“I want this,” I reassure him. “I want this so bad.”
Want and longing wage war against the uncertainty and fear on his face, so I take his hands in mine and lead him to my little twin-size bed. Keyanna won’t be home until morning and the door is locked. I’m not letting this rare night alone go to waste.
Naked, I sit on the bed and pull Tucker to stand between my legs. He tries to sit beside me but I refute his efforts by grasping his hips. I take a deep breath. Then another. And I begin to unbuckle his pants.
He’s ready for me, proud and hard and scorching in my palms. I slide my fingers over the satin skin and watch as the thin layer ripples over veins and ridges. I don’t expect it to be darker than the rest of him—almost pink—but then again, I’ve never been this up close to a man before. Boys, yes. But never a man.
I slide my tongue over the tip of him and feel him tremble in my hand. The flavor of salty citrus tingles my lips and I suck more of him to taste more. He smells how he tastes, tangy and spicy, yet there’s a musky undertone. I want more of him in my mouth. I want all of him in my mouth. And I take all that I can, all that he can give.
Tucker’s trembles evolve into jerky movements of his hips, as he begins to thrust in and out of my mouth, keeping time with the suction of my lips. He groans with each stroke, growing longer and harder, and my mouth aches with every greedy suck. I pull back just to catch my breath, but before I can take a single gulp of air, he’s pushing me back onto the bed and spreading my legs. He tastes himself on my lips before his mouth roams the slope of my neck to the small mounds of my breasts. He licks my nipples with rose petal strokes, and continues to paint my skin with his warm, wet venom. I arch into his touch, needing to feel more. He rewards me with a kiss at the top of my pubic bone and spreads me even wider, seeking the damp swell between my thighs.
His fingers follow the path of short blonde hair before whispering across my heated flesh. I moan at the almost-touch, the phantom penetration, hoping to inspire him to go farther. When his fingertip runs along my clit, a shiver runs through me so strong that I feel it at the very tips of my curled toes. He does it again, pressing harder, causing pressure to build inside my womb. I gasp his name and claw at the soft strands of hair that have fallen in his eyes as he studies my sex with wonder in his gaze. Wonder and hunger and an emotion so raw, there isn’t a word for it. But when he presses his tongue against my slickness, I feel its meaning. I feel it become a part of me, digging into my soul like a branding iron. I ingest it, take it within me, and covet it like a sacred jewel. And when it is ready, ripened in madness and beauty, I release it and let it slide down his eager throat, so he can know and taste that feeling too.
I’m still panting when I hear the rustle of clothing hitting the floor and the crinkling of foil. I’m still shaking when he takes my thighs in his palms and pulls me to him so my legs cradle his hips. He brushes the hair from my face and kisses my tears with lips coated with my scent.
“Why are you crying, Bunny?”
“Because . . .”
“Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?” He’s pulling away from me so I clutch his forearms and lock my ankles around his waist. He’s mine now. He’ll never get away.
“No. Never. You did everything right.”
I kiss him deep enough to smother every doubt, every fear. And when he pushes inside me, stretching and breaking the tender flesh that was once surgically mended, I cry out. Not because of the pain, both physical and emotional. But because I knew that I would love this man until my dying day. This man who was making me bleed as he made love to me. This man whose agony was slow and sweet and sensual, and just what I had always imagined it would be. He was slicing me open and repairing all the damage, all the wrong. He was making me pretty and neat and shiny again.
I became the good doctor’s greatest accomplishment. His little Frankenstein. What was once a monstrosity has been given new life.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against my lips. “God, you feel so good. I love you, Heidi.”
I kiss him so hard it bruises my lips and let the tears slide down the sides of my face. He wipes away every single one, his languid strokes not hindered in the least. If anything, he reaches deeper, pushing through the barriers of my heart and body until there’s enough room for him to dwell forever. I thought it would hurt me, more than just the initial tearing. I was so convinced that I would never find joy in intimacy again, that I had just wanted to get it over with, so I could accept it and move on. But I was wrong. Tucker’s body is therapy to mine. There’s a stiff soreness at first, but even that feels good. And after those muscles have grown warm and loose, all that exists is pleasure. So much of it that my knees shake to the point that he has to grip my thighs as he delves farther and farther into never-ending wetness. It goes on forever, slicker with every thrust. It’s just me.
He waits until I come before he allows himself to let go inside the warm safety of my body. Even with the latex separating us, he fills me up. But it’s not enough. Not enough to make me complete. I need more of him.
“Next time,” I pant, my breath ruffling his sweat slickened locks, “no condom. I hate that there’s something between us.”
He lifts his face from the soft pillows of my breasts and looks down at me. A single bead of sweat slides down his nose and lands on my chest. I even want that inside. I want his everything. Maybe that’ll make me whole again.
“But what about . . . ?” He doesn’t want to offend me, so I do it for him.
“I had a full, mandatory workup since the last time to ensure that bastard didn’t give me anything. But what he did leave me with is scarring so bad that I will never conceive naturally. So you don’t have to worry about me.”
My tone is so cool and matter-of-fact that he flinches. I can see the concern etched in his face, but I can’t return it. There’s nothing to be upset over. This is my life, this is who I am. My rapist took away my ability to have children. I’ll be damned if I let him take away anything else.
I pull Tucker’s face to mine and kiss him, licking the seam of his tentative lips. He reluctantly opens for me, and within seconds, he’s growing hard inside me again. With all my might, I push at his shoulders so he rolls to his back, taking me with him so my knees are on either side of him. I look down at the place where we are fused and back up to his worried expression.
“It’s ok,” I assure him. “I want this. I want all of you.”
He closes his eyes when he nods, unable to look at me. I don’t know if he’s ashamed of me, or himself. But I still lift my body from his to scoot down his legs.
Tonight I saw a man up close for the first time. And now I’m seeing what a man can do to me . . . to my body. Tight latex hugs Tucker’s semi-erect penis, glistening with pink blood and my slick, milky release. I’m all over him, from base to tip. But not really. Underneath that thin barrier, he’s free of me. He’s as clean and pristine as he always is. The urge to make him dirty with me is overwhelming, and I pull off the sullied condom and toss it to the floor, revealing his thick, long, swollen erection, painted only with his seed. I take him in my mouth, desperate to taste him. Desperate to take all I can from him. He twitches against the back of my throat, and I moan. The image of it choking me, of him choking me, disturbs and excites me all at the same time.
Wetness coats my thighs, and I reach back to feel it on my fingers, but it’s not nearly enough to give me what I need. The friction, the fullness. The pain. I need it so badly. It’s the only thing that can heal me.