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He nods. “Yes.”
“You know, when I said you could say red, I meant that about anything.” I want him to know that if he’s had too much emotionally, we can stop. “Safe words aren’t just about sex. They’re meant to protect you, period.”
He nods against me, holding me tighter. “I know.” He drapes his leg over mine and my body goes rigid. His heavy, warm cock falls onto my thigh, and my awakening seizes me, my body silently crying yes,take him, have him. You’re ready.
But I know I have to move slowly, because the last thing this man needs is a woman to have a panic attack mid sex, thrash and attack him, and leave him worse than he was found.
We have time, we’ll move slow, and honor all that we’ve been through as we grow together.
“I’m so tired,” he says against my body, his soft lips against my flesh making my nipples hard.
I cup the side of his face with one hand, stroking him. “Sleep. Sleep well with me. I have you,” I whisper, knowing the drop he must feel after unburdening himself to me. “I have you, Cohen. Just sleep.”
His breathing evens out, and when I know he’s asleep, my mind wanders back to his story. My heart aches for Valerie, the woman who had him before me, and the life they had and lost. Anguish and sorrow flood me when I think of her. Addie. The beautiful little girl they both lost. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears dripping down my temples.
No one should have to go through that. I hold him closer though he can’t feel it.
I hold him close because the idea of letting go is too painful.
eighteen
cohen
I’m yours, Scarlett
Morning is here, I can feel it with the way my brain is stirring, despite the fact I don’t want to open my eyes. The room around me is cool, but inside the bed I’m warm. Carefully, I untangle my legs from hers, wondering when and how we got in this heap of heated, naked bodies.
We’re naked.
My head throbs as if I spent the night drinking, but as I sit on the edge of her bed, looking down at my bare feet on the apartment floor, I remember last night, and know why my head hurts.
Addie’s face, full cheeks with emerald eyes, flashes in my mind. The ringing phone that night. The way I jolted up in the bed, Valerie’s stilted breaths and incoherent words.
I told Scarlett everything. Things I’ve never told anyone other than my therapist, and Augustus.
Peering over my shoulder, I glance at Scarlett, the sheet positioned over her torso perfectly, hiding everything that I have yet to earn permission to gaze at. Her blonde hair is fanned out around her, reminding me of Alphonse Mucha and his beautiful women.
We slept together, in each other's arms, all night. I slept soundly. I didn’t dream, or more importantly, I didn’t have a nightmare. She clutched my head to her chest and being in her arms and under her care last night felt so much better than any hug I received at the cemetery, any card or phone call that came in those following weeks, any speech from my therapist. Being in her arms seemed to calm me and give me hope, and as much as I have avoided voicing my history and letting people see my pain, I’m glad I did.
It felt good to say her name again, as much as it also hurt. Addie. She was my gorgeous, sweet, bubbly, smart daughter. We’d wanted to make her a big sister, too. After the summer came to an end, when things slowed down at the theater, we were going to try for another.
We didn’t make it to fall.
Quietly, I take myself to the bathroom and close the door. It’s when I’m greeted with the sight of my morning erection in the mirror that I realize not only am I naked but I have no clothing here. I came over in a towel.
Bracing my palm against the wall, I relieve myself, closing the toilet lid to muffle the flushing noise. While washing my hands, I notice in the mirror that my morning wood is slow to fade, and there’s a pulling sensation, low in my belly, like I could wrap my fist around my length and find pleasure. Find release. Somewhere in my brain, awakening from a deep slumber, synapses fire off and the urge to do it, the drive to touch myself, watch my cock twitch and thrum as I stroke until release—it’s there.
I dry my hands on the small towel near the sink, and make my way down the hall, to the living room. As quietly as possible, I unlock the door and slip out into the breezeway, the icy bay morning taking care of any burning going on below the belt. My balls climb right up into myself as I bolt to my door, twisting it open easily.
I didn’t lock up last night. My mind was in chaos. All logic was gone. I was driven to go to her, do anything I needed to do to have her, win her, earn her, prove to her that being with me wouldn’t be a mistake.
It’s the first time I’ve been reactionary and spontaneous. The first time since that night that I did anything impulsively. I thought I’d lost the ability to be impulsive, to feel urges so wild and frothy that I can’t keep a logical thought.
She brought that back to me, too.
I leave my door open as I jog to the bedroom and pull on a pair of sweats, turning around to immediately go back to Scarlett’s.
I know she’s a grown woman but the idea of leaving her alone in that apartment where I knowhe knows she isdrives me wild with anger.
