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“What’s going on, Wellsy?” His fingertips skim over my pussy. “I know you’re into this. I can feel it.”
“I am. I…” My throat constricts as helplessness rises inside it. “I get close, and then it…it goes away.” I’m mortified to feel the sting of tears. “That’s what always happens.”
“How can I get you there?” he says intently.
“I don’t know. Just keep touching me. Please.”
He does, and oh my God, he’s so good at it. As two fingers move inside me in a slow glide, I shut my eyes again, but it doesn’t matter. I can still feel him watching me.
Just like Aaron did when he took what I didn’t want to give.
I was fully conscious during the rape. Sometimes, when I’m depressed or wallowing in self-pity, I actually curse the drugs for not knocking me out. Date rape drugs are supposed to knock you out, damn it. I’m not supposed to remember what happened to me. I wish I didn’t remember.
But I do. The memories are hazier than normal memories, but the sight of Aaron’s wild eyes has been branded into my brain. I remember lying there on Melissa’s parents’ bed, feeling his heavy weight on top of me, feeling him thrusting inside me, hard and deep and painful. But it was like I was paralyzed. My arms and legs didn’t seem to work, no matter how badly I wanted to hit or kick him. My vocal cords froze so I couldn’t get a single scream out. All I could do was stare up at those smug brown eyes that were laced with pleasure and flashing with lust.
The vicious memories swarm my mind like a bee attack, stealing away the last traces of desire inside me. I know Garrett feels the change in my body, that I’m no longer warm and wet and pliant. That I’m stiffer than a board and colder than ice.
“This isn’t working,” he says hoarsely.
I sit up, fighting hard not to cry. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re…you’re looking at me… and…”
He offers a crooked grin. “Would it help if I close my eyes?”
“No,” I say miserably. “Because I’ll know you’re still picturing me in your head.”
With a sigh, he slides up and rests his head on the bed frame. He’s still hard—I can see his erection straining beneath his track pants—but he seems oblivious to his own state of arousal as he slowly meets my eyes. “You don’t trust me.”
I’m quick to deny it. “I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Fine, I’ll amend that. You don’t trust me enough to fully let go.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but a part of me doesn’t think he is.
“Sex is all about trust,” he says. “Even if you don’t love the other person, even if it’s just a hookup, it still takes a serious amount of trust to open yourself up and let yourself go to that vulnerable place, you know? And there’s nothing more vulnerable than coming.” His mouth lifts in a dry smile. “At least that’s what my Google search taught me.”
“You researched this?” I yell.
Embarrassment reddens his cheeks. “I had to. I’ve never slept with anyone who’s been…you know…”
“I know.” I bite my lip even harder to stop myself from bursting into tears.
“After what happened to you, it’s not surprising that you’re scared to let yourself be vulnerable.” He hesitates. “Were you a virgin?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Garrett goes quiet for another beat. “I have an idea, if you’re willing to hear it.”
I can’t talk because I’m too close to the I’m-gonna-bawl-my-eyes-out brink, so I settle for another nod.
“Instead of me giving you an orgasm, why don’t you try to give one to yourself?”
I thought I’d maxed out my embarrassment credit card tonight, but clearly there’s humiliation left to spare. “I do it all the time.” My cheeks are flaming as I avoid his eyes.
“In front of me,” he corrects. “Make yourself come in front of me.” He pauses. “And I’ll make myself come in front of you.”
Oh my God.
I can’t believe we’re even having this discussion. That he’s suggesting we pleasure ourselves in front of each other.
