A First Time for Everything

by Isabel Morin

  Hey Hannah. r u busy?

  I stare at it for several minutes, frozen with indecision. I can’t ignore him. I don’t want to ignore him. But what do I say?

  Just in my room studying, I finally write.

  R we good? Haven’t see u in a while.

  Just busy, that’s all, I reply.

  A minute goes by. Then: Can I come over?

  I can’t leave him hanging, and I’m physically incapable of refusing him right now. But I don’t want Audrey coming home and finding him here, so I get up, take a quick look in the mirror, and head down the hall.

  His door is closed, but he answers as soon as I knock, looking somehow anxious and pleased at the same time.

  “Come on in,” he says, stepping aside.

  I stand in the middle of his room, unsure what to do with my hands. I’ve never felt so awkward around him, not even when I barely knew him.

  He sits down at his desk chair. “I was worried you were mad at me. Things seemed weird Friday night.”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. “Something’s different. You don’t even want to be here.”

  I can’t tell him the truth. That would only prove I’ve gotten attached, just like he warned me, and all this would end for sure. And if I’m already feeling this way, why not finish what I started? Then I can end this and still have accomplished what I wanted.

  “I think we should have sex,” I say.

  He stares at me as if he’s not sure he heard me right. “You do?”

  As soon as I say it, I’m even more certain. This was always supposed to be a practical solution. Why not go back to my original purpose, before I got so confused?

  “Sure. I don’t know why I was making such a big thing about it. If you’re not busy, we could do it tonight.”

  “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Anxiety makes my voice higher. “I thought you said it was all you thought about.”

  “I know but…this isn’t how I pictured it.”

  “Never mind, it was a stupid idea,” I say, heading for the door.

  He stands up and catches me by the wrist. “Hannah, I want you. You know I do.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Before you seemed like it mattered to you. Now it’s like…like you want to check it off your list.”

  I can’t even look at him, I’m so mortified. He sees right through me.

  “Let’s just take it slow tonight, okay?”

  And then I do look up at him, and the yearning and confusion I see in his eyes cuts right through me. I can’t pretend not to care, not with him. Whatever happens between us, it matters, and I’ll have to deal with the consequences. I can’t turn away, not this time.

  Standing on my toes, I pull him to me and kiss him with everything in me. He groans into my mouth and deepens the kiss, learning me all over again with his infinite patience.

  Everything in me softens and opens to him. I press myself against him until I can feel every tensed and quivering muscle in his body, every breath he takes and beat his heart makes.

  I’ll die if I can’t touch his skin. My hands shake as I unbutton his shirt, but my confidence surges as his breath grows ragged. When every button is opened his shirt hangs loose, revealing his chest and abs. He holds himself still, letting me lead the way, but poised like he might turn the tables any second.

  Greedy now, I push the shirt off him.

  My mind blanks out everything but the way his smooth skin glows softly in the lamplight, shadows falling in the hollows near his hips and under his cheekbones. A pulse beats at his throat.

  He grabs the hem of my shirt and lifts, and I raise my arms. The shirt slips over me and floats to the floor.

  He takes a deep breath, and his eyes flutter closed. When he opens them a moment later, all the heat is still there, but banked like he’s gotten control. He smiles at me, and it’s the wicked grin I know so well, only sweetened with a tenderness that makes my throat ache.

  I lean in to kiss him, but his hands on my shoulders hold me back.

  “You sure you want this, Hannah?”

  How do I tell him I want him to be less wonderful, less careful? That I don’t want to feel so much?

  “I’m sure,” I tell him.

  Then I climb into his bed.

  His warmth and weight come down on top of me, and we kiss until we’re both gasping. His mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, nipping my breast through my bra.

  If I let him, he’ll drive me out of my mind within minutes, but I want to learn how to make him writhe and pant. I kiss my way down his chest, stopping to brush my fingertips beside the blue shadow of a bruise on one of his ribs. Even this only makes him sexier.

  I move my hand lower to cup him through his jeans and his breath explodes out of him.

  I can’t believe I’m actually touching him. I love the way his throat works, the way he closes his eyes and raises his hips.

  “I want to see you,” I say.

  “Hannah,” he gasps, pulling me toward him for a kiss so hot and urgent and deep, I’m left gasping and fully aware how far gone he is.

  When we come up for air, I start to unzip his jeans, but he’s big and hard, and I chicken out. “Could you do it?”

  His eyelids fall to half-mast as he unzips his jeans the rest of the way and pulls himself out. I lie so I’m facing him.

  “Put your hand on me,” he says, guiding me so that my fingers circle him.

  He pulses in my hand, warm and smooth. I move my hand up and down, looking to him for cues.

  His breathing is ragged. “Like that, but faster. Guys like it faster and harder than girls.”

  I do as he says, moving my hand up and down the silky skin. “Like this?” I feel like my hand isn’t working smoothly enough.

  “It’s easier with lube, but you feel amazing.”

  His eyes are shut, so he doesn’t realize what I’m doing until my lips close around him.

  He practically levitates off the bed.

  His breathing gets heavier, and he groans like I’m killing him. His whole body is tense, his muscles bunched under his skin. I experiment with how much I take him in and what happens when I use my tongue. But as amazing as it feels to make him so excited, it’s kind of overwhelming. I pull back and take a deep breath.

  He opens his eyes and grabs me by the shoulders, urging me up. “I can’t handle any more of that, not if you want anything else to happen tonight.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can revive you again if I need to.”

  “Holy shit, Hannah.”

  I don’t know where my confidence comes from, maybe from making him feel so good, but I still need him to help me.

  “Will you tell me what you like?”

  He swallows and nods.

  This time it’s even hotter. He talks to me, his voice low and rough, letting me know what feels good, how to adjust. I have the keys to the kingdom, and the way he groans and gasps my name makes it way more exciting than I expected.

  I can tell he’s getting close by the way his breath saws in and out and he starts to thrust. I’m not really sure what to do—or what I want to do—and at this point he’s too far gone to tell me, so I back off and use my hand instead. My heart’s pounding like I’m the one hurtling toward the edge, and my whole body breaks out in a sweat.

  His body goes so tense I can see every muscle in full relief, as if he were posing for a sculptor. Then his hips lift off the bed and he comes on a long moan. It’s pretty amazing, really, and I’m so pleased with myself I smile like I won the jackpot.

  His eyes are closed and his breathing is still rough, his hair damp with sweat. Then he opens his eyes and gives me a smile so warm and intimate, if I wasn’t sitting down already, I’d be on the floor.

 
Pulling me close, he gives me a sweet, lingering kiss. “You’re amazing.” He looks down at himself and at me holding my hand in a sticky fist. “This part is a little less sexy.”

  Leaning over the bed he grabs his discarded shirt from the floor. Holding my hand in his, he wipes it clean, then wipes himself off and tosses the shirt in the corner.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t swallow,” I say, lying down next to him. “I got kind of nervous about that.”

  “I’d get the hell out of the way, too.”

  “But you probably like being deep-throated, right?”

  “Hey, we’re not making porn here. Anyway, you just about killed me as it is.”

  He rolls toward me so we’re skin to skin, and his hand skims over my hip and up my bare arm. Slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world, but I’m so ready, I’m already writhing against him.

  “I can’t believe you’re still wearing clothes. If you hadn’t driven me so crazy, I’d have taken care of you first.”

  I’ve heard about guys falling asleep right after sex, but Casey is coming back to life.

  “You want me to make you come, Hannah?” he asks, rolling on top of me, his weight pressing me into the bed, blue eyes blazing at me.

  I arch into him, my fingers digging into his arms. “Yes. Please hurry.”

  “No way, babe. I’m going to take my time with you.”

  He settles between my legs and drags my pants and underwear off, then takes hold of each sock and plucks them off my feet.

  “You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs. “Even your feet are beautiful.”

  I’m so far gone, the shyness I expected is barely even there. I just need him to touch me.

  It takes me a second to realize something’s wrong. Casey’s not moving, and someone’s knocking on his door. Like, banging on it. Hard.

  Like a deer caught in the headlights. That’s how Casey looks.

  The voice continues. “I know you’re in there. I can see a light.” Then a pause. “Oh my God, do you have a girl in there?”

  Casey pulls on his jeans and yanks his shirt over his head. I pull the covers over me as he heads out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

  Even with the door between us, I can hear them clearly.

  His voice is low but furious. “What are you doing here?”

  Then the furious girl. “What am I doing? I thought something was wrong. I guess I forgot who I was dealing with.”

  “Jesus, Lydia. Something came up.”

  “Yeah, your dick.”

  “Look, I never said I was—”

  “Whatever. Next time you make a shitty move like this, try texting the girl you’re ditching so she doesn’t hang around waiting like an asshole.”

  When he comes back in the room I’m already pulling on my skirt.

  “Are you leaving?”

  I lean down and grab my bra from the floor. “Of course I’m leaving. That was kind of a mood killer.”

  “It’s not what you think. I ran into her earlier and she asked where I was watching the playoffs tonight. I said I’d probably be at Hugo’s. That’s it. I forgot all about it because I wanted to see you.”

  “You’re saying you’ve never fooled around with her?”

  He sits heavily on the bed. “We messed around a few times sophomore year, that’s all. I had no idea she thought we were going to hook up.”

  The thing is, I believe him. He doesn’t need to come on to girls for them to think something more is going to happen. Jen’s been thinking it for nearly a year. I’m starting to lose it, too. If it wasn’t for Audrey, I’d have been listening at his door a few nights ago.

  How many women need to make fools of themselves before I realize I’m next?

  “I knew if I stuck around long enough something like this would happen,” I say.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You have to take some responsibility. You know how girls fall for you, but you walk around like you can get whatever you want without any consequences.”

  “I’ve never promised anyone anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t want anything from me. I thought tonight meant something, but you don’t want that, do you?” His eyes sear into me, accusing. “You just wanted to have sex so you can see other people.” He gives a harsh laugh. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Maybe it’s good you get a taste of your own medicine. No one should get everything they want.”

  I’ve drifted closer to him, like I always do. Trapped in his orbit by some law of physics I can’t seem to fight. I’m not sure which one of us is to blame for where we are now. We both changed the rules midway through the game.

  He reaches for my hips, but I back away just in time. If I give in now, what chance do I have?

  His eyes flash dark and hot, heavy with rekindled desire, and before I know it, he’s on his feet and backing me into the door.

  “You’re what I want,” he says, his voice rough with feeling. “And I hardly ever get you.”

  His hands are sliding up my thighs, tracing along the edge of my underwear, lighting up the sensitive skin. When I start to slide down the door, he cups my ass and pulls me into him.

  It’s no use. I want him too much.

  My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I pull him to me for a kiss so scorching, it might just brand me for life. When he drops to his knees and presses his face into the vee of my legs, my knees threaten to buckle.

  His hands are on my ass, pressing me close, and his position is so worshipful, so blatantly sexual, all I can do is hold myself up and keep breathing. His face is hard with intent, and when he looks up at me, I see a need in him as urgent as my own.

  He closes his eyes and inhales my scent, and then he licks into me through the thin cloth. In a flash I understand how much he held back with me before, how much I didn’t know about desire.

  I don’t stop him. I wouldn’t if my life depended on it.

  He licks me until I think I’ll die, and then with one hand he pulls the scrap of underwear down my legs and I step out of it, and now there’s nothing between us.

  He looks like he’s the one supplicating, powerless. Or maybe each one of us is both powerful and helpless in our need for each other. All I know is that my head is pressed back against the wall, my eyes closed, my fingers threaded through his hair. His tongue strokes me the way he kisses—savoring, thorough, relentless.

  I’m sliding to the floor for real, and he pulls me down the rest of the way and presses me back. He’s between my legs again, and I arch into him, gasping his name. The floor presses into my spine, cold and hard beneath me, but it’s not enough to keep me from losing all sense of myself.

  Everything narrows to the feel of his mouth on me. The friction of his stubble against my thighs, the satisfied sound he makes when I say his name—urge me higher. He draws me out, drives me closer, until at last I’m breaking over the edge. Pleasure surges through me like wind-driven waves, hurling me along until I land, trembling and spent, back in Casey’s arms.

  The storm passes, and the world comes back into focus. I’m sprawled on the floor, my skirt bunched around my hips, my arms pebbled with goosebumps.

  Casey’s lying beside me, his arm around my waist. “Hey, you still with me?”

  I sit up and hug my legs to my chest, hiding my face.

  This isn’t like what we’ve done before. This was too raw, too demanding. It’s cracked open something inside me.

  “Hannah?” Casey’s hand is warm on my arm, his voice worried.

  I pull away from him. “I have to go.” I’m shaking as I stand up and look around for my shirt.

  He scrambles to his feet. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, his voice breaking.

  I want to comfort him, and I want to t
hrow myself into his arms and cry so he can soothe me. “No. I just…I can’t do this.”

  He picks my shirt off the floor and hands it to me. I turn my back on him to put it on. When I face him again, he looks drawn and pale.

  “Couldn’t we talk for a minute?”

  It kills me to know I’m hurting him, but I have to get away before I lose it. All I can do is shake my head.

  I manage not to cry until I’m in the safety of my own room. When I do it’s not a cleansing cry. It leaves me wrung out and too exhausted to avoid the truth. I let myself get in too deep, and it’s time to get out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I look at the clock on the wall of the classroom. Only fifteen minutes left, and I’m still laboring over my ethics exam, which consists entirely of essay questions. Normally, I would ace it and be one of the first to finish, but today I’m so tired I can barely focus. Feeling rushed and panicked isn’t exactly helping.

  I manage to finish with a few minutes to spare, but I know it’s not going to get me the grade I want.

  The TA gives me a raised eyebrow as I hand in my exam. “Is everything okay, Hannah?”

  I manage a smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

  Back outside the heavy gray sky echoes my mood, not to mention the soupy state of my brain. I can’t believe I did so poorly.

  When I take out my phone there’s a text from Casey: Are you okay?

  I swallow hard against tears as I stare at the screen.

  I’m fine, I reply. Just kind of tired.

  Can we talk?

  I know we need to, but I’m not ready to face him. I don’t completely understand my own feelings, but I do know that when I’m around him, I’ll do anything. Last night proved that, and it terrifies me.

  What I need is safer ground.

  I’ll be home at 9:00, I type. Audrey should be around then.

  I’ll come to your room.

  Taking a deep breath, I put the phone back in my bag.

  I eat lunch alone in a dining hall I never go to, then head to the lab. But I can’t stop thinking about what I’m going to say to Casey, and my stomach aches with dread the entire three hours I’m there. I end up having to sort through the data I collected twice, delaying the results the postdocs are waiting for. By the time I get back to the dorm my nerves are fried.