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And the next question spills from me, half-serious, half-joking. “Are you really a virgin?”
I expect outrage, anger, maybe some insults.
“Yes,” she says. “I am.”
Christ.
“Saving it for Ryan?” Now why do I sound bitter? I knew this much, didn’t I? Or suspected it.
“Truth?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
She won’t meet my gaze. “I’m scared.”
I don’t understand. I try. “Scared of what, Bry?”
“Of sex.” Her voice is small, and it tugs on my heart. “God, why am I telling you this? I’ve never told anyone, not even Candy.”
Shit. I reach for her hand. She lets me take it.
“Why?” I ask gently, all thoughts of fucking her into the sofa gone from my mind. Okay, not gone, but muted. “I guess it’s normal to be scared the first time, but with the right guy… with someone who cares for you…”
And is that you? a voice that sounds too much like my own snarks in the back of my thoughts.
She pulls her hand away, keeps her gaze down. “I’m not scared of the penetration,” she says quickly, and before I can process that, she goes on, “Ask me more questions.”
“Bry…”
“I want to see how you look, how…” She makes an impatient little noise in the back of her throat. “How your penis looks when it’s hard.”
I groan. “It’s cock, Princess. Say it.”
“Cock,” she whispers.
Fuck. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one. There’s Google, you know.”
“Oh, I’ve seen others.” Her eyes lift up to mine for a second. “But not yours.”
The wave of heat rolling through my gut is threatening to take me under. “I see.” I pull my zipper down all the way, my mind whirling, my body humming. “Have you seen Ryan’s?”
She laughs, puts her hands on her cheeks.
“Shouldn’t you be asking him to show his dick to you? After all, he’s the one you really want.”
“I have seen his,” she says.
“You have? What—?”
“In the men’s showers. Don’t ask.”
So I don’t. I have a sudden image of Ryan, hard, stroking himself, drenched with water, rivulets running over his muscled body, and damn if I don’t stiffen more.
“My plan isn’t working. I doubt I’ll see any other part of him, ever.” She sounds sad, and a pang of anger hits me. “You know, he kissed me the other day.”
Another surge of anger, and strangely it seems to make my dick harder. “Goddammit, Bry.”
What is she doing with me? She’s playing me like a puppet, and I don’t care. Not now.
