her own boldness was asking to learn my body, wanting to give rather than just receive.
“Are you sure?” I asked softly.
“I’m sure.” She met my eyes without flinching. “I care about you, Marley. I want this to be about both of us.”
The simplicity of her words hit me harder than any grand declaration could have. I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I suppose I’ll be tutoring you on two subjects now,” I murmured against her warm skin, tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder. “I can teach you whatever you want to know.”
Her laugh rumbled through her chest. “Danke schon,” she said with exaggerated pronunciation.
I lifted my head, eyebrows raised. “Oh? And who’s been teaching you German?”
“Duolingo,” she admitted sheepishly, then burst into giggles. “That little green owl has been terrorising me for weeks. I thought I’d impress you with my language skills.”
“Well,” I teased, slipping into my natural accent, crisp and sharp, “your pronunciation needs work. But your… other skills...” I let the sentence hang, grinning wickedly.
She playfully swatted my arm. “Marley! You are such a naughty woman.”
“I’m only naughty for you,” I said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone.
“Mmmm, I see,” she whispered, but her voice wavered slightly, and I caught the way her fingers trembled as they found mine. Even after last night, she still blushed at her own boldness.
The playful atmosphere softened into something tender.
I leaned down slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, but instead she met me halfway.
Our lips touched gently, and I could still feel her inexperience in the careful way she kissed, like she was still learning this new language of intimacy.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her mouth, meaning it completely. Snow was falling steadily outside the window now, creating a hushed, private world just for us.
We spent the rest of the day wrapped in warmth while winter painted the windows white.
I was gentle with her, patient in a way I’d never been with anyone else.
Every touch I gave her was careful and reverent.
She would hide her face in my shoulder sometimes, overwhelmed by her own reactions, and I’d wait until she was ready to look at me again, those dark eyes wide with wonder.
The snow kept falling as the afternoon melted into evening, muffling the world outside until it felt like we were the only two people left in existence.
This is what my parents meant, I realised as she dozed against me.
When they said love should feel safe. Growing up watching their gentle devotion, I’d always wondered if I’d recognise that same tenderness when I found it.
Now, stroking Kelechi’s hair as snowflakes drifted past the window, I understood.
It wasn’t just desire or sex, it was wanting to protect this shy, brilliant girl who trusted me with her firsts, who made me want to be worthy of that trust.
And that scared me more than anything, because wanting someone this much meant they had the power to break you. And for the first time in my life—
I wasn’t sure I wanted to run.