I moaned.
His other hand moved under my shirt, the back of his fingers skimming my stomach before I felt him grip my side, just under my breast. I wasn't wearing a bra.
He released his grip on my hair just enough that my head fell forward; he kissed me again, just once. Then I felt his thumb rub against my already straining nipple. He made a moaning sound from deep in his throat, pushing into me. "Has he touched here?"
I nodded again.
He replaced his thumb with his hand, covering my entire breast, gently squeezing.
"Oh my God," I whispered. My chest heaved with every breath. My legs squeezed together trying to find some form of relief.
His other hand moved from my head, to under my shirt and onto my bare back. Then he started to slide it lower, and lower, slowly making it's way under my panties and onto my ass.
"Fucking shit," he spat out, grabbing a handful. "Please don't tell me he's touched you here?"
I kept quiet.
"Fuck." He knew the meaning of my silence.
It was quite for a few moments, his head resting on my shoulder, one hand gripped my ass, and the other held my breast. The only sound in the room was our heavy breathing. Then his hand on my ass slowly moved, from the back, to the front, his fingers started playing under the band of panties. His head lifted from my shoulders, his eyes darkened as he took in my flushed face.
"And here?" Anger was laced in his tone.
My lips thinned to a line.
He moved his hand lower, and lower, until the tip of his finger met my wetness.
And he had to know.
He had to know what he did to me.
I bit my lip to try and contain whatever sound was about to escape. But then I felt his finger inside me, and any and all control I had was gone. I threw my head back; my legs gave out underneath me. His arm curved around my back, holding me to him. And then I was airborne. With his finger still inside me, I was moving. I heard something fall to the floor, before my ass landed on my desk. Then his single finger was replaced by two, and he moved them, in and out. He drove me crazy. My head started thrashing from side to side, my hands were on his shoulders, trying to hold on. His mouth caught mine, and finally, he kissed me, his tongue coming out and invading my mouth.
And I wanted him.
I fucking wanted him.
More than ever.
I don't know how much time passed, before he pulled back, just enough to speak, "Did he make you feel like this?" he said, moving his fingers inside me.
"Oh God," I moaned out.
"Did he?" he asked again, a little louder.
"Not even close, Logan." I curl my arm around his neck and brought him back down to my mouth.
I was on the freaking edge, and he must've known because he started pumping his finger faster into me, his palm rubbed on my clit at the same time. It seemed like a well-practiced move, but before I could think about how or why, he pulled back from the kiss and replaced his mouth and tongue with his thumb. He watched me intently as I slowly licked it and sucked it into my mouth. His eyes rolled back along with his head while he groaned out the sexiest fucking sound I'd ever heard.
Then he pulled his hand away from my mouth and moved it under my shirt, where his now wet thumb rubbed against my nipple again.
And then he stopped.
Time stood still.
My breathing got even heavier.
Then he looked intently into my eyes, his face carrying an emotion I couldn't decipher.
"Amanda." He whispered, shaking his head.
And then it was silent.
For so long I don't know if this was as far as we were going to go.
And I watched him. I watched his eyes roam my face. Those green eyes I remember so well. For months after that night, I could close my eyes and see them. The way they lit up when he made me laugh, or the intensity in them when he listened to me speak.
I swallowed down my emotions.
When I opened my eyes, his face was so close to mine. And I was no longer confused by what he was thinking, or what he was feeling, because I felt it too.
Only he felt the guilt, the regret. And I could see it in his eyes; how sorry he was for all of it.
And this—this is the moment I forgave him.
"Logan." I held his face in my hands. "No one makes me feel the way you do." It was the truth.
Instantly his mouth was on mine, his fingers moved, his thumb rubbed.
It started at my toes—that tingle feeling—then moved its way up to the pit of my stomach, and I think I must have blacked-out from the pleasure of it, because all I could remember is his name leaving my lips over and over and over.
Once the buzz had faded, I finally managed to open my eyes, and he was there, inches from my face. A smile on his lips. Only he was blurry. I blinked a few times to correct my vision.
"Hey, pretty girl," he said quietly, the same time he removed his fingers. "Welcome back."
TWENTY ONE
Logan
I quietly opened her bedroom door to let her know that I'd be back. I didn't want her to think I'd forgotten our plans to spend the day together.
I shook her gently, but she didn't wake. I shook her a little harder. "What the hell?" she said, her words muffled by the pillow.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'll be back later."
"Logan?"
"No, the other guy you let finger fuck you."
She gasped and sat up straight, a look of shock on her face.
I chuckled.
She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. Her shoulders slumped as she said, "What time is it?" She reached to her nightstand for her phone, "Five-thirty? Five fucking thirty! Who the hell gets up at this time?"
"College athletes," I said, sitting on her bed and rubbing my palm across my jaw.
"Fuck practice, come back to bed." She rested her chin on my shoulder, while her arms went around me from behind.
"I can't." I started to pull her arms off me, because if she asked again, I don't think I could say no.
Instead of letting go, she tightened her hold and wrapped both legs around my waist. I laughed, "What are you doing?"
She made a grunting sound as she pulled as both back until we were lying on the bed. She got out from underneath me and moved so we were side to side. She panted; exhausted from the energy it just took to do what she did. Her face was flush and hair was a mess on her head. I laughed at how cute she looked. She smiled too, looking right in my eyes. And then something took over her face, a completely different emotion. Her smile slowly faded. One of her fingers brushed my cheek. "I love it when you smile," she said quietly. "I love when your dimples show." She kissed one, and then adjusted my head to kiss the other. And then she pulled back, her eyes never leaving mine.
And this—this is the moment that I forget my past. I forget that not everyone that loves you is out to hurt you. It's this moment—when I let it be okay for someone to love me. Because Amanda and I—we could. I don't think we do yet. But we could. One day—soon I think—we could really fall in love, with each other.
His other hand moved under my shirt, the back of his fingers skimming my stomach before I felt him grip my side, just under my breast. I wasn't wearing a bra.
He released his grip on my hair just enough that my head fell forward; he kissed me again, just once. Then I felt his thumb rub against my already straining nipple. He made a moaning sound from deep in his throat, pushing into me. "Has he touched here?"
I nodded again.
He replaced his thumb with his hand, covering my entire breast, gently squeezing.
"Oh my God," I whispered. My chest heaved with every breath. My legs squeezed together trying to find some form of relief.
His other hand moved from my head, to under my shirt and onto my bare back. Then he started to slide it lower, and lower, slowly making it's way under my panties and onto my ass.
"Fucking shit," he spat out, grabbing a handful. "Please don't tell me he's touched you here?"
I kept quiet.
"Fuck." He knew the meaning of my silence.
It was quite for a few moments, his head resting on my shoulder, one hand gripped my ass, and the other held my breast. The only sound in the room was our heavy breathing. Then his hand on my ass slowly moved, from the back, to the front, his fingers started playing under the band of panties. His head lifted from my shoulders, his eyes darkened as he took in my flushed face.
"And here?" Anger was laced in his tone.
My lips thinned to a line.
He moved his hand lower, and lower, until the tip of his finger met my wetness.
And he had to know.
He had to know what he did to me.
I bit my lip to try and contain whatever sound was about to escape. But then I felt his finger inside me, and any and all control I had was gone. I threw my head back; my legs gave out underneath me. His arm curved around my back, holding me to him. And then I was airborne. With his finger still inside me, I was moving. I heard something fall to the floor, before my ass landed on my desk. Then his single finger was replaced by two, and he moved them, in and out. He drove me crazy. My head started thrashing from side to side, my hands were on his shoulders, trying to hold on. His mouth caught mine, and finally, he kissed me, his tongue coming out and invading my mouth.
And I wanted him.
I fucking wanted him.
More than ever.
I don't know how much time passed, before he pulled back, just enough to speak, "Did he make you feel like this?" he said, moving his fingers inside me.
"Oh God," I moaned out.
"Did he?" he asked again, a little louder.
"Not even close, Logan." I curl my arm around his neck and brought him back down to my mouth.
I was on the freaking edge, and he must've known because he started pumping his finger faster into me, his palm rubbed on my clit at the same time. It seemed like a well-practiced move, but before I could think about how or why, he pulled back from the kiss and replaced his mouth and tongue with his thumb. He watched me intently as I slowly licked it and sucked it into my mouth. His eyes rolled back along with his head while he groaned out the sexiest fucking sound I'd ever heard.
Then he pulled his hand away from my mouth and moved it under my shirt, where his now wet thumb rubbed against my nipple again.
And then he stopped.
Time stood still.
My breathing got even heavier.
Then he looked intently into my eyes, his face carrying an emotion I couldn't decipher.
"Amanda." He whispered, shaking his head.
And then it was silent.
For so long I don't know if this was as far as we were going to go.
And I watched him. I watched his eyes roam my face. Those green eyes I remember so well. For months after that night, I could close my eyes and see them. The way they lit up when he made me laugh, or the intensity in them when he listened to me speak.
I swallowed down my emotions.
When I opened my eyes, his face was so close to mine. And I was no longer confused by what he was thinking, or what he was feeling, because I felt it too.
Only he felt the guilt, the regret. And I could see it in his eyes; how sorry he was for all of it.
And this—this is the moment I forgave him.
"Logan." I held his face in my hands. "No one makes me feel the way you do." It was the truth.
Instantly his mouth was on mine, his fingers moved, his thumb rubbed.
It started at my toes—that tingle feeling—then moved its way up to the pit of my stomach, and I think I must have blacked-out from the pleasure of it, because all I could remember is his name leaving my lips over and over and over.
Once the buzz had faded, I finally managed to open my eyes, and he was there, inches from my face. A smile on his lips. Only he was blurry. I blinked a few times to correct my vision.
"Hey, pretty girl," he said quietly, the same time he removed his fingers. "Welcome back."
TWENTY ONE
Logan
I quietly opened her bedroom door to let her know that I'd be back. I didn't want her to think I'd forgotten our plans to spend the day together.
I shook her gently, but she didn't wake. I shook her a little harder. "What the hell?" she said, her words muffled by the pillow.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'll be back later."
"Logan?"
"No, the other guy you let finger fuck you."
She gasped and sat up straight, a look of shock on her face.
I chuckled.
She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. Her shoulders slumped as she said, "What time is it?" She reached to her nightstand for her phone, "Five-thirty? Five fucking thirty! Who the hell gets up at this time?"
"College athletes," I said, sitting on her bed and rubbing my palm across my jaw.
"Fuck practice, come back to bed." She rested her chin on my shoulder, while her arms went around me from behind.
"I can't." I started to pull her arms off me, because if she asked again, I don't think I could say no.
Instead of letting go, she tightened her hold and wrapped both legs around my waist. I laughed, "What are you doing?"
She made a grunting sound as she pulled as both back until we were lying on the bed. She got out from underneath me and moved so we were side to side. She panted; exhausted from the energy it just took to do what she did. Her face was flush and hair was a mess on her head. I laughed at how cute she looked. She smiled too, looking right in my eyes. And then something took over her face, a completely different emotion. Her smile slowly faded. One of her fingers brushed my cheek. "I love it when you smile," she said quietly. "I love when your dimples show." She kissed one, and then adjusted my head to kiss the other. And then she pulled back, her eyes never leaving mine.
And this—this is the moment that I forget my past. I forget that not everyone that loves you is out to hurt you. It's this moment—when I let it be okay for someone to love me. Because Amanda and I—we could. I don't think we do yet. But we could. One day—soon I think—we could really fall in love, with each other.
