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“I feel so silly,” she’d said back at the house, twirling in the dress for me.
I’d had to bite onto my fist to stop from roaring like a conqueror before a battle as I gazed at her.
This was before she’d put on the tights and the sight of her flesh leading up to that juicy ass was almost too much for me to handle.
My seed flurries hotly inside of me, begging for a release, but not just any release …
It has to be her release, her horny pink hole ready to drink up every drop I have to give.
We’re tuned into an orchestral station, which was Sadie’s choice.
“I just love drifting away in the music, if that makes sense?” she said once we’d settled on it. “When I was a kid I used to close my eyes and imagine that I was a lion or a wolf or sometimes an eagle, free, you know, just roaming. Now that I’m studying zoology I realize how unrealistic those carefree fantasies were. It’s not like eagles just fly around all day for the fun of it. But still.”
I keep driving, my heart banging rapidly in my chest, more than it has in years. Even when I used to race Formula One, it never beat like is.
Nobody – and nothing – has ever made me feel this way before.
The song changes and I listen closely, sure that I recognize it from somewhere. Then it clicks. It’s the song Sadie was listening to when I found her in her room studying.
I feel her tense up beside me, the quality of her breathing changing.
Then she sobs, quietly, as though she’s trying to fight it.
“Sadie?” I murmur, bringing the car to a steady stop at the side of the road, under the snow heavy branches of the pines.
I turn on the interior lights and turn to her, finding her pawing at her cheeks with her lower lip trembling. The music rumbles in the background, almost blending with the sounds of the winter that whines and hums all around us.
“I’m okay,” she says.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” I tell her.
She glances at me. “It’s just this song,” she whispers. “When I expect to hear it, that’s one thing. But when it just hits me like this … And maybe it’s the drive, too.”
“Talk to me,” I say as softly as I can, reaching across to smooth the hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.
“I don’t want to spoil our date,” she murmurs.
“Your feelings are more important than any date,” I tell her firmly. “I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. Because you can. Always.”
We sit in silence for a long time, Sadie’s cheeks turning crimson, but I’m not sure if it’s from the heat blasting within or the pain doing the same.
I don’t try to push her, sensing that she needs to work up to this in her own time. Her face is a tapestry of long withheld pain, causing a resounding answering note of pathos inside of me.
“They slipped on an icy road,” she says quietly, her hands worrying at each other. “I guess I’ve been sitting here this whole time wondering if the same is going to happen to us, you know? It’s silly.”
“It’s not,” I whisper.
She shrugs. “Anyway, it was the first year of college and I was studying, listening to that album like I always did. I’m one of those people who can listen to the same album over and over without getting bored. I was reading about behavioral ecology, I think, the first module of the semester. And then I get this phone call from Mom’s phone. That was what really messed me up. They called from her phone. I guess it was easier to get my number that way. They told me that she’d—”
She shatters into a tangle of tears and pain, her whole body shaking as the sobs reverberate through her. I wrap my arm around her, leaning across the handbrake and smoothing her tears away, kissing her on the forehead and telling her it’s going to be okay, over and over, trying to make her believe it.
She bolsters herself, biting down, as though she can force away the heartache through sheer will.
“They called Aaron afterward … he’s my brother.”
“Older or younger?” I asked.
“Older. He’s in Vietnam at the moment. He’s a photographer.”
“I’d like to meet him,” I say.
She smiles, brightening her expression. “I’m sure you will,” she says. “He was on the other side of the country, but then there was this knock at my door. It was Fiona. She’d heard me crying. We’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, but somehow we’d become best friends in that time. I’ve never had a friend like her—”
She chokes back another sob.
