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I can’t help but wince.
I’m sore and bruised all over, but his absence hurts the most. Maybe it was my own idyllic fantasy that we’d wake up gloriously entangled, whispering words of love against swollen, kissed lips, and begin a beautiful new chapter together. Surely, it was. But I thought at the very least he’d still be lying beside me when the sun breached the morning sky.
Inching my way from the bed that smells of his favorite soap, I search the dimly lit room for a spare T-shirt I can slip on until I make it to my own bedroom to change. I fell asleep naked in his arms last night, safe and satiated, not regretting a single moment of what happened between us. I fell asleep with a smile.
How many people experience their first time with someone they love so purely? So unconditionally? So entirely?
Not many, I’d reckon.
Unfortunately, by propriety’s standards the tradeoff is that my first time should have been with anyone other than him. And I know that’s probably eating at him right now.
I shuffle from the bedroom in one of Brant’s T-shirts and crack open the door. Brant is perched in front of the living room couch, scrubbing away at the cushions with a rag and cleaning supplies. He doesn’t notice me right away as I slip from the room and tiptoe closer, fidgeting with the ends of my hair. He’s too focused, too absorbed in his task. When I’m only a few feet away, I squeak out, “Good morning.”
He startles, his head popping up. Brant straightens as his arms drop to his sides, one hand fisted around a sudsy washrag. He pulls his lips between his teeth while tortured tawny eyes give me a quick sweep. “Hey.”
I stare at him, unblinking. Waiting for more.
He remains silent, then looks away.
“What are you doing?” I force out, my breaths sticking to the back of my throat like paste. I take a step closer to him. “I, um, didn’t expect to wake up alone.”
Silly girl fairy tales.
“Oh…” A doleful look crosses his face. Something penitent. “Sorry, I–I didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful.” When I glance down at the washrag, he gives it a light squeeze and follows my stare. “I was just cleaning up.”
Cleaning up.
My eyes trail to the soapy stain on the couch where Brant was trying to remove a blot of blood left behind. Blood as a result of my severed virginity.
He’s cleaning up the mess we made.
Emotion swells in my chest, causing it to feel tight and smothered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your couch,” I say softly. Meekly.
Pathetically.
Brant sucks in a sharp breath, his expression turning even more haunted. His gaze flicks over me, like he’s taking a moment to absorb my words. He’s letting them in, letting them fester.
Then he drops the rag and closes the gap between us, reaching for me. He pulls me straight to him until our foreheads crash together and he’s holding me in a stormy grip. “Don’t,” he whispers, his hands clinging to my waist. “Don’t you dare apologize for anything.”
“I feel like I need to. You’re upset… I can tell.”
“I’m upset because of what I did—not you. Never you.”
My hands lift, settling on his denim-clad hips. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do,” I confess in a soft breath.
“Hurt you? Steal away your innocence? Make you bleed?”
“Heal me. Accept my innocence as a gift I gave you. Make me come…twice.” His eyes darken, flashing with lingering heat from the night before. “I wanted you to make love to me, and that’s what we did.”
“That wasn’t…” His eyes squeeze shut as his fingers tighten around my waist. “I lost control. Your first time is supposed to be slow and sweet, tender and kind. I took you like a fucking animal, June. I couldn’t stop, and I hate myself for it.” He blows out a breath. “Are you on the pill?”
“Yes. Mom got me on a prescription a few years ago, just to be proactive.” Tears prickle my eyes. My heart aches seeing him so fractured. So conflicted and torn. I raise a hand, cupping his jaw as I brush my thumb over his bottom lip. “And I wish you wouldn’t feel that way. It was perfect.”
“Don’t say that,” he rasps out. His tongue pokes out, tasting the pad of my thumb, sending shivers down my back. “Don’t allow me to believe you wanted it like that. Especially when you’re standing in my arms, dressed only in my T-shirt, still smelling like last night’s sins.”
I arch into him, a whimper slipping out when he catches my thumb between his teeth. “Believe it,” I tell him. “It’s the truth.”
Brant groans as his hands start to move, grazing up the back of my thighs and palming my bare bottom, our foreheads still melded together, our lips a mere whisper apart. He pulls my pelvis flush against him as he says, “Then lie to me.”
