I cried in his mouth, struggled some more as his rhythm came faster, but he held me still, forcing me to feel every bit of it, something new and frightening and beautiful. A mixture of heaven and hell.
I buried my face in his shoulder once more as his thrusts became more urgent. Then jerky. He grunted from the force of it, coming hard in me, his body drenched with sweat.
My hips and thighs were sore from my legs being spread for so long. I rolled off of Ryan and pulled my knees to my chest, sighing deeply as my muscles relaxed. He went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom before climbing into bed again.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I replied. I stretched my legs, burying them once more under the sheets, and turned to face my boyfriend.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
“What kind of question is that?” I asked, chuckling. “Did I look like I liked it? Did I sound like I liked it?”
Ryan laughed.
I eyed him curiously. “It’s not my business, really, but how many girls have you slept with? I only ask because you’ve got mad skills.”
Ryan pushed the sheet down over my hips. “I like you like this. Full frontal.”
I tried to pull the sheet up once more, but he pushed my hands away.
“You want to know the truth?” he asked.
“No, I want you to lie to me.”
“Funny.” He scratched his head and screwed up his face in thought. “I’ve slept with six girls.”
“Holy shit.” The words escaped my lips before I could stop them.
“And I suppose now we fight about it?” he asked.
That irked me. I had no plans to fight with him about anything. “No. Why would we fight about it?”
“Well, it’s happened in the past, is all.”
“Well, I’m not your past. I’m your present. And I’m fine with it,” I said. I didn’t know if I was completely fine with it, but I didn’t think I had a reason not to be.
“What are you thinking?” Ryan asked.
“You said you hadn’t made out in a year,” I said, just now remembering our first make-out session.
Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I slept with those girls in tenth grade and part of eleventh grade.”
“That’s kind of young,” I said.
“I know it’s young. And I know it’s a lot of girls in a short period of time. That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
“Well, no and yes. I mean, did you love those girls?”
“When I was making love to them, yes.”
What the hell did that mean?
“Were they all your girlfriends at one point or another?” I asked.
“No.”
“Are you a player?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t get it.”
Ryan looked like he was debating how much to share with me. I didn’t like that either. I was his girlfriend. I thought he should feel comfortable telling me anything.
“Some of the girls were my friends. I lost my virginity to one of them. We both wanted to experience it with someone we could trust. We dated briefly after that, but we weren’t right for each other.”
“Uh huh.” I was utterly fascinated.
“Sometimes I did it as an escape, but I always made sure she understood that.”
He rolled on to his back and placed his hands under his head.
“Sometimes I did it because I wanted . . . I needed to make someone feel good. It made me feel good to make someone else feel good.”
He glanced at me briefly. “I suppose you think I’ve got issues.”
“No. I don’t think you have issues.” But I did think he was hiding something from me. Some sort of terrible pain that made him seek solace in sex. No wonder he was so damn good at it. What was that talk about not being “experts”? That we’re just eighteen? He certainly was no amateur, and I suddenly felt foolish and unstudied.
“And, really, if I’m being perfectly honest, I just love a woman’s body. I love to touch it. I love to kiss it. I love to make her feel important and special,” he said. “And I really love to make her come.”
“Are you a sex addict?” Again, I did not mean for those words to slip out of my mouth.
He chuckled. “No Brooke, but I can understand why you would ask that.”
What I wouldn’t give to open his brain up right now and peek inside. Get an idea about this stranger I’d just given it up to.
“I hope this doesn’t make you look at me differently. I mean, I understand if it does. I understand if you can’t be with me.”
Whoa! Back it up, buddy!
“Who said anything about that?” I asked. I curled into him, resting my head on his bicep and wrapping my arm around his waist. “Please don’t ever say something like that again.”
He kissed my forehead. “I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s just I know what I must sound like. A sex-crazed teenager who’s got an unhealthy obsession with the female body.”
I giggled. “I don’t know that I mind all that much.” I thought back to my orgasm. No, I didn’t think I minded at all.
But one little unsettling feeling poked and jabbed at my heart. I was no psychologist, and I thought therapy was a load of bullshit, but Ryan was sleeping with women because he felt guilty. That was my assessment. I’m sure Dr. Merryweather would concur. Guilty of what, I didn’t know. But he felt guilty.