by Fiona Cole
I didn’t have any words for Hanna. Nothing new that probably hadn’t been said to her a million times. I was sure she had a routine of thanking people for their condolences, and I didn’t need to make her use it. I didn’t offer her words about how she deserved her own happiness despite her sister not being there. I didn’t tell her that Sofia would want her to be happy. I knew me saying it wouldn’t be any different from the other hundred times others had said the same thing.
Instead, I offered her what I could. Comfort. Understanding.
I inched my hand across the table and rested my rough palm over her soft fingers. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t cry. She offered her own closed-lip smile and shocked me by turning her hand over under mine, clasping on tight.
She held on to me and something shifted. Each crumb of her trust she offered did something inside my chest I was happier ignoring.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
I nodded, becoming desperate to change the topic. “Speaking of intimacy,” I started. She blinked, and the moment passed. We unlinked our hands and sat back like the connection had never existed. “I have an idea. If you want to. If you want more help—or if you even need help. Maybe last time worked, and you’re perfectly fine without me.”
“I actually haven’t tried—but any time I’m around a guy, it still feels…not great.”
“Okay.” All of a sudden, my shirt clung too tightly around my neck, and I tugged at the collar. I’d spent the last few days researching as much as I could find on contact therapy. There wasn’t much beyond the basic kinds of contact that anyone would encounter in the world. A pat on the back, a handshake, a friendly hug. It made me question what the hell I was thinking, but this whole situation between us was unconventional, so why not try it. At least I could bring it up to her.
“Hit me,” she said, waving her fingers toward herself.
I sucked air as deep as I could, just to exhale it out with two simple words with a world of meaning. “Contact therapy.”
“What?”
“Contact therapy.”
Her eyes widened like saucers. “Ummmm…”
Her hesitance had me rushing to smooth over any discomfort, trying to affirm that it wasn’t an off-hand suggestion. “I’m not trying to be weird. I did research, and exposure therapy is a pretty common treatment. I read a lot about using it to get over fears and anxiety and thought maybe we could use it for your intimacy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want to sleep with me?”
“No!” I almost shouted, holding up my hands.
Shit.
The slow rise of her brow let me know it came out more forceful than I intended. “I mean…That’s not what I mean. Just that next time…” I wave my hands like I’m trying to conjure the least offensive and least alarming explanation. “Just that, next time we touch. Something small. Maybe we hold hands or small touches. Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”
My god, had I ever stumbled through so many words in a panic in my life? I felt like a teenage boy, trying to convince a girl I liked to go on a date with me. Awkward, embarrassed, and a little terrified.
She sat upright in her booth, her back not touching the cushion behind her, as she studied me. I did my best to remain still and let her see the sincerity in my offer. Hoping she’d see I wasn’t being a complete creeper. I also prepared myself for her to possibly smack me and tell me to never contact her again.
I held my breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi—
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” she said with a nod.
“Um, okay, then. Good. Great. Fantastic.”
Shut the fuck up, Daniel.
I nodded and ran my hand through my hair, doing my best to relax.
“How far would we go? How much would we touch?”
I held her stare, hiding any nerves rattling around. She needed my confidence. “However far you want to go. We can start little and proceed as your comfort grows.”
She looked down at her hands wringing together, chewing on her cheek. Each second that passed, my nerves piled back up.
“Wouldn’t that be hard for you?” I opened my mouth to reaffirm I had complete control of my body, but she was already shaking her head. “Not just for you, but for us. Being intimate with someone could lead to…more. Like feelings, and I don’t—I’m not ready for that.”
Sliding my hands over hers, I stopped their fidgeting and waited for her to look up. “Hanna, I don’t do love, so we don’t have to worry about either of us falling into that trap. I like you. I like your friendship and talking to you. So, that’s all this is—a friend helping a friend.”
She looked over my face, searching for any hidden meaning until finally, one side of her mouth tipped, and her shoulders relaxed.
“Friends, eh? Like besties? Can I paint your nails?”
“Dear God,” I groaned.
We both laughed, but sobered quickly, knowing there was still so much to discuss.
“How about this?” I started. “We place a no kissing rule. Kissing can make things feel more intimate; having that boundary will help us stay in line.
“That sounds good. Smart.” She chewed her lip again. “But everything else?”
“Is fair game.” I waited a moment before I continued. “So, how do you want to go about this? Maybe make a list of things you want to try. We can discuss boundaries and any issues you may be worried about.”
“What do you think?” she asked around chewing on her thumbnail.
“I think it should be as natural as possible, so it can feel like a normal situation.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. What if I gave you control and speak up if it’s too much?”
My heart stuttered over the word control. I loved control in the bedroom, preferred it, but I wasn’t sure Hanna knew what she was saying.
“I’m not always a gentle man, Hanna.” Her eyes jerked up at that comment, and I smiled softly to ease the anxiety building there. “But I can be gentler for you. You need to have confidence in the comfort you feel with me and know that if at any point you ever want to stop, all you have to do is say it. I can take the lead and follow your cues to keep the situations flowing easily.”
“Okay,” she breathed. “I’d like that. As much as I don’t want to be out of control, I don’t want to have to worry about what to do next and if I’m doing it right or wrong. I—I want you to teach me.”
“I can do that.”
I hope.
“Just one more question, if you don’t mind me asking…” I hedged. “How much experience did you have before? Any boyfriends?”
Pink tinged her cheeks, but she swallowed her nerves and lifted her chin. Always so brave. “I had a couple of boyfriends before everything. But we didn’t do much beyond touching.”
Jesus, she was more innocent than I’d imagined. She’d been seventeen when she was taken. Plenty of time to do everything under the sun. God knows I had.
“Does that bother you?”
“No, not at all.”
“So…we’re good. We’re going to do this?”
“Looks like it.”
She stuck her hand out across the table, her lips stretching into a small smile. “To a friend helping a friend.”
I slid my hand in hers, loving her silky soft skin. “To friends helping friends.”
She smiled wider, and for a moment, I got lost in her full lips, stretched over perfectly straight teeth, and ignored the way something whispered inside me that this was more than a friend helping a friend.
11
Daniel
The glass almost slipped from my hand because of my sweaty palms. Looking around the crowd, I sipped my bourbon, looking for Hanna. I decided to let her come to me this time. Maybe because I wanted her to go the extra step tonight. I wanted her to make it through those doors on her own. I wanted her to overthink it all to make sure tonight was what she truly wanted.
I almost laughed at myself
, sweating like a virgin on her wedding night. In reality, we may only hold hands again. We may do more—light grazes, more heavy breathing. Anything was possible, and my mind was taking me on a roller coaster ride, waiting to find out. Jesus, last time I barely survived just sitting there.
Running my hand through my hair, I did my best to calm down. As sexual as this was, it wasn’t sexual. This wasn’t a normal experience. No, she was going to let me touch her body, which might cause her to flip out and make it worse.
I bit back a groan and managed to stop my hand from banging on the bar.
What if I made it worse?
Just because I could hold her hand for less than thirty seconds and teach her to defend herself didn’t mean we could watch sex and touch without repercussions.
“Hey,” her soft voice greeted.
I snapped upright and turned, forcing a neutral expression to hide all my inner turmoil. “Hey, you made it.”
She looked beautiful in a form-fitted, long sleeve dress. The simple burgundy fabric hid her ample cleavage under a square neck and covered her to mid-thigh. It wasn’t flashy or low-cut, but on her body, it may as well have been. She was stunning.
Hanna tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. Unlike me, she looked to have no nerves about this evening. Obviously, I wasn’t doing a good enough job at hiding my own because the more she took me in, the more her brows pinched.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I rushed to reassure her. I needed to get it together. My feelings were nothing compared to hers. I waved off her comment and smiled. “Just a long week.”
She nodded, looking a little less than convinced, and scanned the room. “It’s less busy tonight.”
“Yeah. Not being a holiday helps.”
One of the bartenders asked Hanna what she wanted to drink, and she surprised me by ordering a shot of tequila rather than the neat drink she usually sipped on.
With the glass firmly clasped between her slim fingers, she peeked my way and offered her excuse. “Just to calm the nerves,” she said with a light laugh and shrug.
“No judgment here.”
And down it went, quickly followed by a wedge of lime pressed between her luscious lips. I barely held back my groan.
With the shot gone and nervous silence stretching between us, my mind scrambled to fill the gap. Before I could say anything, she turned and asked, “Do you want to dance?”
Not really, was my first reaction. Instead, I said, “Sure.”
I lightly rested my fingers at the base of her back and guided her to the edge of the dance floor closest to the wall. I knew she did better when there were less people behind her. The lights swirled around her, different than the direct lights above the bar, making her green eyes flash. The slow, heavy beat of the song surrounded us, and she wasted no time swaying her hips side to side. Every move, simple and alluring. She wasn’t trying to garner the attention of every man with the sway of her hips, but she surely had mine.
I did a horrible two-step, which she quickly caught on to and smiled. Pressing up to her toes, she scooted close to talk in my ear.
“You don’t dance, do you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the best one out here.”
She stepped back and smiled, relaxing me more than I’d been all night. One song bled into another, and I made sure she had the space to move. When a slow song came on, I looked to her for direction. Without any hesitation, she stepped into my arms, sliding her hands up and around my neck. I lightly rested my hands on her waist and kept a respectable high school dance distance between us.
“You’re much better at slow dancing,” she said, smiling.
“A beautiful woman makes it easy.”
She scrunched her nose around her smile. “Do women fall for those lines?”
I tipped my head side-to-side. “Sometimes.”
Couples around us swayed in each other’s arms. Some locked together from hip to lips. One couple had stopped dancing all together and were making out. They’d arranged themselves on the corner of the dance floor, cast in shadow, but enough to still be seen. He kissed down her neck, burying his head in her breasts, and I wondered if I’d be kissing down Hanna’s neck tonight. I wondered what her skin would taste like.
My cock hardened and I shook my head, snapping out of the fantasy. That wasn’t what tonight was about. “How was your week?” I asked, keeping a neutral topic.
“Good.”
“Any weekend plans?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she hesitated, studying me. “Is this what you do with all the girls you dance with? Keep space and simple conversation?”
“No. Not even a little bit.”
Hanna continued to study me, slowly sinking her teeth in her bottom lip, until finally, she stepped closer, pressing her soft breasts to my hard chest. On autopilot, I held her close, my large palms almost spanning across her whole back.
Her fingers dug into my hair, raking her nails along the sensitive skin of my neck. Goosebumps traveled down my spine, shooting straight to my balls, and I fought to keep my cock from hardening against her stomach.
“I used to love to dance,” she confessed. “Sofia loved ballet, but I loved hip-hop.”
She rolled her hips, and I struggled to bite back my moan. “I can tell.”
Her small pink tongue slipped out across her lips, only to be followed by her teeth. I’d begun to realize she did that when she was nervous and considering her words. “How much touching are we doing tonight?” she asked, peeking up from under her lashes.
“This can be it. We don’t have to do any more.”
“What if I wanted…more?”
My mind conjured every version of more she could want, and probably some that she didn’t even know existed.
I breathed a laugh. “Touching you is no hardship. I’m offering anything. My body is yours to do any-fucking-thing you want to it,” I said with a bow of my head. “Just ask for what you want. Claim your power to want it.”
We’d stopped moving, and I gave her all the time she needed to say what she wanted. “Will you…will you touch me?”
“I am.”
“No.” She shook her head before nodding to the side. “Like that.”
I focused my attention to where she gestured and found two women swaying side to side, their foreheads pressed together. They looked like two lovers lost in a simple moment, except for how one of them had their leg lifted high on the other’s hip as the other buried her hand between her thighs. The woman’s hips moved, almost like she was fucking her lover’s hand.
“Will you make me orgasm?”
The words rippled through me like an explosion. A whisper louder than a roar. I couldn’t imagine what it had cost her to be so bold; pride surged through me mixing with the heady arousal of being the man to make her come.
My hands flexed against her back, and unintentionally pulled her closer to my chest. Her breasts pressed up until her full cleavage peeked out of her dress. Her own hands tightened around my neck, bringing my eyes to hers. For just a moment, I got lost in the emerald orbs—large against her gentle features. They stared up like a poor kid begging for more—desperate.
“I’ve just…never. I mean—after everything. I mean before, I did, I think. And I just wanted to know what it felt like now, and I can’t, and I want to,” she rambled.
“Hanna.” I moved my hand from her back to her shoulder, skimming up her neck until I clasped her chin in my fingers, not allowing her to look away. “Fingering you until you come would be a gift.”
“Okay,” she breathed, nodding as much as she could within my grasp.
“Come on. Let’s go make a selection.”
I held her hand and led her to the back. She left the selection up to me, only requesting that there be no dirty talking, but quickly conceded to a little.
Her fear of a filthy mouth had me more nervous than how she would react with my hand buried under her dress.
We walked into a different room than last time. Almost every viewing room was the same with a few variations. This one held a couch with a chaise lounge. It offered more room for what I had in mind to give Hanna what she’d asked for.
On the other side of the glass sat a living room set up. A TV, coffee table, couch, chair, end table, it gave the illusion of normal.
“Hanna,” I said, pulling her attention away from the room beyond. “Before we get started, I want you to know I can one-thousand percent control my body. Any time you want to stop, just say the words, and we stop. No questions asked.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”
Wincing, I prepared myself for her to storm out at my next speech. “While I can control my body, my mouth can get away from me. So, if I ever say anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell me to shut up. Hit me in the balls. Anything you need to make yourself feel in control.”
This time, she laughed and nodded. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
“Hopefully.”
“How do we do this?” she asked, her hands wringing in front of her.
“Come sit between my legs. Your back to my chest.”
For a moment, she froze. Not blinking, not swallowing, no more hands wringing. Nothing. “Okay,” she breathed.
I flipped the switch to let them know we were ready, and situated myself into the corner of the chaise, spreading my legs wide to make room for her. She gingerly perched on the edge and inched her way back until she stiffly pressed her ass between my thighs.
Fuck, even that uncomfortable shift had me aching. I may die doing this, but if it helped, it would all be worth it.
“Lean back, baby.”
She nodded but stayed mostly upright, and I kept my hands off to the side until she gave me a cue that she wanted to begin.
The door opened to a couple looking like they came home from a date. She tossed her purse to the floor and flopped back on the couch, turning the TV on. The man sat next to her and pulled her into his arms. They watched the flashing screen for less than two minutes, but the casual portrayal of normalcy was all Hanna needed. She slowly relaxed one inch at a time until she was fully pressed against my chest, her head tucked back against my shoulder.
