Calmly, Carefully, Completely(108)

I’m not afraid of him or what he does to me, and I never have been. I grip the sheets in my hands and squeeze tightly as he crooks a finger inside me and reaches a spot I didn’t know existed. I cry out, and he gently and rhythmically sucks my clit in time with the movement of his fingers until I spiral out of control. I come so hard I can barely breathe, and he drinks in the power of it. I push his head back when I grow too sensitive, and he unlatches from my clit and licks across it. I tremble with aftershocks.

Pete wipes his face on my inner thigh and then crawls up my body. He reaches over me and grabs a condom and sheathes himself quickly. Just when I think he’ll settle between my legs, he doesn’t. He rolls my body over slowly, and slides a pillow beneath my hips. “This all right?” he asks. He puts his weight on my back, and his lips touch my shoulder again, just like he did a few minutes ago, and he gently bites down. “I need you,” he says.

I nod. “It’s all right,” I say. He sinks into me from behind. It’s one slow thrust until he’s fully seated inside me. “Are you sore?” he asks.

“A little,” I admit. There’s a little pinch, but I welcome it because Pete’s inside me again, and that’s right where I want him to be.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispers. I know he will. I don’t want careful. I want Pete.

He takes me with lazy strokes, filling and then retreating, pushing and then pulling, riding me with care and caution. I came with his mouth between my legs, but I feel a build-up again. It’s a completely different feeling. It’s more of a warm wash of heat rather than a raging, quaking orgasm. I come, and he grunts and pushes himself deep inside me, his body shaking as he comes with me. He grunts and makes a noise low in his throat. It’s a noise of completion. All too soon, he pulls out, and stands up, removes the condom and cleans himself up. Then he hands me a towel and turns his back. I wipe off really quickly, and then he’s back in bed with me, drawing me in to his chest.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling me down to lie in the crook where his arm meets his shoulder.

“I’m not going to break, Pete,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

He startles and looks down his nose at me. “I’m not.”

“You are,” I say quietly. I hate that I’m doing this. But I can’t have a relationship based on fears he thinks he wants to avoid with me.

My phone dings, and I reach for my pants on the floor because I know it’s in my pocket.

I pull it out and read the screen.

Dad: Where are you?

Me: I’m at Pete’s.

Dad: Why?

Shit. What do I say?

Me: Can we talk about this later?

Dad: Sure, we can. As soon as you arrive at your apartment where we’ve been waiting since last night.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Me: I’ll be there in a few minutes.

I heave a sigh and lay my head on the bed. Dad is going to kill me. Or kill Pete. “My parents are at my apartment,” I say.

“Oh no,” he breathes. He rolls to the edge of the bed and starts to get dressed.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He looks up, his brow arched. “I’m going with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” I say. In fact, I’d rather he not. Dad’s going to be pissed and seeing Pete is only going to make it worse.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he keeps getting dressed.

“Pete,” I call. He finally looks up at me.