"Ren," I whisper, his name a plea—for what precisely, I'm not sure.
"I've got you, my love," he murmurs. "Just let go."
Let go?
Of what?
How?
I am holding back, I realize, as I tune in more carefully to my body and my physical sensations—a word that cropped up more than once in my short-lived attempt at therapy was "disassociation." As in, I disconnect my mind from my body. It's not hard to figure out why: in order to mentally and emotionally survive that awful, endless nightmare, I had to go somewhereelse in my mind. I had to disconnect from my body, and I have never really reconnected.
Until now.
Aware, now, of the physical disconnect, of the fact that I'm holding myself back from truly feeling and releasing, I can take steps to correct the situation.
Panting, knees shaking, teetering on the cusp of release but unable to reach the other side, I reach up and cup the side of Lorenzo's face, turn his face to mine, whispering. "I need to lie down, Ren. I don't think I can do this standing up anymore."
He scoops me into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold and carries me out of the bathroom to the bed. With exquisite gentleness, he sets me on the bed. For a moment, he stands beside the bed, bent over me, and touches his lips to mine. I whimper, needing more—I don't recognize myself, the sounds I'm making, the need I feel; most unrecognizable of all is the softness Lorenzo's attentions have engendered within me. I have survived this long by virtue of unyielding hardness, hiding my brokenness inside a shell of ice as hard as any diamond.
Lorenzo has shattered that shell, melted the ice. Revealed my soft, broken center.
My only choice is to trust him with those pieces. To yield that softness into his care.
I clasp his nape and pull him to me, deepening the kiss. I part my mouth for him, accept his tongue, his breath, his heat. The kiss sets fire to my veins, makes my stomach surge and flip.
He slides a leg over me and then he's above me, straddling me, one hand punched into the pillow beside my face, the other tenderly caressing my cheek.
I pull away and look up at him—the onslaught of panic is abrupt and punishing. A scream lodges in my throat, trapped behind the breath I can't draw, can't release.
"Off!" I manage, the word choked. "Off, off. Please, please—get off get off getoffgetoffgetoff!"
He rolls away at the first syllable out of my mouth. "I'm sorry, Sophia, I should have known—I should have known. I'm so sorry, my love—I didn't think."
I shake my head, grab his hand and squeeze hard, breathing through my nose to force my breathing to slow. "I'm sorry, Ren. I just—the second you were above me like that, I…I saw—them. Felt them."
He nuzzles my cheek. "I should have known. Forgive me."
I shake my head. "No, you couldn't have. I didn't know I'd react like that myself until it happened." I turn my face to his, brush my lips against his. "I don't want to give up, Ren."
He sighs, sadly, softly. "We can take a break. It's not giving up."
I shake my head again, turning toward him. "I was so close. I'm just—tense. Holding back. Or holding on to…" I sigh, struggling to find the words. "To everything. I want to let go, I just don't know how."
"How can I help you, my love?" he asks, sliding his hand from my shoulder down my arm to my hip.
"I wish I knew, Ren. It felt good, you touching me. I want to be able to let go. I want to be able to orgasm. To…share myself with you. I just…" I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to properly and accurately express my inner turmoil. "I'm afraid—not of you. Never of you, Ren. I trust you with my life, with my body, and with my heart, I truly do. But the fear is…it's got deep roots, Ren. It's irrational, but that doesn't make it any less…"
"Real," he finishes for me. "Anything you want. Anything you need. I am here. I am for you. I am with you. Nothing is too much to ask."
The sweetness is almost too much, and my eyes burn again with a fresh wave of stupid, absurd, suddenly ever-present tears."My god, Ren. How can a man like you, a warrior, a fighter, a killer…how can you be so sweet? So perfectly, wonderfully sweet?"
"I love you, Sophia. I don't know how else to answer."
Side by side, facing each other, I shimmy closer to him, until our hips touch and my breasts are crushed between us and his manhood is a hot slack ridge low against my belly.
I let myself touch him—explore him. I caress his broad shoulder, his thick, hard arm. Pet his pec, trail my fingers up his abdomen, palm his hip. Scratch his back, and then soothe the scratched skin with a slow slide of my palm.
Heart pounding, I cup the taut, iron-hard bubble of his ass.
