Page 75 of These Secret Years

“After how you handled sucking me off, I’m more interested in seeing how you want to do this.”

His brows lift. “You really liked that.”

He has no idea. It might almost be enough to help me survive the next month. But I just nod.

“If it’s any way I want…”

I keep nodding.

“Then I want you to ride me.”

Heat prickles the back of my neck then seems to melt down my spine causing a paradoxical chill to wrack me. I lick my suddenly too dry lips and release a shaky breath.

I can admit to not knowing much about topping or bottoming. I understand dominance and submission. Demands and obedience. Rewards and punishments. And I also understand that I’ve needed to control the situation with Knight from the moment I met him, but especially in bed. But I don’t know what that makes me or him.

Are there rules? And if there are, are they set in stone? Does it matter when it’s just him and me, and we’re in agreement? Or at least I think we are.

I wish anything about sex—besides orgasms—made sense to me. “Can I start now?” I ask. “Or did you want me to slow down?”

“You know—you can spend the night, Sullivan. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yeah. Yes. Maybe this time I will. “Was that a yes?”

“It means let’s fuck now, let’s fuck again later. We can do whatever we want. We’ve got all night.”

Right.

I exhale again. I need to fucking relax. He hands me the lube, and I lower my ass to his thighs, sitting back and trying to get a hold of my emotions. My desire. My past. Not that I want to think about it right this second, but it can’t really be helped. Every time I’ve been fucked by Quinn, I’ve started off on all fours, and then eventually wound up flat on my face being fucked into the mattress. Quinn is rough and fast like a jackhammer. He’s never hurt me—not any more than what I figure is normal, but he’s never given me an ounce of pleasure either. I don’t know if it’s because he’s bad at sex, or he just doesn’t give a fuck about me, but I imagine it’s a little or a lot of both.

I think the first time, I might have fucked Knight like that, and that thought is almost worse than my brain trying to crowd out the vision of this beautiful quarterback beneath me with memories of all the times I’ve been raped.

My hand freezes mid squeeze on the bottle.

Wait.

Raped?

Rape?

“Hey,” Knight says softly, his hand lightly circling my wrist. “Hey.” He’s louder the second time. “Are you okay?”

I nod quickly, unfreezing myself and squeezing some lube onto my palm. “All good.” I even sound like I’m lying.

“Hang on—” he starts.

I don’t hang on. I wrap my hand around his erection and make it as slick and slippery as possible. He trembles and groans before I say, “I need you inside me. Right fucking now.”

His back arches, his dick sliding through my grip. “Then get me inside you.”

I waste zero time. Lifting onto my knees, I move his cockhead to my hole, rubbing it against the rim exactly two times before I hold my breath, bear down, and force myself onto his crown. We both cry out as it happens—me because it fucking burns, and I’ve literally had no prep, and him because—well I guess it’s his dick’s first time in anything besides a hand or mouth. Also, it feels really fucking good. Intense and electric. With his cock secured an inch into my hole, I let go of it and put my hands on his massive pecs. My thighs tremble as I hold myself in the awkward hover. When my eyes meet Knight’s, he doesn’t say anything, but it’s almost like I hear his voice anyway. I’ve got you.

I don’t look away. Don’t get me wrong, I want to. Fuck knows what kind of faces I’m making as I adjust to the thickness stretching me wide open. It’s a whole fucking process as I clench then force myself to unclench, lower myself slightly, then retreat because it’s too soon, and my hole’s not ready.

All the while we keep our eyes on each other. He’s breathing in this controlled, deliberate way, and I find myself mimicking it. “Please don’t come yet,” I end up whispering.

He huffs, half a smile quirking his mouth. “Okay.”

“Are you like really close?”