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I drop my head between my shoulders, hands still gripping the counter’s edge. I let heavy tears of pain and grief drop to the old linoleum, because I don’t want her to see me this way.
“Look at me,” she commands, her tone strong but soft. And as much as I don’t want to break for her, I look up, because… she owns me.
My lip trembles as Addie’s sweet face flashes through my mind. I can hear the splashing of water as if I were there. The piercing ring of my phone that night echoes in my brain. I hold the counter more tightly, my knuckles draining of color. My head whirrs. “I should have kept it. I knew as soon as I came here, I should have kept it. So I’ve been looking for one since.” I swallow hard, watching her face mirror mine, tears coating her cheeks, pain coloring her cheeks. “When you told me you were looking for the same music box, I just… I knew I had to find it. For you.”
Her small hands retrieve the music box from the packaging, and it falls to the floor where we both ignore it. She turns it between her palms, the pink ribbons hand-painted on it, the gold clasp, the tiny drawer in the bottom. It’s exactly like Addie’s.
I choke, and drop my head again at just the sight. I hear the box slide onto the counter, then her feet are next to mine, hands collecting me. With one hand on each side of me, holding me by my ribs, she peers up at me, not trying to slow her tears.
Those are for me, for my daughter, and it doesn’t do much to stop mine.
“You keep it,” she whispers. “Keep it and think of her. Please, Cohen.”
I shake my head, words challenging around the emotion clogging my throat. Husky, I rasp, “No, Scarlett. I found it for you. I want you to have it.”
She glances back at the box then to me again, wearing a soft expression. Not a smile, not sadness, but somewhere in between awe and pain. “We’ll keep it. Together.” She raises to her toes and sifts her long fingers through my damp hair.
Her touch is so comforting, and feels so good, I let my eyes close. I let tears slip free. I let my chest heave and wrack with cries of grief and loss. And I let her hold me, pull into her. Feel her hands slide up my bare back, soothing and caring.
“Thank you for sharing with me.” She finds my eyes and holds me by the chin, sealing her praise with a kiss, and I’m flooded with relief. Like telling her was cathartic, and released me from some level of guilt and pain I didn’t know, amidst it all, I’d been holding back.
“Cohen, I’m ready to be with you, and I think tonight, maybe it would do us both good.” She reaches into the towel and holds me. I’m soft, but I still crumple into her, feeling good from the intimate asexual touch. “Give yourself to me tonight. I’m ready. And I want you to have me, too.”
“Scarlett, I want you to be sure. I need you. I know it now but I need you. I can’t hurt you. I can’t hurt another woman I love.”
By the hand, she leads me to my bedroom and motions for me to sit on the edge of the bed. I do, but not before she pulls the towel free, leaving me naked and exposed. I’m soft, soft everywhere. No part of me is flexing or clenching. I sit there, emotionally drained, but also somehow sated after our exchange.
“I can’t believe we were looking for the same thing,” she whispers, and I don’t know if she’s talking about the music box or us, but I agree with both.
“I know,” I say, watching as she peels her clothes off slowly, creating a heap on the clean floor.
“Crave tests us regularly,” she says slowly, cautiously, watching my eyes for a wordless reaction. I have none. Because I know how Crave cares for their actors, and their health is top priority.
I also know where this is going. And nerves seize my stomach, tossing around the limited contents. Her eyes move along the curve of my arm, clenching the bed. I’ve been inside of her bare, but I’ve never come inside of her. Not yet.
“But we’re going to save that,” she says, referencing what I know we’re both thinking about. “And tonight, I’m going to take you, I’m going to fuck you, Cohen, and make you feel everything. Because we need that.” She steps closer, dropping a hand between her legs, fingers spreading her pink lips apart. “I’ll stop if I need to, and you’ll stop me if you need to, won’t you?”
I nod, and slowly my cock comes to life as she feeds her fingers up my thighs, pushing them apart.
“Have you ever been a bottom for a partner?” she asks, her eyes on my thickening dick.
I swallow hard, and her question fully steers me out of the emotional tangle from moments ago. A bottom? My ass clenches as I repeat the question in my head aloud. “A bottom?”
Her eyes veer over the terrain of my naked body and come to my eyes. “Being a bottom isn’t just about anal sex,” she says, but not with condescension or teasing but… to explain, to educate.
My throat is dry and sticky but I manage to say, “I... I don’t understand.”
She wraps her hands under my knees and tries to tug me down lower but because she’s much smaller than me, I don’t budge. “Slide a bit lower,” she says, and I do. I bring my knees towards my chest with legs still parted and she straddles the backs of my thighs, planting the soles of her feet on the mattress next to my hips, and I can’t help it. After years of not looking, all I want to do now is feast on her body. My eyes fall to the way her cunt opens for me, puffy and pink, begging to be filled. My bottom lip tingles as saliva pools beneath my tongue at the sight.
“Bottoming for me right now means that I’ll hold the control, the dominance. And I’ll take you this way,” she says, reaching down to collect my fully erect cock with her hand. Positioning my crown at her center, she surges toward me until my entire head is swallowed in her warm tightness.
I look down at where I’m barely inside of her, my abs knotted with strain, suddenly all of my body tensed. “You feel so good,” I admit, even though I’m only barely in.
“To prove to you I’m okay and I’m ready for you, I’ll take you like this. I’ll fuck you, I’ll control it. And then, I’ll get off while you… get off.”
I liked all of it until that part. I like the idea of her fucking me. Her being in control until we both know she’s okay to do this. That I won’t trigger anything, that she’ll be able to orgasm—all of it, just to make sure. The idea of sharing that intimacy only to end with pulling out… I understand it. I want more of her, but I understand her need to wait.
We aren’t ready for me to come inside of her. We aren’t.
