“To love is nothing. To be loved is something. But to love and be loved, that’s everything.” -T. Tolis.
He feeds me pieces of fruit, kissing me on especially juicy bites. I am turned on my side, propped up on my elbow, and he is across from me in the same position. Every few minutes the reality sinks into my veins and causes my heart to halt-I cannot believe this has happened. I must wear the thought on my face like a mask, because Owen raises his eyebrow at me quizzically, asking me ‘what’ without speaking.
“I just, I can’t believe it all, really,” my voice holds steady but it is quiet. “Things like this don’t happen to people like me.” My eyes lock to the nearly empty plate of fruit.
He reaches out and grabs my torso with one arm and pulls me to him. My heart leaps and though I know he would not hurt me, his sudden rush of aggressiveness floors me and my body tingles for him. His eyes, swirling with passion, lock to mine, commanding my gaze in return. He moves his thumb and finger to my jaw, tilting my head back slightly to feel the power of his gaze.
“You are exquisite, do you hear me? You are perfect. And I will make sure you know it, every single day, if you let me.”
I nod yes, and put my hands on his sides and he groans through gritted teeth.
“Make love to me,” I rasp, needing him again so desperately. I can feel his sex bob down onto my belly as he takes my mouth, kissing me fervently, sweat forming on his forehead.
And he does.
He takes me again, slowly, his sex aching inside of me as he rolls his hips, lingering deeply for a few moments before withdrawing, hollowing me, making me ache, then slowly penetrating me again. He is gentle, experienced-knows where to find my most sensitive places and touches them just right. So right. I am overcome with emotion as he beds me, his scent heady, I can’t seem to breath. And that’s when I feel the orgasm coming, it’s so near.
I gasp for air, choking as he fills me deeper, his lips gnawing gently at my earlobe, my nipples brushing against his chest hair. And then my vision falls away, my back relaxes and I feel myself release, coming hard, my needy pussy gripping him so tightly that I pull a second orgasm from him, unexpectedly. He fills me, deeply, with his love, and when he goes to pull himself out, I dig my heels into him and beg him to stay.
“Not yet,” I whimper, needing to soak up every last drop of him while I can.
“You need to drink more water,” he says, slipping away after minutes of lying with our sweaty bodies pressed together, panting, post-coital bliss washing over us. Even in sex, he’s always trying to take care of me.
He walks across the room and pours me a glass of water, his manhood still half erect and standing out in front of him. I can’t stop looking at it; it’s substantial length and perfect girth, stretching and tickling me, giving me pleasure so deep I thought I may pass out. He is bigger than I imagined, and he’s more skilled that I thought, and as I gaze on his sticky cock, I think to myself just how lucky I am. Not just to have my virginity taken by such a wondrous man, but for that man to be mine.
He slips on pajama pants and hands me the water, and I stick out my bottom lip in a pout. He smiles and it comes from his heart, wide and full, his eyes smile too.
“I was enjoying the show,” I say, sitting up in bed. Catching a glimpse of myself in his mirror, which stands adjacent to the bed near his armoire, I realize I need a shower.
“Oh my,” I begin smoothing my wild blonde hair, which falls in heaps and tangles all around me. Then I remember the urgency with which I was brought to the bed. It occurs to me now that we never even washed.
“You look exquisite,” he says, slipping a shirt over my arms which I have instinctively raised up for him. Then he grabs another pair of pajama pants from his dresser and slides them up my legs, kissing my legs everywhere before he covers them. My nipples grow hard at his affection and he notices, planting his lips over the t-shirt, he kisses and gently sucks my breast for a moment before kissing me, short but hot.
“Why are we getting dressed?” I asked, trying to force my knotted hair into a somewhat presentable braid.
“Because I want to talk and I don’t think I can do it while you’re nude,” he smirks slightly before outstretching his hand to me.
My hand slips in his, fitting so perfectly I almost believe mine was made for his, and he pulls me the remainder of the way off the bed. He squeezes my hand tightly and I trail behind him, like an adoring puppy, as he guides me down two flights of stairs. We end up in the kitchen, the place where I first laid eyes on Owen, and he pulls my barstool out for me.
The clock on the oven reads 12:45am. I gasp, I haven’t stayed up this late in years. No wonder my eyes feel so heavy! I have stayed up late making love, I think to myself, and I find that a smirk crawls across my lips because of it.
My inner voice is awake, throwing questions at me from all angles.
So, you’ve given up your virginity but have you ruined the only friendship you know? Is it worth it?
Kyra.
I had managed to keep her tucked away in some dark place long enough to get to Owen, to find out what he holds in his heart, and now that I have, Kyra floods back to me.
And now Owen wants to talk.
“Elizabeth, you are young. Twenty years old,” he settles on the barstool on the opposite end of me and before gets too far into this talk, I pat the seat next to me.
“No,” he shakes his head hard as he says the cold word to me. “I can’t,” his eyes pierce me now. “I can’t sit next to you because I won’t be able to keep my mouth off of you.”
His response is so primal, it floors me. He needs me the way that I need him and it fills my heart further, love spilling over inside me.
“I don’t want you to make a decision now that you may not fully be able to understand yet. I want you to know the choice to be here is always yours. But I understand you, Elizabeth, I do. And it is important to me that you know just how I feel.”
He smoothes a hand through his hair and rakes a hand down his face, taking a breath before starting again.
“I know you’ve spent most of your life navigating everything alone. You’ve been left to decipher things that children should not be burdened with. Your mother has not shown you the love you deserve. And I know because of these things, you doubt yourself. You don’t see the Elizabeth that I see. The one that… my daughter sees. You see someone else completely.”
My heart is beating so loudly that I think he pauses because he hears it.
“I don’t care about time. I don’t care that it’s been one month. I’m in love you. And I want you to hear it, know it, every day. I want you to feel my love every single day. But only if you want it. I want you to really think about what you want. And if you decide that this is not perhaps what you thought it would be, I will pull back, and everything that has transpired can stay between us. I will let you go, if that’s what you choose, but no matter what you choose, you are exquisite. You need to know. And I love you.”
I don’t realize that I am sobbing, ugly sobbing, the kind you hide away from the world and keep to your pillow. But when he lumbers off the barstool and falls to his knees in front of me, worry weaving through the darkness of his eyes, I feel my tears drop onto my thighs, roll down onto the leather seat.
“Please don’t cry,” his voice is a desperate whisper as he tries to decipher my tears.
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and motion him up.
“I can’t hold a thought with you there,” I smile through tears, still wiping them away and gasping for a breath to reset myself.
He sits back down, this time at the barstool closest to me.
“I love Kyra. She is the only person who has treated me like a person. I told her all my truths and she has loved me, accepted me, and been with me no matter what.”
His eyes cloud with worry, his chest dips with a panicked breath. I reach out to him and he withdraws.
“Please,” he says, his voice dryer, “continue.”
“I love her. I don’t want to betray her.”
I scoot my barstool closer to him and let my hands drift up his solid, edible thighs.
“But I love you. I love you so much I think I would cease to exist if you weren’t mine.”
His eyes soften, his brow releases it unrelenting grip causing a curtain of gentleness to drop over his face, relief visibly washing over him. He puts his hands on top of mine, his head dropping down, in a sigh.
“How do we do this?” I whisper.
He raises his head up and he kisses me.
“And also, did Marie see us go upstairs?” I am suddenly remembering that Owen carried me up and spoke to someone, and the trays at the door- it had to be Marie.
“Marie has worked for me since Kyra was just a child. She knew Kyra’s mother, in fact. I trust Marie with,” he holds his hands up, signaling them around the house, “everything.”
He has mentioned Kyra’s mother. My cheeks tingle with excitement and privilege knowing that he will one day tell me all about her, share his most private feelings, and I will love him even more.
I nod, and he continues.
“She knows, yes. I’ve confided in her.”
My inner voice squeals like a fourteen-year-old girl; he’s talked about you to people! I shut her down, slap her into place. He’s told me he loves me, that overpowers any silly thought you could throw at me now.
“I believe Kyra would want the truth. Sooner than later. The longer it goes on in the dark, the more betrayed she feels.” Man, he has thought about this.
“Should we have tea?” he stands and grabs a kettle from the exposed shelf that lines the windowed wall where the sink rests on a bed of marble. He begins filling it and looks over to the array of glass jars on the counter, loaded to the brim with different types of tea.
“What kind of tea would you like?” I glance at the jars then back at him. I know its silly to be embarrassed about a detail so simple but I feel the heat climb up my neck, going for my face, giving me away. He sets the kettle onto the stove and stands in front of me, pulling my face to his and kissing me.
“What is it?” he whispers into my mouth.
“I’ve never had tea, except chai lattes with Kyra.”
He laughs, and I assume he knows that this is his daughter’s favorite drink.
“Okay, I’ll may you a few different types over the next few weeks and you can decide which you like, if any. I can make chai, too.” He smiles, settling in front of me, our knees bumping together under the island.
“When she gets home on Sunday, let’s have dinner. And let’s talk to her.”
“Okay,” I nod, and the most difficult part of our relationship has been temporarily folded up and set aside, neatly tucked away for another day or two.
“What about school? What happens between us when school starts again?”
He nods knowingly, as if this too has been sorted out in his mind for weeks already. It pulls at my heart the fact that he has been silently planning our outcome, a way for us to make it. He does love me.
He pulls me into his lap and immediately I feel dizzy, heady with my desire to stay here forever. He wraps his arms around me and clasps his hands together, grazing the bottom of my breasts. I can feel a ridge grow underneath me, pushing against my bottom, reminding me how much he wants me, too. Nestling his nose in my hair, near my ear, he inhales deeply, my eyes fluttering closed at his need to memorize my scent. The moisture in my folds grows undeniable and I adjust myself in his lap, pressing his sex against mine, giving me immediate and fleeting relief.
The brush against my swelling sex only fuels the fire inside me; I lean back and rest my head on his shoulder. He takes my neck in his mouth, kissing and suckling at my skin. Before I know it, I’m completely naked, straddling him in the barstool, his eager length poking up through the hole in his pants. He wraps his hand around it and it is the first time I have seen him touch himself; it awakens new urges in me that I didn’t know existed. I need him now. I stand, my feet barely clinging to the metal bars on the barstool. He grips himself and I lower onto him, his thick head making me whimper as it pushes into my tightness.
His mouth is everywhere, on my neck, down my chest, suckling at my pouty nipples. My hands are in his hair then gripping his wide shoulders, moving to his face, holding it tightly while I kiss him anywhere I can. His hands guide me by the hips, up and down, until I am able to find the momentum on my own.
In his lap, safe and loved, I ride his length, finding his mouth between guttural moans, kissing him, our bodies sweating, moving together as one. There is a knot inside of me, tangled up, creating a heat, a flame. The further he is fills me up, the closer I feel to extinguishing the fire, untangling the mess of nerves swimming around in my belly, my groin. Then I feel his hand grip the back of my neck and pull me down into him as he pushes his hips up into mine, his sex tickling the deepest part of me. I am so close now, my entire body trembles in his lap and just as I near, he pants, so quietly, my name, aloud.
So simple, but so very erotic.
“Elizabeth,” he says it again, and in unison, we find our release, together.
He grunts, pushing deeper into me as his release spills inside of me, my body clenching to his sex tightly, releasing, clenching, until I can no longer move.
I crumple into his chest, panting, sweating, a grin on my face so big that I bury it into the nape of his neck. He pulls himself out of me, tucking himself away, then stands and carries me silently up the stairs to his room, laying me across his bed.
“We’ll sort it all out, baby, we will. But you need to rest. You’re insatiable and you need rest with that kind of appetite.”
I reach out for him but I am so exhausted, physically and emotionally.
“I’m going to gather your clothes, turn the tea off. Then I’ll be back.”
He smiles at me from the doorway and then he disappears down the hall. I want to stay awake so I can welcome him back to his bed with my loving open arms. But my lids flutter, the weight of the day settling on them heavy, and sleep is too powerful; it wraps its arms around me and takes me.