He’s kissing me like it can erase the frustrations and hurt of today, deeper and more frantically by the second, until I can’t keep up with him. I walk backward, pulling him, until my leg hits the bed and we fall together, crashing into the soft layers of blankets with a gasp. He doesn’t even pause, just cups my face and kisses me between his hands.
It’s zero to a hundred, but my body hasn’t skipped a beat. My breathing is hard and fast, and I grab his hips and pull him firmly down against me. The weight of his body flat against mine wipes my mind blank. All I know is him, and the smell of him, and the satin of the skin of his back as my hands slip under his shirt and lift it over his head.
Then we’re shuffling backward, still horizontal across the bed, and I’m gripping his middle with my knees for stability while I take my own shirt off, and his hands roam over my legs with a firm pressure. My breathing gets thicker and harder until it’s embarrassingly loud, and I can’t keep quiet anymore, and I want to be cool about this, but I can’t be. It’s not possible to be chill and detached with him. I change positions slightly, so I’m the one touching his legs, then, slowly, I crawl off the bed so I’m on the floor looking up at him. It’s a power dynamic I’m used to. I’ve given blow jobs before, to boyfriends in the past.
He must figure out straight away what I’m implying, because he swallows, and says, “I’ve never done this before.”
“Do you not want to?” I ask.
“No, I do. I’m just … sharing.”
I start on the buckle of his jeans, and he fidgets. “Can I ask you something?”
Okay. Something tells me this is not the moment for me to undress him. I rise back up and sit next to him on the bed. “Okay?” My voice comes out uncertain. It’s never a good thing if someone cuts you off mid–make out to have a Talk, capital T.
“It’s nothing bad. I just … I know you’ve had boyfriends in the past. And I don’t need to know every detail or anything. But pretty much everything I’m doing with you is a first for me. I was wondering if you’ve … ever…”
“If I’m a virgin?” I finish for him. “No.”
“So, you’re all out of firsts?” he asks.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I just wanted to know if I should expect to always be the newbie out of us. That’s all. I don’t mind.”
I hesitate, and look away from him. “Well, technically, I still have one first left.”
He cocks his head in a question.
It shouldn’t be hard for me to say, but suddenly I feel a twinge of embarrassment. Stomach clenching and cheeks flaming, I get the words out, still careful not to meet Zach’s eyes. “I’ve never actually been given a blow job.”
It’s not an accident.
Nathaniel, a guy I was seeing for a while once, kind of expected me to be the one giving, and even though it was never said out loud, it felt like I was doing the right thing if I instigated it. Like I was the good boyfriend, thinking about the other person before myself, like I should. I guess it stuck, because every time I’ve reached this sort of stage with a guy, I’ve made sure I was the one giving. Out of all the things there is to do, that’s remained the most vulnerable for me. To just lie there and not give anything back. To somehow trust that I’ll still have worth to the other person if I’m not earning it.
Even though my mind knows that’s bullshit, I’m not sure my heart’s climbed aboard the self-assuredness train just yet. I’m just so used to conditions. My whole life’s been filled with them.
To my surprise, Zach actually smiles. “I could change that.”
“Uh. I guess? You could.”
He picks up on the slight note of panic in my voice. “Or not,” he says. “That’s fine.”
I relax again, and he kisses me gently on the lips. The taste of him, along with his calmness, makes me feel safe and steady. We end up back against the pillows, the kissing growing harder and more breathless. Then he moves his knee over my thigh, and a small sound escapes my throat before I can stop it.
And I realize with a spark of clarity that I feel completely safe. I’m not afraid of what will happen if we do this.
Something in my gut kicks up. Eagerness. Excitement. A longing to be touched like that.
“Actually, okay,” I whisper, my heart hammering. It feels like it’s dropped somewhere inside my stomach. “If you, um … as long as you still want to?”
Zach’s hair tickles my forehead. “Yeah,” he murmurs thickly between breaths. “I want to. I want to.”
I grip the blankets beneath my fists and tip my head back. The moment feels enormous. The last thing I’ve never done. But the nervousness evaporates within seconds, replaced by anticipation.
And then that’s replaced by something else entirely. And it might be the heat of it all, or the adrenaline rush, but somewhere in my swirling mind, a thought flickers. A thought about Zach, and how necessary he’s started to feel in such a short span of time. Like he’s the thing keeping me tethered to the ground. Like if I were to lose him, I might have lost the most important, urgent thing to ever happen to me.
But it’s just a swirling thought.
* * *
When it’s over, and our breathing slows down, Zach rests his red-hot cheek against my damp chest. His chestnut-brown hair is sticking into clumps from perspiration, and his bare shoulders are covered in freckles that are becoming as familiar to me as my own, and he has a soft smile playing on his full lips, reddened from kisses.
I press my lips into the soft canopy of his hair. “I’m not going to let them mess with you. Okay?”
He doesn’t ask who they are. He doesn’t have to. “Okay.”
“I mean it. They can come for me all they want, but the second they come for you, it’s war.”
“Sounds serious.”
“I am serious.”
His smile disappears. “Well,” he whispers. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
I have the same hope.
I’m just not sure if I believe it.
SIXTEEN
ZACH
I’m so thankful for dance rehearsal.