Waiting for You

by Stahl, Shey

  I could feel him against me, hard, straining against his jeans, he wanted this but he also didn’t want it in his car, something he swore he’d never do. Something he said that I was better than. But after tonight, my actions, I wasn’t any better.

  My hands moved from his shoulders to grasp my dress and before he could stop me, I tore it from my body, needing, loving, wanting everything he was now giving regardless if he was begging me to stop.

  Dylan gasped, his mouth hot against my skin. Keeping one arm around my back, he struggled to rip his flannel away and the t-shirt underneath over his head. My eyes followed the lines of his muscles and the ink that tattooed them, seeing cuts from the glass in the bar. Dylan didn’t give me much time before he reached for my thighs and then he was pushing me away.

  Only he wasn’t saying no, his words were, but his body wasn’t. He grabbed my hips and turned us both, laying me across the seat, his knees spread my legs, and his hands worked on his belt buckle hastily and then unzipped his jeans. All the while, his eyes were on mine, dark, pleading, wanting, lusting, and hurting. “Tell me no, don’t let me do this,” he begged again pushing his jeans down to his knees, trying to fight his desire and need for this too.

  I didn’t listen. I couldn’t listen. Seeing him fight because of me, for me, did something to me and I wasn’t taking no for an answer tonight. I had to prove to him that we needed this. I needed this.

  “Just fuck me Dylan,” I pleaded through tears, my hands sought what I needed between us. When I grasped him firmly, he groaned, his head falling forward and it sounded like he was starving. “That’s what I want.”

  He planted his right hand firmly on the back of the seat, his other rested by my head as he tried to maneuver himself closer, the muscles in his chest flexing and contracting with each movement. His legs moved trying to gain room we didn’t have on the front seat of his car.

  His head dipped forward, his arms shaking, his entire body shaking as he leaned in.

  Meeting my stare, his eyes were regretful, on edge, raging. “Fuck,” he sighed shaking his head, hands trembling, “please stop me.”

  I didn’t.

  Pressing his weight forward, his hips in contact with mine, no barriers, and his eyes dropped to between my legs, watching.

  I think a lot of things in that moment. Sunrises, sunsets, rain, summer, ice blue, the ocean, the sea.

  With the window down, the rain pelted my face and Dylan begged me again. “Don’t brown eyes,”

  Pushing my hips up, I slid against him and it was over. He gave in.

  I could feel the change, passion, desire, burning fucking desire took over.

  In the dark, rain soaked innocence, I never thought my first time would be like this, in his GTO. His name was in the back of my throat, pleading, as I swallowed.

  “Brown eyes,” he whispered, his tone like iron, a steel gate that holds the barrier between us emotionally.

  I was scared for what I had done, what we had done. I was scared of this dangerous love, of the burn and of the desire I couldn’t let go of, the hurt, all of it. I was scared.

  Steading his weight, his hips shifted again, shaking and then he pushed.

  It was gone. My youth, my innocence, my perfectly planned life was gone when he pushed because I pushed, we pushed, until there was nothing left but what was right here, wanting, shaking, loving.

  It hurt.

  It burned.

  I was scared.

  I couldn’t breathe but yet when I felt that connection, I could finally breathe.

  I couldn’t control the sound the escaped me when he was finally inside me. He moaned, his back arched and his head fell forward further until his body came to rest above mine. Moaning again, I could feel the desperate tenor vibrate my soul and the shake that started in his hands above me holding himself steady shuddering through to his shoulders.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “This is wrong. Tell me to stop.”

  But I didn’t.

  Rocking against me, tight burning pain was all I felt but he was there, over me, weighted and loving, giving me what I wanted despite the pain, despite me pushing him into this.

  I didn’t want him to stop, ever, through the pain, the burning, the aching, I never wanted him to stop.

  “Don’t stop Dylan, please don’t,” I panted against his cheek and my eyes squeezed shut.

  He moved quickly letting go of the hesitation he had. Leaning down a little closer, flushed cheeks, I could taste the blood from his lips on mine as he kissed me, hard but slow, deep, speaking for his desire he hadn’t let go of. I closed my eyes, holding on to his as tight as I could, my hands slipping from his shoulders from the rain soaking us. My legs started to shake wrapped around him, my feet resting against his jeans that were wrapped around his calves, the muscles in his legs flexing with the movement of his hips.

  When he gave me all his weight, I felt him tremble, his movement tensed, sped but slowed at the same time. “Fuck,” he breathed gripping me harder, rocking faster, deeper, the pain spreading like fire.

  My head fell back, the rain mixed with my tears, and Dylan’s mouth captured my cries of pain and pleasure. Pulling against his shoulders, I brought my head back up, my lips found his collarbone, sliding across the weight sweat and rain soaked skin.

  Grass, heat, summer, I felt him everywhere, all around me.

  Our lips brushed, I tasted the blood again and Dylan gasped into my mouth, his hips moving faster. This angry, loving, boy who held my heart in his talented hands, taking my innocence, gave me himself so deeply I could taste him everywhere.

  We were in over our heads, I knew that, he felt it, he believed it but still, here we were, living in moments, loving dangerously.

  There was a moment when I forgot to breath, it happened when he breathed in, taking the air from my lungs, and I felt him between my legs, harden, moaning so lowly that I thought he was hurting, maybe he was but then his breathing changed, panting, gasping and unsteady.

  “I love you,” I whispered over my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the rain outside. “Forever. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

  It was the first time I had said those words but they went unnoticed. I’m not sure he even heard me.

  Dylan held me so close I cried out, his nose brushed against mine. “Never,” he promised shaking his head slightly. “Never brown eyes.”

  “Dylan,” I panted into his mouth, my legs burning, my body burning, taking and giving everything I had.

  I didn’t realize that he’d stopped his movements until I felt him gasp again, his breathing beginning to even out but not making any movements.

  Dylan touched his nose and forehead to mine. Kissing my top lip, my bottom one, his breathing slowed.

  He blinked, his eyes trained on mine, wanting, loving, needing. “You were made to love me,” he said against my lips. “Only me.”

  “I know,” I whispered again, kissing his top lip, his bottom one, just like he did mine. “I do love you. Please kiss me, please, please—”

  His lips were on mine before I got the third please out. He kissed me with his tongue and his lips, and I could feel his heart beating in his chest, thumping hard and fast against my own.

  My entire body went limp into him. I could hear myself crying against him.

  I sunk into the seat and let go. Overcome and overwhelmed, I could hear myself crying and I could feel myself dissolving around him, but I could hear and feel him, too. The weight of his body relaxed, but the weight of his despair was so much worse.

  He was giving me what I wanted, but he wasn’t feeling it. When I looked at him, his face told me so. While I had his body, his lips, his hands, his voice, I don’t have his heart right now. While he was whispering to me, the energy behind his words is empty.

  Settling my face into his neck, I wrapped my legs around him desperate to make him feel something.

  “It’s okay,” he said, aching with need but then again, words were empty. “It’s okay.�
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  Barely breathing, barely moving, he held me tight, kissing my neck again.

  He told me he loved me, chanted it even but then he was back to begging me, wanting me to believe. And then he looked at me, really looked at me, his hand on my cheek as his movements become harder. “Don’t forget, only you.”

  18. Dangerous Love – Bailey Gray

  All I could focus on, besides Dylan begging me to stop, was how badly it hurt. Those girls that say they have orgasms the first time are lying sacks of shit, at least in my mind they were. It burned, it was uncomfortable and it hurt.

  Nothing about it felt good.

  Let’s be real here. It was awful. He was drunk, we had just been fighting and his body was a mess.

  I remember Mercedes telling me how sweet her first time with Kasey had been and the candles and all that shit. Was my first time like that?

  Nope. Not even close. But Mercedes could have been lying to me too. After all, she did that a lot.

  Honestly though, I wouldn’t have changed it.

  We were still in his car, our clothes had been replaced but we hadn’t moved. It’d been two hours and the sun was starting to rise over the hill behind Drew’s house. All the lights in their house were off, I was sure Megan, and him were in there somewhere.

  Dylan flicked the cigarette butt out the window, his body shifted to lean against the door but he looked at me, wounded, his face sad. “Did you want to kiss him?”

  “No, I didn’t. He kissed me and it shocked me. Before I could react, the damage had been done.”

  His eyes were deep, voice raw from my actions, his hurt, my hurt, the hurt we couldn’t stop now. His hand rested over the steering wheel, shaking, his eyes rimmed with tears, red, puffy.

  “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his eyes closed, guarding. “I constantly fuck up.”

  “You won’t, I’m here.”

  “Are you?” Ice met fire. “Are you really here? Do you understand what we’ve done?”

  “I’m sorry, I meant it. I want you.”

  “You’re sorry?” he laughed, his mood darker than before vindictively twisting. “Show me then.”

  “How?” my voice was a whisper, cut-deep, bleeding, an open wound ready for salt, his salt, his tears, his anger.

  I got my answer when his hands moved from the wheel down to his belt and unzipped his pants.

  He was hurting, I know that and this was his way of showing it, making me feel his pain by inflicting pain.

  I had never been afraid of Dylan but I was right then. I was afraid because of what we just did and now he was forcing my head in his lap.

  When it was over, I was crying and he knew what he’d done. It hit him about as hard as that kiss had hit me, seeing firsthand the consequences your actions cause.

  “I fucked up, right?” he asked, looking down at me. “I fuck up too much?”

  “No.” I touched his face. It was a lie, the only lie I’ve ever told him.

  What I just did, what he asked me to do, it was his way of getting back at me. He did fuck up. I shouldn’t have been treated like that. He knew. So another guy kissed me. Did I ask for it? No.

  I let him reach for me and pull me into his lap, his buckle digging into my hip. The hardness between his legs was starting to soften but he hadn’t adjusted anything. He was still hanging out of his pants only now I was sitting on him.

  “Do you hate me now?”

  “No.” I shook my head meeting his stare. “I could never hate you.”

  “You could,” he said dropping his eyes. “You could hate me.”

  Deep down, it was a warning I should have took notice in.

  “Will you come inside with me?” he asked lowly, a whisper.

  I nodded but said nothing and followed him inside, through the dark house, into the room at the end of the hall we were staying in.

  “You know, this isn’t exactly how I imagined it.” His hand twisted through my hair and he pulled my head closer to him, kissing my forehead when we laid on the bed. The morning light was filtering into the room now matching his ice blue eyes.

  “You imagined it?” I whispered into his shoulder.

  He pulled back to look at my face. “I’ve imagined it for a lot longer than I should have, when I had no business imagining.” He was quiet for a moment while the weight of his words settled over me. I don’t think I would have known what to do with Dylan before this point in my life. Even if Eric hadn’t been a factor, I would’ve talked myself out of it completely, too scared of what other people would say and think. As it was, I know I haven’t handled the situation as well as I could have. Or more importantly, should have. We were both constantly testing each other in ways we weren’t exactly trying to do.

  He took a breath and continued, “I wanted to make it special. You know? Like candles and music and stuff. Something. Anything. I just wanted to make the first time that we were together special for you. More than―”

  “Dylan, stop.” I moved my head back to make sure he could see the truth in my expression and words. “It wasn’t exactly the way I imagined either but it was us.”

  Slowly, I was learning that a lot of times, the best things in life didn’t rely on being planned. There was no explaining or rationalizing emotion when you were in love. It was feeling, believing, remembering, and making moments. My life had always been planned out for me, and those plans were all I ever knew, all I relied on to get by. But this entire relationship with Dylan was been unexpected. It made sense that saying this would follow that path. And maybe that’s what made this so perfect, knowing that this was what I really wanted, without outside influence or expectations. It was completely unstable, dangerous love that could destroy you but it was Dylan. That’s the only way he knew how to love.

  “I love you,” I said again, this time with purpose, a statement with no expectation of return.

  Dylan smiled tucking me into his arms. “I love you too brown eyes.”

  We eventually fell asleep, wrapped around each other in our dangerous love. When I woke up, he was staring at the ceiling. He looked conflicted and I wondered what about last night he regretted. I knew the parts that I did.

  There were so many things I wanted to say, to ask, to feel, but I asked none of them and stayed wrapped in his arms.

  He must have sensed I was awake. “I’m sorry,” he said regretfully kissing my temple.

  Burying myself in his arms, I let him show me in kisses and touches how sorry he was, how sorry I was and our dangerous love.

  Dylan’s phone next to the bed was ringing, again, always ringing. He ignored it but eventually took the battery out.

  “You seem distracted.” It was an observation and he knew it. “What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t answer right away as he stared at the wall. Squinting, he bit down on the corner of his bottom lip, contemplating, withholding. “Nothing, brown eyes.”

  I wanted to stop time, stop thinking, be here with him and make these crazy memories he dreamed of but I couldn’t. Something was up with him and I knew it. It was more than nothing, it was in the constantly ringing phone, the hidden stares he offered and the way he reacted to the name that appeared on his phone every day.

  19. Desire – Dylan Wade

  I’m a stupid fucking kid with too much desire.

  She had no fucking clue how much I loved her. No clue. She has no understanding of how badly I wanted to do right by her, only her. She was my fucking pulse, my desire, my heartbeat and nervousness.

  Desire can be the death of a man.

  My back curved holding her to me pressing my face into the space between her neck and shoulder. My hold was tight, always tight fearing she would let go, there was no space between us.

  Only us.

  One on the inside and out. It was us.

  “Do you love me?” I asked, lifting her leg. I fell, between her legs, right where I needed to be.

  Reaching below the sheets, I positioned myself where I needed to be, in
side her, loving her, feeling her.

  Resting against my chest now, she talked about our past, what led us here now, only she didn’t know the half of it.

  “Do you remember what I said to you when your mom died?” she asked, her cold toes finding my legs, her breath soft against my neck.

  I remembered everything this girl said. Everything.

  “You told me that you would always be there for me.”

  It was a lie, she knew. She wasn’t there for me but I forgave her. Lies were told to her. Dishonest fucking hateful people who destroyed our relationship and wanted to now.

  “You smelled like grass and trouble,” brown eyes laughed, the sound was the best in the world

  “I was trouble,” I smiled kissing her nose. “I am trouble. You really shouldn’t have come with me.”

  She said nothing more. The more I warned her the more I thought the warning was sinking in. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. It wasn’t my place.

  If only things had gone differently when we were younger.

  I remember her sneaking out and sleeping on my bedroom floor for weeks after my mom died. I remember feeling relaxed that she was there, with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her all night. I loved her there. I loved her with me. I loved that she wanted to be there.

  Knowing I had her now, I lived for my moment before it was gone.

  I felt another huge wave of relief crash over me as I kissed her passionately. She wrapped her legs around my waist and I picked her up moving her to straddle me.

  She had on a black lace bra, that offset her pale skin beautifully and my lips were drawn to her skin like a magnet. She dipped her head back as I buried my face between her breasts, reaching around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall gently off her shoulders.

  I sat on the bed, she had no idea how seductive she could be as she shimmied herself out of her jeans, her hips wiggling with each exaggerated move.