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“You never wanted it,” I repeat, urging her to say the word. “You never wanted what?”
“You know what.” Her eyes flare.
“Sex, Sadie.” She flinches at the word. My blood is a raging inferno inside my body. “Say it.”
“Sex,” she breathes hoarsely, her face heating.
Yeah, she's innocent.
She continues, “I never found someone I wanted it with. It’s—” she hesitates.
When she still doesn't speak after a minute, I press, “It’s what?”
She shakes her head as she tucks her hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. When she gives me her eyes again, they're wide and big. They don't hide a damn thing, because I can see every turbulent emotion swirling in the warm depths.
“It's supposed to be special. I get that it isn't anymore. But it's supposed to be—and it is for me.”
Is she religious?“Are you religious?”
“Not particularly.” She lifts her chin, like she's getting ready to defend herself. Like she's had to defend herself before.
I wonder who made her feel that she was wrong in wanting this—in wanting to give herself to someone and make it special.
I understand the feminist movement, and I have nothing wrong with that. I don't think a woman needs to be unattached, a virgin, to have a special attachment to another person. I also don’t think a woman needs to refrain from physical connection until marriage, but if a woman makes the decision to hold on to that piece of herself, I think it's really fucked up that society makes her feel ashamed of that, or silly for it.
“I see,” I say, because now I understand why she pulls back. I understand why she's hesitant to take it farther when we play.
She's having fun with me, but I'm not her special guy. I'm her Christmas vacation, the man she’s choosing to explore with without giving it all to.
I swallow hard. “I won't touch you, Sadie. You are safe with me.”
But is she? Is she really?
I want to corrupt her in a way I’ve wanted nothing else in my life.
I want to sink inside her and make her mine. I want to own her and possess her. I want to make a go of forever with her.
“That's not why I told you,” she huffs, and my eyes snap to hers.
Why did she tell me?
“Why did you tell me?”
She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and my cock jerks in my pants. Her teeth scrape over the pink flesh as she releases her lip. “I told you because I can't stop shaking. I'm so nervous.” Even now, I can see her body tremble. “I told you because I trust you. And because—because—" she stutters, and I search her eyes as I wait. She has the most beautiful eyes, the kind you can sink into and almost forget yourself.
“Because?” I urge.
Her next words shock the breath from my lungs. “Because I want it to be you.”
Blood rushes through my body like a tsunami wave. Her words inside me are a physical thing, alive. She can't mean what I think she means. “You want it to be me?”
She lifts her chin again in that cute little way she does when she thinks she's being firm. “Yes.” She pauses and I grin, because she’s fucking adorable. “When I do that—” Her eyes shift to the side as the red in her cheeks deepens. “When I have sex—I want it to be with you.”
Well, fuck. It takes everything I have inside of me, every inch of control, every fibre of power, to tell her gently, “You've had a lot of wine to drink tonight, Sunshine.”
Her brows snap together. “You think I don't know what I'm saying? Because I've had some wine?”
Her voice is pitched high, so high that I have to fight a smile. “I think you shouldn't make this decision tonight.”
