“I’m going to touch you more intimately now, are you okay with that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to make you come with my fingers.” His voice is rough. “Look at me while I pleasure you.”
I open my eyes and meet his gaze right as his hand restarts its journey downward.
“I’m going to tease you until you’re mad with lust, and then I’m going to dip my fingers deep inside you. Make you want me inside you so bad you don’t think you’ll be able to breathe without it.”
“Yes, please. Now.”
My hips lift off the bed when he circles that needy part of me, but I keep my eyes on his.
“Mmm, someone liked that,” he says, doing it again.
Pretty soon, we start a rhythm. He teases my clit, and I jerk my hips, trying to get him inside me. I feel something building, and his gaze locks onto mine as he slowly sinks two fingers deep within me.
“Feel my fingers?” he asks. “My cock is bigger, and it’s so goddamn hard.”
Dirty talk has never really done anything for me before. It’s always come across as crass . Men talking to get themselves more aroused. But when Harris speaks, looking me straight in the eyes, I feel his words. More than that, I want to feel him.
Then his thumb stars rubbing my clit while he thrust his fingers in and out, and all coherent thought leaves my head.
“Oh, God, Harris.” My eyes close as an unfamiliar feeling builds.
“Open your eyes, Athena.” His voice is thick with emotion. “I want to see your eyes when I make you come. I want you to see what your pleasure does to me.”
I want to tell him he’s talking crazy. How could my pleasure do anything to him? But I open my eyes, and I see I’m wrong. His expression is one of need and desire, surely, but I can tell it’s more than what he’s doing that makes him that way. It’s watching me. My pleasure, my reactions are turning him on.
The building tide of my release is growing closer, and his fingers are good, but I want more. “Need you,” I say.
“You have to come first,” he says. “Trust me. It’s killing me as much as it is you to wait. But you’re going to come before I even think of getting inside you.” He sinks his fingers in deeper. “You’re so hot around my fingers. I can’t wait to feel that heat around my dick. I’ll probably go fucking insane.”
He moves his fingers slightly, and it’s so close. I feel it building and growing, and I’m desperate to reach it. His whispers encourage me, and my eyes nearly roll back into my head when the most incredible tempest of pleasure overtakes my body.
Something inside me shatters, and I’m not sure I’m even breathing as wave after wave crashes within my body. I’m muttering nonsense, and as my world tilts back to normal, Harris is kissing my cheek.
“I’ve never seen anything more perfect,” he whispers.
“Oh my God.” My body is still weak from this first orgasm, and I suddenly feel shy, which is the most absurd thing ever. I snort out a sob and a giggle at the same time.
He strokes my hair and captures my gaze. “Okay?”
“So much more than okay. I didn’t know it could be like that.”
Shock flickers across his expression, but I don’t want to talk it about. I feel him hard and heavy against my thigh, and I want that feeling again, with him inside me this time. I reach down and stroke him.
“Now, Caden.”
He waits only long enough to roll on a condom, and then he’s between my legs and guiding himself to where I’m wet and needy. I bend my knees, giving him better access. My eyes close when I feel him brush his tip against me.
“Keep them open,” he says. “I need your eyes on me.”
Watching him as he enters me makes me feel more exposed than anything I’ve ever done, but I see the vulnerability in his expression, too, and I realize there are two of us. And we’re together, and it’s the most obvious thing, but I’ve never viewed sex as an act you do together. It’s always been something done to me.
There’s an ache of pure joy deep inside my soul when he’s fully inside me, and he sees it and lowers his head so our foreheads touch.
“Athena,” he whispers.
“You make me happy,” I say, and I know it sounds silly, but they’re the truest words I’ve ever spoken.
He raises himself so he’s propped above me on one arm, and suddenly there aren’t any words that fit the moment. He takes my hand with his free one and entwines our fingers. And he starts to move.
Oh.
My.
God.
It’d been incredible with his fingers, but now, like this....
Somehow, without even knowing, I’d locked a part of me away ten years ago. With his patience and honesty and gentleness, Harris had just taken the key and set it free.
Free. I squeeze his fingers and wrap my legs around his waist, anchoring myself to him as if the truth twists back into place and became crystal clear for the first time in ten years.
“Hold me,” I whisper, fearing I’ll take flight if he doesn’t keep me grounded.
The wave is coming back, and it’s even bigger, but that’s okay because he’s with me this time, and he’s not leaving. His back arches above me. He’s moving, and I’m moving with him, and it’s the most natural and normal thing to do.
I grab hold of his waist with my free hand, loving the feel of his strength bringing me this pleasure. His hips speed up.
“With me this time,” he pants. He takes our joined hands and slips them between us, teasing my clit. The simple movement makes the wave grow more, and my body tenses in anticipation. “Close?” he asks.
“Almost,” I say, needing more but not wanting it to end.
His movements become slower, but more focused. Each stroke brings me nearer and nearer until I can’t hold it back and I’m caught in that storm for the second time. He groans, and with one last deep thrust, his body shudders into mine.
***
My previous post-sex experience has left me unprepared for being in Harris’s arms. I’m used to cleaning up and getting out of bed and, more often than not, facing the anger or shame of the person I’ve just been with. Then, when I was finally alone, facing my own anger and shame.
There is none of that with Harris. He excuses himself to dispose of the condom, but when I try to crawl out of bed, he pulls me back under the covers and slips his arms around me.
“You aren’t leaving yet,” he grumbles.
“I thought this would be the awkward part.”
“There is no awkward between us,” he says, and kisses my forehead. He takes my hand and kisses it.
“That was....” I shake my head, unable to find the words.
“I feel the same way,” he assures me.
“I didn’t know it would feel so good.” I look up to see if he thinks I’m being silly, but he simply nods.
“It should always feel good,” he says. “If I ever don't make you feel good, I’m doing it wrong.”
“I’ve always had to fake before.”
He lifts my chin with this finger. “No faking with me ever. If you’re not into it ,or if it doesn’t feel good, let me know.”
“Does that mean we’re going to do it again?”
He chuckles. “Eventually, but not right this second. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Which is fine with me. I could stay here in his arms forever. We’re silent for a few minutes, but then my hands get itchy to touch him, and I stroke his back and his chest. I trace one of his scars.
“Do they bother you?” he asks.
“No, not yours. Something of mine bothers me. I wish I could get rid of it,” I say.
“You have a scar?”
I lift up on my knees and turn so my back is to him. “He marked me.”
I don’t have to tell him who He is. It’s a black “M” right above my hip bone. I’m surprised he didn’t see it that day when we performed for Mike on the webcam. But he was probably focused on other things
at that time.
He runs a finger over it. “Bastard. I could kill him for that alone. Marking your skin.”
“I’m lucky I was one of the older girls. He branded the new ones.”
He nods. He would know, of course, working as closely as he did with him.
I look over my shoulder, trying not to be self-conscious that he’s basically looking at my ass. His head tilts a bit, and he traces the M again.
“You know, the upper part of the M is rounded,” he says.
“So?”
“I’m thinking, instead of getting it removed, why don't you have it made into something else? I think it could easily be turned into a butterfly.”
I don’t look at my ass a lot, but I remember the tattoo. I know exactly what it looks like. “A butterfly? I like that.”
“And symbolic. Of you breaking away. Becoming something new. Being revived.”
I turn around and pull him up so he’s on his knees, too. “I had no idea you had a poet’s soul, Caden Harris.”
He laughs, but then I kiss him, and we fall back to the bed. And together, we both become something new.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
I’ve almost decided it’s ridiculous for me to have my own apartment. I spend all my free time at Harris’s house. He insists, though, that it’s important for me to have my own space and part of me sees his point, so I humor him.
Tonight is a big night. He’s invited his boss and his wife over for dinner. It’s the first time we’ll entertain as a couple, our first double date. And I can’t hide that I’m just a little nervous.
We talked about it last night as we sat in his backyard. I told him there was no need to bring his boss over. He adamantly stated he wasn’t going to hide me, that I was part of his life and he wanted me to meet the other people in his life.
I didn’t have a comeback for that.
I rush to his house after work. My clothes are already over there, and I want to take a quick shower before I start dinner. I’m humming as I turn onto his street. It’s a habit I picked up from him, and it makes me happy.
My hum dies on my lips when I pull into his driveway. He’s already home, and he shouldn't be for another hour. I try to tell myself it’s nothing, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s happened.
My suspicion is confirmed when I step inside. He’s sitting on the couch, a worried look on his face, and though he tries to smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Come sit down with me.”
“Oh, God. It’s Vicki, isn’t it?”
“Athena, come sit down.”
I knew it. I knew she’d wind up dead. And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in myself that last day, she might be alive. I’m fighting back tears as I take a seat beside him, and he puts his arms around me. But the words he says aren’t the ones I was expecting.
“Mike’s surfaced,” he says.
“Is he dead?”
“We should be so lucky.”
“Where’s he at?”
“Scotland.”
The air rushes out of my lungs. Scotland. Interesting. When I thought of him, I still pictured him in Vegas. And if not here, at least still in the United States. I’m delighted he’s out of the country, but there’s something else Harris isn't telling me.
“What’s the rest of it?” I ask.
“We picked up his trail because our international counterparts noted him using his passport.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Was he trying to leave the country?”
He’s hesitating, but finally says, “No. He got married.”
“Married? To who? Satan?”
His smile is small. “No. Vicki.”
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