Page 145 of These Secret Years

“You’re a beginner at spooning, too, and you said I could pick.”

I complain, but “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” is about the most Knight song he could have picked, so I flip back over immediately, putting my back to him. I offer him a hand, and he puts his arm around me to take it. He presses a kiss to the back of my head as a reminder that he’s here with the best intentions.

From the guy demanding specific sexual positions to this mess of a person I’ve become is quite the fucking fall, and I don’t know how the hell he’s managing to put up with it. With me. Knight’s patience with me is saint-like. Maybe a result of all his celibacy training. My foot taps to the spunky beat of the song as I try to relax against Knight’s hard, warm body.

I love him. I love him. I love him so much.

I close my eyes and focus on the music and not the heat. I run my thumb along the side of his hand, back and forth, again and again. I make it through that song, and another one starts, this one stirring a memory buried deep, deep inside, but it’s not a bad one.

“Do you know what I just remembered?” I ask.

“What?”

“My mom used to sing this to me.”

“‘Hard Day’s Night?’ Ouch. Mine sang ‘Hey Jude’.”

“Wait. Seriously?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because did all our moms sing Beatles songs even though they grew up in the eighties?”

“Apparently. Maybe because it’s what their parents sang to them?”

“I don’t know. Does the math math?”

“More or less. Maybe not—unless their parents were really groovy.”

I laugh. “Don’t ever say that again.”

He presses a quick, non-threatening kiss to my neck. “Don’t be such a square.”

I snuggle back against him, still only at the four minute mark but getting overconfident anyway. “Do you know the words to this one?”

“Sure.”

“Sing it to me.”

“Oh, God. You’re testing me now. But since you asked.” And he does.

Knight sings “Hard Day’s Night” softly like a lullaby near my ear. And when “Hey Jude” comes on right after it—a much longer song, mind you—he doesn’t skip a beat.

I turn my head and kiss his bicep. The twitch of his dick against my ass makes me gulp, and he shifts. I need this to be okay. I need so badly not to freak the fuck out right now. But I let him shift his hips slightly away while I squeeze his hand hard and press another kiss to his knuckles.

When that song ends, I know I’ve beaten my previous time, but that isn’t the main reason I turn around. “I need to kiss you,” I tell him. “Just don’t move okay?”

He’s staring into my eyes with so much—something—lust, adoration, love? I press my hand to his chest and then my mouth to his. He keeps his mouth mostly closed until I move my hand to his face and use my thumb to lower his chin and his lip. “Easy,” I whisper the way I would tell a dog straining at a leash to calm down, though he’s not doing anything alarming at all.

He does go easy, easing his tongue against mine and then into my mouth as my tongue enters his. Our lips melt together, moving and kissing the way they once did when things between us seemed so complicated but were actually very simple. Warmth spills through my chest, activating nerves far lower in my pelvis, but I ignore those, wanting to get through this without some abrupt, scary ending.

Even this has been so impossible for months, no matter how much I wanted it, no matter how much I wished the anxiety away or told myself I’m safe. I’m so, so safe for the first time I can remember. Safer than I’ve literally ever been. And I trust Knight more than I trust anyone. With my entire heart. He’s never done a single thing to hurt me in any way, and I don’t think he ever would—not if he could help it. Because he’s the best person. The most valuable everything. The most wonderful secret I’ve ever kept.

I end the kiss slowly, on a high note, while I’m still merely turned on and not fighting off flashbacks. I focus on his eyes again, my favorite eyes. “How’d I do that time?”

“You know you did great.” His hand remains firmly planted on my waist as mine drifts down to rest on his neck.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, and it’s not the first time I’ve said this, nor the first time he’s shaken his head at the words.