Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(5)
My lips felt thick and chapped as I licked them and I caught how Red straightened her shoulders when I stood in front of her, attempting to keep my tone light, curious. “You wanna know if I can make you come?” That shy, embarrassed downward cast of her eyes returned and just then I didn’t care why she was in my room. The innocent, sweet bit wore me down. “Has anyone ever done that to you?”
“No.” Red pushed her hair off her shoulder, looked at her feet and when she spoke, I had to twist my head down to hear her. “Not really.”
“Alright.” She took my hand when I offered it and glanced up at my face like she wanted to make sure I wasn’t messing with her.
“My name is…”
“No.” She didn’t recoil or step back when I dropped her hand. “I can’t know it.”
“So. It’s true then?”
“Is what true?” There was a little challenge in my tone, something there that dared her to get in my business, but she didn’t. Red only nodded, took to biting on that chain again and I felt like an *, like I’d just deflated whatever bullshit ideas she’d had about me.
Her skin felt like satin, pale and soft and fine to the touch when I brushed my fingers over her face and there was a faint hint of cinnamon from her breath and the sweet scent of lilac in her hair. Sensory overload had once been my downfall. I liked all mine engaged, the sights and sounds and smells that women put out. It had always been that way until…well, the accident.
Back then my anger, the temper I tried to keep on check fired quick and steady. Now the shame and guilt replaced that rage and I took it down within myself, feeling every prickle, every inch of hurt I deserved. But there was another side effect. One I couldn’t be rid of. Now it didn’t matter how good a woman smelled, how sweet her skin was, my body would not react. It would ignore everything inside me, all those natural urges that every eighteen year old guy has to feel and touch. Pushed back, ignored, whatever it was, I was immune. Even if I wanted this woman, wanted all of her, my body wouldn’t listen.
My mom said it was psychosomatic. My dad was horrified that I’d even told them about this little problem. But when my mom meddles, she puts the CIA to shame. That conversation ended with my parents yammering about seeing a doctor and me feeling like some kind of flaccid joke.
The doctor agreed. Offered me meds. Jackass.
Red’s warm breath against my wrist when she kissed me there forced me to pull away from her, to take control, to tell myself not to forget that I didn’t deserve pleasure, not after what I’d done at sixteen.
“Lay on the bed and I’ll show you what I can do for you.” She wasn’t overly eager, didn’t shoot straight to the bed and I liked how cautious she was, how she kept her eyes up, straight at me as she climbed in the middle of my black sheets. She even lost her shoes, tucked her feet under and kept her hands on her lap, like she needed me directing her. I appreciated how perceptive she was, how she let me take the reins, but she sat with her back too stiff, with her shoulders too straight. That wouldn’t work. I needed her relaxed.
“You nervous?” She only nodded, her apparent go-to response, but I didn’t laugh at her, didn’t do much more than mimic her nod and sat in front of her with my thumb tracing across her knuckles. “Don’t be, sweetheart. I don’t bite.” Those thin fingers of hers shook under my touch and I slid closer, hoping my size, my width, didn’t scare her. It was damn hard making this body seem less threatening, but I always tried. “At least…I don’t bite hard.”
The little joke worked and Red gave me a smile, moving her shoulders down, then laying back against the pillow when I caught the back of her neck and led her there. “You ever touch yourself?”
“Sometimes. Well, not a lot.”
“You’ve never…”
“No. Not ever.”
A twist of my chin to let her know I understood and the feeling of sudden determination took over. I wanted to make this right, to make it perfect for her. Maybe this night would set the tone, lift the expectations of what she wanted. Maybe the way I touched her, taught her, would have Red expecting nothing but mind-blowing orgasms from anyone she would ever be with. I could not f*ck this up.
“Can you unbutton your shirt?” She tried, her movements a little shaky, disjointed and I covered her trembling fingers with my hand. “Want me to help you?” Another nod and her throat worked as she swallowed, the small breaths moved past her open mouth as I slipped each button open. “Don’t be scared about this. If you are, it makes it more difficult.” The bra was pink with white lace covering the cups and I closed my eyes again wondering what would happen to my guilt if I let myself forget just this once.
A spattering of freckles speckled along her collarbone. So similar. Spotting each one, the first time I’d touched a girl, the first time I’d kissed skin this soft, came back to me. I had to squeeze my eyes tight, force out that first time, all the times after that one. And then the shame came back, the guilt and the odd voice in my head, the one that sounded so familiar, so bitter, haunting me like it always did. It had me even more determined to make this girl happy, to satisfy her.
She needs this. You don’t. Remember what you did.
That petty reminder always put me in my place. I gave pleasure. That was my lot in life, but didn’t deserve any for myself. A quick flash of memory, those violent, vicious images of Emily, of me, and I felt the dread, the burning pain filter through my body, making me desperate to forget everything else. To simply, single-mindedly, do my job.