Before I knew it, Tru had stripped off my shirt and was licking my nipples through the fabric of my bra. I whined and arched my back, pushing myself into his mouth. His response was to bite down, a sweet sting that he immediately soothed with his wet tongue. I yanked at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before sighing at the perfection of his chiseled torso. A smattering of caramel colored hair filled the valley between his pecs. I ran my tongue up the center and listened to him hiss.
We stopped and stared at each other with panting breaths and racing hearts. I could feel his, thudding under my fingers, and imagined he could see mine in the pulsing vein in my neck. His hair was messed up from my hands, sticking in all directions. What we were doing—what was about to happen—lay heavy between us. Would this be the night I discovered that my body would never accommodate a man? Would this be the end or beginning of us?
As if he could read my mind, Tru grinned, leaned down, and kissed me, short and sweet. "I fucking love you, Jessa Parker. No matter what."
Those words turned my body into heated honey, relaxed and his for the taking. He pushed up from the couch, took my hand, and led me to the bedroom, where he stripped the clothes off of my body, kissing my newly exposed skin as he went. Then, he did the same with his own clothes, and for the second time in an evening I got to watch him get naked. The difference this time was obvious in the thick erection between his legs.
He guided me to the bed where sweat made his skin warm and slick as it glided against mine. The hairs on his chest and torso were rough on my belly. The friction only increased my need for more of the same between my legs, making me shameless as I arched into his chest, rubbing my breasts against him. My vagina grasped at the emptiness, clenching in invitation for something to fill me. I squirmed as our tongues thrust back and forth, invading, retreating between mouths.
The prickly heat of arousal erupted over my body, landing at the spot where his thigh nudged itself between mine. His hands grew rougher, pulling at me, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. He dragged his nails along my skin as I rode the edge between pleasure and pain. He licked and bit his way between my breasts and onto my belly. I hardly recognized my voice as I whimpered.
Tru answered my call with his hand. It drifted down to my wetness, rubbing in small circles as he sought to relieve me. He'd done it before—felt me there—but he'd never penetrated me. This time, he slid a finger inside. I was both surprised and relieved at how good it felt. There was no tightness, no stinging, stretching pain. I arched up off the bed, pulling his mouth closer, wanting him to devour me.
He fingered me until I was beyond hot and bothered, but I couldn't orgasm. I hadn't let myself during any of the times we'd fooled around, either. It frustrated him, but for me it was about fairness. I didn't want to let go without him doing the same thing. I'd begged him to work himself while we watched each other. He'd refused, saying he was afraid of what he'd do if he touched himself or allowed me to do it for him. He was adamant that we not do anything before I was ready, and ever the gentleman, he didn't want to pressure me.
Now, the gentleman was gone.
The feel of his hard cock pressing against my thigh drove me crazy with desire. I slowed my breathing down and pressed my palm against his cheek, looking into his eyes. Panting and flushed, I willed him to see what he was doing to me.
His eyes dilated as he met my gaze, clearly the worse for wear, having to watch and feel as he fucked me with his fingers. "Fuck, Jess. You've got me so hard."
He leaned over, biting and sucking along my chest, under the sensitive skin of my breasts and farther down my belly, before he propped his chin there and looked up at me, his eyes hot with need, soft with affection.
He was waiting for confirmation, and I was ready to give it to him.
"Yes, Tru. I want it."
He smiled and popped off the bed with the skill of an athlete before digging in his bag for something. He came back with a condom. The sight of it triggered the memory of my first attempt. He saw the look on my face and his expression fell.
"You can change your mind, darlin'. We don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"My first time, um..." I paused, wondering how to word it in the least I'm-a-freak-of-nature way.
Tru sighed, clearly eager to move forward with the non-talking portion of the moment.
I shut my eyes tight and let the truth spill out. "We didn't finish. It hurt so bad I made him stop. I'm not a virgin, but I've never really had sex either, and...I'm not sure you'll fit."
He'd known I wasn't a virgin, but I'd kept the details of my first experience private until that moment. He was quiet long enough I expected him to make an excuse and back away, maybe dump me via phone in a few days. What I didn't expect was his total nonchalance about it. I opened one eye to find him watching me.
He was still hard against my leg. He slid the condom over his thick cock, spread my legs with his knees and nestled the tip against my entrance, rubbing along the slit. I inhaled at the blissful tingling sensation, my hips tipping up without thought, seeking more of him.
Tru's deep voice vibrated against the shell of my ear. "Sounds like he didn't know what the hell he was doing."
He slid inside on one long thrust, so deep my teeth chattered when his hips settled flat against mine.
"You're in?" Fuck. I blushed at the potential insult, but Tru's warm, low laugh reassured me.
"Yeah darlin', I'm in." His voice was strained.
"It doesn't hurt." My voice sounded far away, light. There was nothing wrong with me. I was so caught up in the wonder of my new reality, I almost forgot about what we were doing.
"That's good, honey. It shouldn't hurt. It should feel nice. Like this."
He began to move and, oh God, the sensation of fullness lit up every nerve ending in my body. I finally understood what all the fuss was about. I never wanted it to end. He pushed hard, hitting a spot that caused my fingers to dig into his ass. His length and girth were a perfect match for my body, sublime in the way I felt both overwhelmed and greedy. He continued, in and out, long and slow. As he moved, his face became red, and a vein popped along his forehead with the strain of control.
He held himself off, hitting my clit with each thrust, pushing me toward my first sexual orgasm. When I called out, told him I was coming, the guttural moan of his release was a trigger for my own pulsing cascade of sensations, taking me higher than I'd ever been able to go with my own hand.
We moved together for long moments before I came back to my senses. I really wasn't a virgin anymore. There was nothing wrong with me. I was so relieved I started laughing. Tru chuckled, too—he always did when I laughed—as though the sound was enough reason to join in. He knotted the condom and dropped it over the edge of the bed, then pulled me toward him, arranging me in his favorite way—tucked into his side with my cheek against his chest. Our breaths slowly returned to normal, but we didn't speak.
I played with the smattering of hair on his pecs, tracing my finger along his skin. I remembered seeing him at the lake, the day we officially met, and the curiosity I had about where the trail of hair down his belly led. Now here I was, curiosity satisfied, free to touch and taste to my heart's content.
It was late, we were sweaty, but we stayed like that for a long time, the light on, each of us lost in our thoughts. Finally, I turned, propping myself up with my chin on his chest. His eyes were closed, but he opened one and tilted his head down to look at me. I smiled wide and brought my mouth to his in a soft, lingering kiss, before pulling back.
"Let's do it again."
CHAPTER FOUR
Truman fucking Miller
Present~
After my conversation with Amy about the reunion, Nick and I shared a quiet meal before he sauntered over to the couch to watch TV while I cleaned the kitchen. An hour later, he kissed me on the forehead and went to bed—he wasn't a night owl like me—and I logged on to Facebook to catch up with the latest news on friend
s near and far.
I couldn't help my gasp when I saw a private message from Truman.
Truman fucking Miller.
My spine tingled with a sensation I hadn't felt in years. Like taking one of those roller coaster rides on the top of a Vegas hotel. The kind that sends a rider over the edge of an impossibly high building with nothing beneath their feet. Two decades apart, and Truman still got to me, even when he no longer had the right. Damn it.
I avoided the inevitable for a few minutes, instead clicking on pictures and commenting on birthdays in some vain attempt at proving I wasn't the same girl who'd rush to answer his beck and call. But, that little message indicator mocked me. Dared me. Called me a wimp for being scared of a few words on a screen. I sighed, frustrated with my own drama, pulled up my metaphorical big girl panties, and clicked on the stupid icon.
Hi Jess. Long time no see. Leo tells me you'll be in town next week. I've had this facebook thing for a day or two and thinkin I shouldn't open this can of worms. Talk about a time suck. I want to see you. ~Tru
The fact that he wanted to see me was a punch in the gut. Why was he messaging me as though we hadn't ripped each other's hearts out and left them in the space between us, bleeding and beaten, nearly twenty years ago?
OK, so maybe it was just me who felt a piece of my soul had gone missing when we ended. Or maybe Tru had grown up, moved past the drama, and it was time for me to do the same. Great. This was a chance to put it all to rest. I shook off my nerves and plastered a smile on my face, even though there was no one in the room to see it. I'd write a quick reply, and it'd be done. No overthinking allowed. Overthinking had always gotten me in trouble, anyway.
Hi poopypants! Glad you finally joined Facebook! Yes I'll be staying at my mom's for the reunion. Leo, Amy, and I are getting together for lunch. Join us if you want! Get the time and place from Leo and I'll see you there! Good to hear from you! ~Jessa
I closed my eyes and pressed send before I could change my mind. When I opened them, I cringed. Poopypants? And what was with all the exclamation points? I flinched as I reread the words. This was my grand strategy for appearing mature, for showing I'd grown up—by calling him that ridiculous nickname. It had been our own private joke, back in the day. Something I'd called him when his moods began to take a nosedive. It had never failed to make him smile. So, I'd said it whenever the weight of him threatened to pull me under.
What memories would the endearment drag up for Truman? I couldn't remember any of it, the good or the bad, without getting an actual physical reaction somewhere in my body. I'd spent years trying to create distance between my body and mind when it came to him. Years working on disciplining myself enough so I could process that time of my life without it making me sick. And here I was jumping right back into the eye of the storm.
What the hell am I doing?
***
It was Tuesday. Another day I'd never forget, for all the worst reasons. Nick stood in the doorway to our bedroom, his brow creased in concern as he watched me pack. I sniffed and bit my lip, running a palm across my cheek to wipe away the tear that had escaped before I continued folding clothes and loading them into my bag.
"You don't have to go, you know. It's a high school reunion. It's not like people wouldn't understand why you need to skip it." His smooth voice usually soothed me. Somehow when he spoke, no matter what he said, I'd always felt like everything was going to be all right.
That was Nick. His quiet confidence was one of the things that drew me to him when we first met. It was in the direct eye contact, the thoughtful questions, and careful observations—hell, the way he moved across a room. Even now, casually leaning against the door frame, sinewy forearms crossed across his chest, one ankle bent in front of the other, he was the vision of a man who had "it" handled.
The last year had been one long, stark reality check. Turns out, there were some things my husband couldn't fix for me. Blame was a fiery heat that came from nowhere and bloomed across my chest, up my neck, and into my throat where it formed a ball of accusation, ready to fire. The feeling was irrational. I told myself this, even while it crested inside of me. I felt nudged by it, as if the indignant rage I felt were a child pulling on the hem of my shirt to get my attention. A child...
I swallowed, forcing the feeling back down. "I need to go. Amy's counting on me, and she doesn't know we've been trying...and failing." The words were jagged glass along the back of my throat as they left my mouth. I could practically taste the blood.
"Fuck Amy."
I turned, shocked, as I sniffed the remnants of tears back up my nose.
He shook his head, came over, and encircled me in his arms. "I don't mean it like that. I only mean this is big and you need to respect it. This was our fourth try with insemination. It's OK to let your guard down and admit you're scared. It hurts, baby, I know it does. But remember, we're in this together."
Good, old-fashioned sex hadn't been enough, but no one could tell us the reason why. The whole situation was so unjust, and though it wasn't his fault, that blame was back, and it needed a target.
"Are we?"
My question was the first verbal hit. Nick took it, but it cost him. I could see it in the way his eyes narrowed, as he considered taking the bait. The fact he stayed, his arms tight around my waist when he probably should've told me to fuck off, was more evidence he was telling the truth. We were in this together. He believed that, anyway.
He took a deep breath and glowered down at me, obviously struggling to remain patient. I was perversely thrilled. I wanted to start bouncing on my toes, shadowboxing. Blame turned to rage, pulsing through my veins, pooling in my hands, urging them to curl into fists.
"I'm not sure how to respond to that, but the first thought that comes to mind is, yes. We fucking are in this together. For you to imply we aren't is, frankly, pretty goddamned insulting."
I pushed him away, breaking his hold, wanting to cry for the loss, for the dizzying sensation of insecurity and fury battling within me. As I stared at him, everything bubbled to the surface. The feelings had already filled every available cell in my body. There was nowhere else to store them.
A scowl pulled at the corners of my mouth. The muscles in my face actually hurt with the ferocity of my expression. "Really? So you're the one who's had your legs spread for every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the fertility world? You've taken the meds that make you crazy and fat? You've gone in for weekly blood draws, been poked with needles full of various hormones, and had a fucking ultrasound wand up your snatch every other day? You've had to talk about how, at thirty-six fucking years old, you are now considered to be of 'advanced maternal age' whatever the hell that means? I didn't see you at all of the goddamned baby showers, pretending to be happy for our friends when the truth is you want to curl up right there on the floor and die."
I watched his nostrils flare while the skin on his face tightened almost imperceptibly. I wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat for a tender moment, but damn, I just wanted him to grab on and hold me and never let go. I wanted to struggle against him until I had exhausted every muscle in my body. I threw my hands out to my sides, desperate to find some reason this wasn't my fault.
"All I've seen you do is enjoy me thinking up different ways to get you hard so we can fuck on schedule. When that didn't work, your biggest job was to jack off into a cup once a month. So forgive me if I feel like maybe my pain is a tad bit worse than yours!" I was acting crazy, but the release felt so good after so long keeping it all inside, I couldn't stop.
He stepped back as though I'd shoved him. I ignored the stab of guilt at putting that look on his face. I was officially infertile. I'd never felt more powerless. We had every right to make a baby, we were good people, and I wanted desperately to watch Nick be a dad. I knew he'd be great.
Nick turned and paced away, running a hand through his hair before he turned back around. His answering anger was so intense I felt the energy of it pressing against me, making me s
tep back. I felt the blood leave my face. I'd wanted to spar, not go for the knockout.
"Is that what we're doing now? Keeping score? Jesus." His lips curled in a sneer. "I'm sorry that my contribution to baby making is so subpar compared to yours. If I could take it on and make this happen for you, I would, in a heartbeat. But I can't. All I can do is sit around and feel like a useless ass, beat off into that fucking cup, which is also humiliating by the way, then pray to God it works so I can feel like I didn't totally screw your life up by not giving you babies. Goddammit!"
He slammed his palm against the wall behind him, the sound echoing around the room.
We were both panting as though we'd sprinted a mile. The sneer of sarcasm he'd worn had melted clean away, replaced with a look of anguish that would haunt me for the rest of my life. We'd had our share of disagreements, but we'd never yelled at each other, not like this.
I couldn't keep looking at him. Watching my strong, steady husband—the person I relied on to keep me sane—losing his cool. It unnerved me, but I couldn't deny that it was also a relief to know I wasn't the only one of us who suffered.
But, to know that his pain was because he wanted so badly to give me my dream twisted in my stomach, the ache turning to nausea. I stared at the bed wondering at my sudden talent for making him go from concerned to furious in such a short amount of time.
Then he gutted me, his voice agonized. "I'm in this with you. I'm in so deep I want shit I never thought was important, because it's important to you. I want a family, sure, but not at this price. If trying to make a baby turns you into someone I don't recognize, then what the hell are we doing?"
I let out the breath I'd been holding as my insides melted. My anger had burned hot and bright a moment ago, a flare sent up as an S.O.S, and extinguished almost as quickly.
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 6
