by W Winters
I shake my head, searching for the words to explain. “It’s a mix, but the more you…” I have to pause and swallow before continuing, “the more you’re inside of me, the better…” I struggle to calm myself and my racing heart, which doesn’t seem so stupid now for wanting to escape earlier. If I could vanish now, I would.
His hand cups my jaw, his thumb running along my bottom lip before he asks me, “Would you tell me to stop if it was too much?” Before he can even finish his question, I’m shaking my head.
“I need you to,” he demands. His voice is laced with concern plus a plea I don’t expect. “I need you to tell me.” His eyes search mine, glancing over my face as he brushes the tears away. With him maneuvering himself back to where he was, my body calms and the heat lingers in my core.
“I want you,” I beg him. “Please, I need this to be--”
“I want you too.” His words calm every bit of anxiety and I reach up to kiss him, but it’s shortened as he pulls away.
“You can have me,” he whispers before giving me a chaste kiss I try to deepen, “but you need to tell me if it hurts too much.” He says the last part with his eyes closed and then opens them, piercing me with his gaze. “Don’t do that again,” he warns me. “Don’t let me hurt you.”
His words are so full of certainty and a darkness I can’t deny, so I speak immediately. “I won’t. “I’m sorry,” I quickly add and feel the weight of regret bury the embarrassment.
“I’m afraid if you never tell me, I‘ll never know.” His confession makes me repeat myself, “I’m sorry.”
“Look at me, Chlo,” he says then grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Without hesitating he kisses me once, then again and a third time, silencing the doubt and regret. A kiss from Sebastian Black soothes everything. He is the healing balm to my soul. As long as he kisses me, as long as he wants my lips to brush against his, I’m safe and cherished in a way I can’t describe. Even if it’s all in my head, it’s all I need.
With his eyes closed, his forehead resting against mine, he whispers between us, “If you don’t tell me, I will hurt you. I know I will. I know it. And I don’t want to.”
I nudge him with my nose to get him to look at me. “It hurt, but it was going too regardless,” I tell him and try to make him understand. “I thought I could hide the pain and when I couldn’t, it didn’t matter anyway because it felt… like everything.” I cling to his shoulders and make him look me in the eyes. “I promise you, I want this.” I breathe once, just once, waiting for him to say anything. “I want you and I want you to have me how you want.”
“We have time for me to… to,” he swallows thickly, “Chlo, I wanted to fucking destroy you.” His words make me blush furiously. I watch the way he swallows, mesmerized by his confession as he adds, “I wanted to make sure you still felt me tomorrow, so whoever had gotten to you before me, didn’t stand a chance at being remembered as a good lay.”
“It’s okay,” I say but can barely get the words out. The idea of still feeling him inside of me tomorrow and what his intentions were does nothing but fill me with lust and make me wish I hadn’t cried. I wish I could have hidden the pain like I’ve read about before. “You can have me, however--”
“Knock it off, Chlo,” Sebastian reprimands, but he says it with a smile that calms my nerves. “I want you to remember this for other reasons. Now that I know…”
I’m hot all over and still trying to gain control of my body and my emotions when he tells me, “Don’t hide this shit from me, Chloe Rose. I’ll find out.” His command comes out more teasing than anything else as he nudges his nose against mine. He reaches between his legs, his arm brushing my clit as he does, and it makes my head fall back against the pillow.
“I’ll tell you everything,” I promise him with the sweet feeling of pleasure building. He’s stroking himself and moving back to where he was, but every small movement brushes against me too, burning hotter than before.
“Then tell me you want me.”
The rhythm of my heart skips a beat. “I want you, Sebastian.”
It races as he tells me, “Spread your legs for me.” I obey him instantly. With him guiding himself back inside of me, I try to hide the wince from the lingering, stinging pain, but he sees. “I’ll make it feel good.” His words are soothing as he pushes himself inside of me and captures my scream with his kiss.
He rocks his hips steadily, each time brushing his pubic bone to my clit and he never takes his lips from mine. So long as I can kiss him back, he keeps his pace and massages his tongue along mine in swift strokes. A warmth floods through me as the pain morphs into divine pleasure.
I gasp for breath the second he parts his lips from mine, but then immediately he seeks them again. My eyes are closed and every touch of is his gentle, save the ruthless way he fucks me.
“Harder,” I beg him while gasping for air, but instead of harder, he moves his hand between us and pushes his thumb to my clit.
Fireworks go off along my skin and deep in the pit of my stomach and lower.
With every thrust from him, I gasp. The sounds of our breathing, of him fucking me and the bed protesting, only fuel me to want more. I don’t dare rip my eyes from his gaze as I cum, feeling him cum with me. I can feel everything, the way he pulses and puts more pressure against my walls, the way he fills me.
And then when he pulls away, I feel everything. Every sensation and tingling need to curl onto my side and recover from what he’s done to me. My body’s trembling, literally shaking.
I hear him go to the bathroom, but I can’t open my eyes to see him. It feels like he’s still there. I’m swollen and the ache is still raw.
But so is this feeling that takes over every inch of me. The rolling tide of pleasure that refuses to leave.
When he comes back to the bed, I want to ask him if it’s always like that, but I don’t.
Instead, I ask him if he wants me to take off the sheets, in a voice still breathless, but he shushes me, getting in behind me and scooting me to the other side of the bed. Even with fatigue weighing me down and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure still racing through me, I want to do something for him, anything.
Theres’s a crushing need to make things right with him, to show him that it’s okay and even better than okay. And that I’m sorry. I feel so fucking sorry.
But he hushes me again and plants a kiss on the side of my jaw, wrapping his heavy arm around me and pulling me close.
“Thank you,” I whisper although I feel foolish doing it. Sebastian doesn’t say anything; he just holds me tighter. I don’t know if I’ve ruined everything and part of me starts to wonder if I have. It was intense and emotional and I’m still riding the high, but the nagging feeling that I’m alone, and that I destroyed whatever we had creeps into my thoughts.
“How did that feel, Chloe Rose?” The deep rumble of his chest accompanies his question.
It felt like he owned me. Body and soul.
“You can do that to me whenever you want,” I answer him with sweet sorrow mixing in my chest. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but tonight, I’ll have forever.
He arranges me so I’m nestled perfectly against his chest on my side, his hand splayed on my belly as he kisses my hair and then my shoulder. Nothing but warmth and comfort flow through me. I’ve never felt so loved. Never in my life have I felt like this. So wholly wanted and cherished. It’s the way he’s brutal, but gentle just the same. I want to believe it’s because of me, because of us. That it isn’t like this with other girls. That he isn’t treating me differently because he found out I’m a virgin. And although the doubt and worry are there, tonight it feels real.
I swear I hear him whisper, “I love you, Chloe Rose,” as my eyes become heavier. He whispered it at the back of my neck. But as quickly as I thought I heard the words, I start to think I imagined it. It’s something I’ve always wanted to hear from him, and I need to hear it now. I desperately need to hear it.
<
br /> I don’t know if it’s a dream, maybe one I once had long ago and wish to remember, or if it’s real. But as I feel sleep pull me under, I hold on to those words. Deep down inside of my soul, I know they’ll keep me safe.
I only wish I had the strength to say them to him.
Sebastian
How could I not have known?
I can’t get the nagging thought to go the fuck away. I was so eager to have Chloe, to ruin her, to make sure she’d remember me forever, that I didn’t stop to consider the possibility I’d be her first.
If I had known, I would have done it differently. She’d have a better memory of her first time.
I should have fucking known.
Drew dated her for a month when I was away, up north with Romano. He told me he was lying about the rumors of her sucking him off behind the school, but at the time, I wasn’t sure if he was telling me the truth or not because I was slamming his face into the cement. I thought he took her first. The day I heard what he was telling other people, I thought he’d taken her V-card.
Her only other boyfriend was Jared Santack.
They went to semi formals together and I saw him kiss her. I know they went home together that night. It was the night I came home from my first stint in jail. I remember thinking for a split second how she deserved someone like Jared, then I planned how I’d fuck up his car the next day, just because he needed to have something of his broken too.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Carter asks me from across the dining room.
My gaze shifts to him and I try to fix the pissed off look I know is on my face, but I can’t. Last night fucked me up in a way I can’t explain. I run my hand down my face and try to shrug it all off. The chair legs scratch on the floor as I get up from the table and go to the window. Carter’s family’s house is on the outskirts of the city and backs up to the woods. It’s dark and there’s not much to look at out there, but I stare outside anyway, trying to get my shit together.
My knuckles rap on the worn-out buffet table in front of the window as he asks me, “She getting to you?”
Is Chloe Rose getting to me?
She’s always gotten to me.
I don’t answer him, instead, I try to make up a lie, but it doesn’t occur to me that the lie is a truth until the words are spoken. “Being here just reminds me of family,” I tell him. My spine stiffens and a chill runs through me.
“Shit, man,” Carter tells me, “I’m sorry.” As if it’s his fault. As if he has anything at all to be sorry about.
I shake it off, hating that tonight of all nights I’m making this about me. That I can’t focus and be there for my only friend.
“How did the treatment go?” I ask him. And the look on his face instantly changes. The sympathy morphs into anguish.
He doesn’t say anything, although he tries. Instead, he looks me in the eyes and shakes his head.
My heart drops down to the pit of my stomach. “Fuck.” It’s all I can give him and then we’re both looking out the window.
“Tell me something good.”
His request catches me off guard and I consider him for a moment.
Something good. It takes me longer than it should to think of something. All thoughts lead back to Chloe Rose.
“I fucked Chlo last night,” I tell him. “I was her first.”
“Shit, really?” he asks. “She’s twenty?” I nod, waiting for him to say something else. For him to understand what it meant to me. But I don’t think he will. No one will. They don’t get it. I don’t even understand it.
Ever since I laid eyes on her, she was mine. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want anyone, because I didn’t have a choice. She was mine. Fate picked her for me, and vice versa. Last night was meant to happen. I know it.
The sound of the door opening distracts us both, drawing our attention to the front door we can’t see.
Carter grabs the edge of the buffet tighter at the sound of his dad calling out for him. “Back here,” he replies and steels himself, staring straight ahead and trying to relax his posture.
I fucking hate it. I hate how he’s scared of his own father. He tells me it’s the way it is and that it’s no different from how his father was raised, but that doesn’t make it right.
I expect his father to be drunk and angry, like the last few times I’ve seen him. He pissed himself the one night he was so hammered, we had to drag him home.
His steps get louder and then the old man is right in front of us, his hands slipping into his pockets as he leans against the doorway. “You two eat already?” he asks us and gives me a short nod before pulling out a smoke.
He lights up as we answer him. I can feel the aggression rolling off of me, my expression getting tighter, but I know that’s no good for Carter. He doesn’t want a war, he just wants to do what’s right by his mom.
Mr. Cross walks to the dining room table, sifting through the bills and puffing on his cigarette.
“How is she?” Carter asks him, and I glance between the two of them. His father’s expression falters for a split second before he changes it to something else, something stronger than the weak man who’s withering away just as his wife is.
He nods at Carter and tells him, “She had a good day.” With his lips pressed in a thin line, he tells us he’s going to bed. Carter told me the days he doesn’t drink are different, but I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. A long damn time. It’s been two years of hell, with my hate growing for this man, but seeing him sober is different.
Carter nudges me as his father starts to walk away and I reach in my back pocket for the cash. “Mr. Cross,” I call out to him and take the three steps forward to pass him the bundle. “I just wanted to help out if you’ll take it,” I offer. “I won it on a bet and I don’t need it.”
“I wish I had the decency not to,” he answers me. “This isn’t charity.”
“Call it a loan then,” I answer him quickly as he tries to give it back. Taking a step away from him, I tell him, “I don’t care either way.” He nods his head in agreement, but the old man’s eyes turn paler and glossy.
It’s quiet for a long time as I watch the man do his best not to break down in front of me, tapping the wad of cash against his palm.
“I don’t know how to tell your brothers.” He talks to Carter without looking at me, staring down at the cash before slapping it down on the dining room table. The strength he had diminishes, and his face crumples with hopelessness.
“She’s not going to be here for much longer,” he starts to cry and it fucking hurts watching a grown man lose it. “I can’t lose your mother.” He covers his face with one hand, his other bracing him on the table to keep himself upright.
“They know, Dad,” Carter tells him, although he doesn’t go to his dad, he doesn’t try to comfort him. He stands strong and his father only seems to respect the decision as he rights himself, brushing away the tears and sniffling hard to be done with it.
“They don’t know,” he says in a single breath, his face going stony. “They can’t know until it happens. Nothing can prepare you for it.”
Carter looks down and stares at his mud-covered boots; I know he wants to object.
His father’s right though. Even knowing the end is coming can’t help. Nothing can prepare you for the type of destruction death brings.
“We’ll be all right,” his father sniffs and grabs Carter’s shoulder, squeezing it and waiting for Carter to look him in the eye. “All boys,” his father says and huffs a humorless laugh although a faint smile is on his lips. He looks at me as he asks, “Can you believe that?”
I offer him a weak laugh, feeling awkward and out of place.
“Their mother wanted a little girl and instead I gave her five sons. All Irish; the Irish boys have to be tough.” He nods his head as he talks to neither of us in particular. “The men have to be tough,” he repeats and then gives his son’s shoulder one more squeeze.
“Carter will do
good,” he says and then sniffles again, giving me a glance before walking toward the worn doorway. “Carter will take care of them,” he says softly.
“You’re talking like you’re already dead,” Carter comments. “You’re still here.” The tension between them changes to something else, and for the first time, I see why Carter doesn’t blame his father. He would never go against his father. It’s the fear of losing him that keeps him loyal. Between the alcohol and his hopelessness, he’s already close to losing him.
“I won’t live much longer after she goes. That’s how it works.” His father doesn’t say anything else in the awkward silence that follows and neither does Carter.
It’s only when the stairs creak with the weight of his father going to bed, that Carter says anything.
“He’s a different man when he isn’t drinking. You see it, right?” Carter asks me, his voice more hopeful than I thought it’d be. “He’s not all bad.”
I can only nod, not wanting to fight with Carter. Carter’s told me his father treats him differently from Daniel, who’s the second oldest. He’s told me some days he doesn’t even know if his father loves him. I can’t forgive a man for treating his son like that. I won’t.
“Thanks for the loan, man,” he tells me, even though I’m aware he doesn’t like that he had to take it.
“Yeah, no problem. It’s nothing,” I say and try to brush it off like it doesn’t matter. “I have to go home to Chlo.”
“Look at you,” Carter jokes and I can feel the tension leave him, grateful to move on to a different subject. “Don’t fuck it up.”
I almost joke back and tell him that I know I’m going to ruin it somehow. But it’s too close to the truth and I don’t want to speak life into the words.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way in my head, not like this.
“She has no one,” I tell Carter, just wanting him to understand her the way I do. “The worst thing I can imagine is having no one.” It’s only when the words are spoken that I realize how alone I’ve really been. I wait for Carter to say something, but his mind is elsewhere.
