Annika
His eyes are the softest, warmest brown I’ve ever seen. They sear me to the bone. Down to my soul. “Igotyou, mama.” His voice is softer yet.
I shake my head, tears leaking down my cheeks. I hate crying. Hate the weakness, the burn in my eyes and the sting on my cheeks, I hate the snot and the puffy eyes. I hate the way it wells up inside me like vomit, surging up and out, decimating my control. Pushing past my grip on my emotions, turning me into a sobbing, hiccoughing mess.
He pulls me against his chest, tucking my head under his chin and he cradles my face in a huge strong hand. “Annika, you’re okay. It’s okay.”
“It hasn’t been okay for…a long time,” I whisper. “A long fucking time.”
“Nah, honey, I know that. What I meant was, it’s okay to let it out.” He tugs my hair away from my eyes and brushes a thumb over my cheek, through the tear tracks. “Cry about it all you want, Nik. It’s all right.”
“I h-h-hate crying.”
“Who doesn’t? But sometimes you gotta, and I’m telling you, you’ve got a safe place to let it out, honey. Right here.” He squeezes me—it’s a gentle thing, but he’s so strong it’s like being crushed in a vise.
It’s an awkward, uncomfortable space, the steering wheel digging into my back, the console hard against my thigh, the door on the other thigh, and the ceiling brushing the top of my head. But I just can’t bring myself to leave the shelter of his arms. I’m not sure what I’m crying about anymore, to be honest. I’m just…crying. For everything, I guess. For all the things I refused to cry about for years.
I don’t even know how long it lasts, but it’s long enough that when the tears finally stop, my legs are cramped and aching from being curled up underneath me. I lean back and rub my face. “Chance, I…”
“Nik, baby.” He cuts over me. “Look at me and listen good, yeah?” I nod, let out a deep sigh, blinking hard, and he rubs a thumb over my lips, across my tear-stained cheek. “Thank you for giving me that. For trusting me with yourself like that.”
“Are we talking about orgasms or me ugly crying?” I ask, meaning it as a joke to lighten the mood.
He doesn’t seem to find it funny. “I look at both as precious fuckin’ gifts, for one thing, and for another there ain’t a single goddamn thing ugly about you lettin’ yourself cry about all the brutal fuckin’ shit you been through, mama. I know you were just joking, but it ain’t funny to me.”
I slide off of him, brushing the back of my wrists against my eyes, sniffling. “You can drive, now.” I buckle up again.
He does the same, lifting his hips and plucking at the front of his shorts, blatantly adjusting the lay of his cock. Which, my god. Even hidden behind underwear and the baggy shorts he’s wearing, it’s obvious he’s as massively endowed as the rest of him is oversized. I mean, I felt it under me while I was straddling him. Thick, long, hard as a rock.
I look sideways at him as he settles again, putting the car into gear and angling back onto the road. “Chance, now that we’ve, um, opened the floodgates, so to speak, I really, really wouldn’t mind returning the favor.” I feel my cheeks heating, embarrassment and desire warring within me.
He grins at me, but it doesn’t entirely match what I see in his eyes. “It ain’t that I don’t want you to. I do. A fuckin’ lot. Trust me on that. I want you. I wanna kiss you and eat you out and watch your sweet little mouth take my cock, and I wanna fuck you and I wanna watch you ride my cock and I wanna make you come so hard you fuckin’ pass out. I want all’a that, Annika. Want it, need it, and plan on making it all happen as soon as I can get you to a proper bed.” He glances at me again, reaching over the space between us to caress my thigh from knee to shorts hem. “I’m not worried about getting the favor returned. I don’t believe in keeping score, mama.”
“Oh.” I watch the seaside slide by out the window. “I…I’ve sort of been…shut down, I guess you could say. For a long time. Sexually, I mean. So, I…opening up and letting myself feel things, want things…it’s not easy. And I admit I’m not sure where to start. What to do.” I shake my head. “I’m not sure I even really know what I like or don’t like. Other than maybe feeling like…” I shake my head again, hunting for the right words. “Like I’m wanted. Needed. Desired. Not just…there, not just an available fuck, you know?”
“Meaning, you been treated that way in the past.”
I nod. “To varying degrees. I’ve just…I haven’t always felt sexy, or desirable. Strong, powerful, yeah. Sexy? Not as much. A lot of men are just intimidated by me, by the fact that I’m six-three and a professional athlete, you know? I’m sure I’ve mentioned all this before.”
He shrugs. “Sure, but it bears repeating in this particular context.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “I guess I haven’t always felt particularly…feminine,you know? Like I’ve said, I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex. Good sex, too. Before the accident and the drugs, yeah, I had…not really boyfriends, I’ve never had what I’d call a serious long-term boyfriend. But there were guys I dated, slept with, all that. I know what I’m doing. I know I enjoy it. Or, I have in the past. But…” I let out a noise that’s part sigh, part groan. “I’m not sure what I’m even trying to say.”
“I ain’t the jealous type, I can tell you that,” Chance says. “Not in the sense that I’m gonna get all bent out of shape hearing about how things have been for you in the past. Ain’t none of us lived in a vacuum. You had a life before me. You had desires, needs, all that. You had sex. Ain’t somethin’ to hide, and it ain’t somethin’ we oughta be shy about discussing. We gotta understand each other, Nik. And talking about shit is how we do that. So don’t hold back. Not on my account.” He watches the road, one hand on the wheel and the other draped on my thigh. “I get it, mama. I really do. Feelin’ like something is missing but just not sure exactly what…shit, I’ve felt that way my whole life. Sexually, emotionally, relationally.”
I watch him for a moment, and I see distance in his gaze, a kind of absence, like he’s lost in thought and not entirely here in this moment with me. I give him another moment or two, then I rest my hand on his on my thigh. “Tell me what you’re thinking about?”
He sighs. “Eh, I guess I was hoping to get into this shit later. But I suppose now’s as good a time as any.”
“Get into what?”
He shrugs. “You ain’t the only one with issues about sex.”
I hold my silence and wait for him to let it out his own way, in his own time.
“Growing up the way I did, being homeless and then in a gang, and then in the military, it kinda made it hard for me to have a ton of opportunities to connect with women. As I got into my teens, when most kids that age are flirting with girls and hooking up and learning how to take off a bra one-handed and whatever, Rev and I were just tryin’ to survive. Find somewhere to sleep, find food, keep ahead of the cops. Once we connected with the gang, there was more opportunity, and we both started hooking up, mostly with chicks connected to the gang in one way or another. Ex-girlfriends, sisters, cousins, friends, shit like that. But it was few and far between for me. I wasn’t confident, for one thing. I felt like I was a hundred feet tall, and I was gangly back then, all arms and legs and big ol’ hands. Rev, now…I was jealous of him. He was—is—so damn good-looking he didn’t need pickup lines, didn’t need game. All he had to do was lift an eyebrow and wiggle a finger, and girls would just drop their panties for him. I had to work at it. I had to get game, you know? Talk smooth and be charming. But even then, I was just so much bigger than all them girls that I just…either it was me or it was her, or both, but it was just awkward, man. I was awkward. Sex was awkward. And that was before I bulked up.”
I thread my fingers into his, my palm on the back of his hand. “I can relate.”
