Everything I Left Unsaid(75)

I leaned away from his neck, looked him in the eye.

“Lift yourself up,” he said.

And I did, wobbling a little against his chest.

With his free hand he reached behind me and then slowly began pushing me down onto him and I felt him…there at my *. Too hard. Too big.

I cried out. Moaned. Suddenly scared. Suddenly worried. I tried to climb off of him.

“Does it hurt?”

“Too…it’s too much.”

“Go slow. Take me slow.”

I shook my head.

“Annie, baby, look at me,” he said. And when our eyes met the fear was gone. The worry evaporated. It was just us. And he cared.

“Do you want to stop?”

I shook my head, words beyond me.

The hand on my shoulder did not hold me or force me. It was just…there. Letting me set the pace. Which was slow, my body accepting his inch by inch. And what had seemed foreign was just…right.

“It’s never felt like this before,” I whispered.

Sweat poured off of me. Pooled between us. We were slick and we were heaving. And his patience and my trust made this something totally new.

Finally, I was seated hard against him. Our hips so tight it nearly hurt, and I was gasping with every breath.

“Now what?”

He smiled. “Hold on,” he whispered. My head was too heavy to hold up, my body too cumbersome to control, so I put my head down on his neck and let him do it. Let him move me. He grabbed onto my hips, pushing and pulling me against him in a slow, hard grind.

I could feel him inside of me, brushing up against nerve endings I didn’t know existed, creating a kind of burn I’d never dreamed of. But when he pulled me toward him, he pushed up against my clit, creating the pressure I loved, and the combination of the two things with the heat of him, the strength of him all around me…very soon, it wasn’t enough anymore.

I shifted harder against him and I could feel his breath catch, felt it in my chest cavity. And suddenly it was game over.

He tilted us sideways and laid me out on that couch, my legs spread wide around his hips, my hands on his shoulders.

“You okay?” he breathed through clenched teeth.

“Good. So good.”

He pulled out, almost all the way, and then pushed back into me. Again. Harder.

“Still good?” he asked.

All I could do was nod and clutch at his back, his body, try to hold on as the seas rose around us.

He growled, swearing under his breath, and then grabbed onto the arm of the couch, using it for leverage as he began to pound into me.

“Touch yourself,” he told me.

“No,” I said, because what was happening was new. What was happening was different. “I’m going to come. Just like this. Keep. Just…. ”

I didn’t have to tell him twice. He pounded into me three more times, each time so deep, impossibly deep, and then I was coming, unraveling beneath him. My nails digging into his back.

“Oh…f*ck. Annie,” he cried, and then he buried himself inside of me and came.

I held onto him, stroking his hair, his back, the scars on his neck, and wondered what happened after something like this?

How was I supposed to still be Annie McKay after this?





I woke up slowly, rolling slightly, only to find my back stuck to whatever I was lying against. My skin peeled as I sat up. Leather. I’d fallen asleep on the leather couch.

There was a soft blue blanket over my very naked body.

My very naked, very…sore body. I felt stretched wide between my legs. The muscles in my back, in my thighs—they felt like they were made out of water.

I felt like I was made out of water.

I pressed my fingers against my lips as if I could hold back the giggle. I wanted to giggle. A giggle was going to happen.

I laid my head back against the cushions and like the seventeen-year-old girl I’d never been—I giggled.

Ho. Ly. Shit. That…had been amazing. Dylan had been amazing.

What I’d had with Hoyt followed—to the letter—what my very uncomfortable high school health teacher had told us about sex. Or procreation. There had been the hardening and the insertion and the ejaculation.

It had been cold and clinical and painful.

What had happened with Dylan? I didn’t even have words for it. But if I’d had a wish list for what sex could be like, Dylan just crossed everything off the list.

I fell sideways back onto the couch, my hands between my legs, where I was warm and sore. Who knew…honest to God…who knew my body was designed to feel so much?

What a f*cking miracle that was.

When I turned sixteen, our church got a new pastor. The first time he spoke from the pulpit, Mom and I went to church in the best of our Sunday best. We sat in our pew, right side, third from the back, and waited with bated breath to hear the new guy.

I remember exactly his sermon. Exactly. Tolerance. That faith was not just faith in God, or faith in people who looked like you or were attracted to the opposite sex. Faith was faith in humanity. God loved all of us. And we should do the same.

It had been a revelation to me.

Not so much for Mom. We didn’t go back until that pastor left.

It was weird, my body sore from sex, my mind blown from the power of what I could feel, but at that moment, more than any in the past few years…I missed church.