“Yeah.”
When I threw the glass, I just knew that I didn’t want him to leave, but now that he’s standing in front of me, I realize that it’s so much more than that. I’ve been working up to being able to be touched and being ready to be with him, but he keeps pulling away. We get closer and then he pulls back, just like clockwork, and it’s sending me over an emotional cliff. He said he wouldn’t be the reason I fall apart because of my reckless behavior, but the truth is, there’s nothing he can do to not be the reason I break. Everything I’ve done has been for him, to be with him, and I’m not going to let him take this from me. I’ve lost too much already. I won’t lose him, too.
Be brave.
“You gonna explain?”
“No.”
His jaw ticks at my one-word answers, but I don’t care. My heart beats frantically in my chest, my palms are sweaty, and I’m damn close to hyperventilating, but I don’t let any of that stop me.
“I want you,” I say firmly.
“This again?” He barks the words out, now definitely annoyed. “Been over this, babe. I won’t subject you to this life.”
“No,” I say more firmly. He has to take me seriously, or I’ll never be able to get over the shame of it. “I want you.”
My fingers practically strangle the fabric of the T-shirt as I hold the bottom in my grip. They’re shaking. I’m fearful that he’s going to laugh at me. Or he’ll reject me and pity me for even having to beg someone to touch me after how badly I’ve been damaged. Tears well in my eyes as the panic sets in. Before I can stop myself, I lift the hem of the shirt while studying his face. His expression darkens, his eyes totally fixed on my torso, which at the very least tells me he’s physically interested in what I’m offering.
“I want you to fuck me.” My voice squeaks at the end like I’m some kind of virginal school girl, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He purses his lips and his hands form tight fists at his sides, while his eyes still haven’t left my covered breasts.
Be brave.
With one last breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and lift the shirt over my head. A tear escapes, but I try to slyly wipe it away as I discard the shirt on the floor.
“You don’t want this. How I fuck—you won’t like it,” he says. Every word sounds strained, like it’s painful for him to say it. Still, he leans in and places his closed fists on the bed to support himself as he bends over. He lifts his eyes to mine, but his head is at the height of my breasts, forcing his attention back on my exposed flesh.
“I don’t want it soft. I don’t want gentle. I didn’t ask you to make love to me. I told you I want you to fuck me, and by that I mean I want to be fucked hard and fast and I don’t want you to take it easy on me.”
He licks his lips and swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. It’s so obvious now that he desires me physically even if he wishes he didn’t intellectually. Hooking my fingers around the sides of the boxers, I slowly slide them down my legs and try not to look too stupid as I struggle to get them off with the position I’m in. I have the offending material still around my calves, tucked under my ass when he surprises me by reaching out and grabbing me behind my knees. I reach out and place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as he pulls my legs out from underneath me.
“Use your safe word and we stop. You can turn back at any time, but if this is what you want, then I’ll give it to you,” he says. My legs are stretched out before me now and he easily slides the boxers off and tosses them on the floor. He removes his cut next, but keeps the tee shirt on that’s underneath.
“Your safe word is bayonet. Use it if you wish for the scene to stop. You will use colors to communicate how well you’re handling what I’m doing to you. Green means you’re fine, yellow means you need me to slow down or lighten up, and red means you’re close to breaking. Saying red or bayonet will stop the scene immediately.”
He unbuckles his belt and tosses it aside, then goes for his jeans and pulls them down his long legs. I study him and the instructions he’s given me. He’s using terms I’m not really familiar with, like scene and safe word, but I have an idea what he means.
“What if I want more?” I ask.
“You won’t,” he says in a harsh tone.
“But what if I do?”
“If you say purple, you won’t like the consequences.” His voice has taken on a sneer now, like the very idea of me saying purple disgusts him. I don’t even know what it means, but it definitely means something. A surge of panic makes me second-guess myself, but I refuse to verbalize my worry. I won’t lose this moment for anything. I just can’t.