Too Late

Before I’m finished soaking everything in, he continues talking. “Stay the night with me. Please. You can put your panties back on, your dress back on. Hell, you can take your bra off and sleep completely naked. I don’t care. I just want you in my bed, that’s all. I swear, Sloan. I just need to fall asleep next to you.”

His expression is sincere. His words even more so. That’s why I’m nodding...because for whatever reason, I trust him right now. And I’ve never trusted people easily.

“Okay,” I say.

Rather than find my dress, I reach behind me and unfasten my bra. I let it fall to the floor. His eyes are all over me as I stand in front of him, completely bare.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he whispers, his voice gruff.

I walk to his bed and climb under the covers. When I look back at him, his shirt is off and he’s sliding off his jeans. He keeps his boxers on as he climbs into bed with me. He moves to my side. “Roll over so I can spoon you.”

I laugh and roll over. I never expected this night to end with spooning, but I love that it is.

He wraps his arms around me tight and presses a kiss against my head. “Sweet dreams,” he whispers.

“You, too.”





I can’t tell if I like the feeling of being drunk. It’s the first time I’ve ever had more than one glass of wine in a single night. Heck, I think I had five glasses at dinner alone. I think I drank so much because it calmed my nerves—made me feel more comfortable with myself. Too comfortable, maybe. Because now I’m straddling that line from being in a dead slumber to being too buzzed to actually sleep.

Everything feels heavier when you’re drunk. Your head weighs more, your body grows too heavy to control, your emotions somehow even feel heavier. And now air feels heavier—like the whole world is balancing on top of me while I struggle to open my eyes.

But being drunk also has its advantages. Somehow—in the midst of feeling all the weight—there’s a lightness on the inside. It’s reminiscent of a feather, tickling the inside of my stomach. Tickling my lips. It makes me crave pressure...touch. It felt good tonight when Asa would touch me. The alcohol made me enjoy it, even when my conscience was fighting to warn me I shouldn’t.

Even now...in the throes of sleep...I feel it. The warmth of him, the strength of his hands, the sound of his voice.

I’m suspended somewhere between reality and dreams and I can’t figure out which one I’m in yet. And I really don’t want to wake up, but it feels so real. His hands on my breasts—his mouth between my legs. It feels so real; I wince from the stubble of his jaw cutting into the soft flesh of my thighs.

I gasp.

My heart is thrashing around in my chest. My hands are gripping the sheets at my side.

I’m not dreaming.

This feels too real.

Too soon.

Too fast.

“Asa,” I whisper.

I’m confused as to where he is exactly. I feel his hands on me...they move from my breasts to my waist.

He’s...Oh God.

“Asa,” I whisper again, my entire body tensing. How did this happen? When did we get to this point?

Despite the way his tongue is making me feel, the fact that I’m waking up to this seems wrong. Right and so wrong. Did I ask him for this? While I slept?

Or did he just take it?

I try to force my legs shut—force his mouth away from me. But he just grips my waist tighter and slides his tongue up the entire center of me—slowly.

I moan.

I want to cry, but I fucking moan instead. My voice is a traitor.

“Please,” I whisper, the word being released between heavy breaths.

I feel his tongue leave me. His lips press softly against my inner thigh. I’m highly aware of his every movement now, because I can’t understand how I can want so badly to push him away while at the same time, want his mouth back on me.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “You deserve this. You deserve all the good things, Sloan.”

The room is spinning. His hands are running over my stomach, caressing me, making me feel like thinking this is wrong is somehow wrong.

His palms slide down my hips, over my thighs and to my knees. He puts pressure against the inside of my legs, opening them wider. “Just close your eyes and relax. Please let me do this for you.”

Before I can agree or disagree, his mouth returns to me, his tongue dipping into me, stroking up, all the way up, back down. My back arches off the bed and I’m still gripping the sheets for dear life.

His tongue begins to make smaller journeys until he’s circling just my clit.

I’ve never felt anything like it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and feel myself starting to accept it. I let the weight and the lightness of the alcohol take me in all the right places, and seconds later, I allow my voice to betray me even louder.

“Asa.” I’m moaning.

I’m gasping.

My hand leaves the sheets to find his hair and I grip it, pull it, need him closer.

“Don’t stop,” my voice says, even though my conscience is screaming STOP!

Don’t stop.

Stop.

Don’t.

Yes.

No.

“Yes.” My head falls back against Asa’s pillow.

My body gives in to him completely while my conscience is slow to catch up. I begin to tense in a different way this time. Both of my hands are in his hair now as my body begins to respond in all new ways. He’s right. This is good. It feels so good. So good, I don’t allow myself to think of what this will cost me when it’s over.

I don’t get good things in my life. I need this. I need to feel something good.

I’m shaking now. My whole body. His tongue and his lips are moving against me with eagerness, like his only desire in the world right now is to please me. The feeling begins to intensify...my breathing grows more erratic, my moans more desperate.

And then it happens.

I feel it so deep, I question if I’m actually awake. I have to be dreaming. Nothing in life can feel like this. It’s so intense; I freeze as the feeling moves through me. I stop moaning, I stop shaking, I stop breathing. Seconds pass as the feeling holds me tight. More seconds pass as it releases me, freeing me, sending me plummeting.

I’m shaking again, panting. His mouth leaves me and he crawls up my body until his mouth is on mine. I taste myself on him...his tongue in my mouth, his wet lips against mine.

“Fuck,” he mutters into my mouth. “I was wrong. This is my new favorite flavor.”

His tongue dives deeper into my mouth and I swallow his groan as he settles himself on top of me.

I’m fighting for air. I lost all mine right before he kissed me, and now I can’t catch a breath because he’s kissing me so fiercely I can’t breathe. My head is heavy but my thoughts are light, and I want to tell him to slow down. I want to tell him to give me a second to breathe. I want to say so many things, but the room is spinning and I’m drowning in guilt for allowing what just happened to transpire when I’m not sure I even wanted it to.

He finally tears his mouth from mine and I gasp for air as he presses our cheeks together.

“Hold your breath, Sloan. This might hurt.”

I feel his palm press against my stomach and I have no idea what he’s doing or what’s about to hurt. “What might hurt?”

I hear my answer in my own scream.

Pain rips through me as he forces inside me with one quick, uninvited thrust.

And then another.

“Asa!” I scream.

His mouth finds mine again, just as the tears make their way out of my eyes.

“Sloan,” he murmurs, closing his lips over mine, thrusting against me a third time. A fourth. I try to squeeze my legs shut, I try to force him out of me and I use my hands to push against his shoulders. His hands find mine, one at a time, and he brings them above my head, pressing them into the mattress.

This doesn’t feel good. Having him inside me feels so much different than when his mouth was on me.

“You feel fucking incredible, Sloan,” he whispers. “Thank you. Thank you so much for giving me this.”

Giving me this?

Did I give him this? I don’t even remember him asking if I was ready. If I wanted this. He just took it.

I think.

Who would do that? Everything he said earlier made me believe he was willing to wait.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think. All I can feel is the pressure inside me. My thighs are burning from being forced apart while I try to squeeze them back together.

I woke up to this. To him touching me...kissing me. And I didn’t stop him.

I said yes.

I spoke that word out loud.

I said don’t stop.

He misunderstood me—what I was asking of him. What I was willing to do.

I was careless with my words, and that’s not his fault. That’s my fault.

I’m no longer a virgin, and I have no one to blame for that but myself.

His lips glide across my cheek and I feel his tongue as it follows the trail of my tears. “You won’t feel the pain next time,” he whispers, moving his mouth to the other side of my face. “I promise.”

If he thought for a second that he just took my virginity without my permission, he’s not acting like it. He’s thanking me for giving it to him. He’s fully aware of what’s happening between us and I still feel half-asleep and confused, not sure if this was consensual or not. It had to be.

He wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t. If I didn’t want this to happen, what was I doing sleeping next to him? Naked? I barely know him.