“Jess,” he rasps.
“Shhh,” I soothe, gently picking up my pace.
My hand runs up and down his length, stopping occasionally to give his head attention. His entire body is stiff and he’s panting with every stroke I make. He’s making little noises and every now and then he murmurs my name. I hear him say “Baby” before I feel his cock swell in my hand. Seconds later, I feel hot spurts of arousal hit my hand and get washed away with water.
His groans continue and his head drops back, tickling my cheeks with his long, thick hair. His hands hit the wall with another garbled grunt and he jerks his cock harder into my hand. My entire body swells with want. I need him. I want to let him in. I want to feel what it’s like to have a man like Dimitri surrounding me.
I need it like I need air.
It’s finally time.
Time to let myself go.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dimitri
She’s so fucking beautiful. I want her more than I want air. I should hate her, should feel that rage burning in my chest, but the only thing burning is my need to taste her, to be inside her, to have her surrounding me. Especially when she’s watching me with those big, green eyes. I know she feels guilty, and a big part of me thinks that’s exactly what she should feel, but a bigger part, the part I’m just discovering again, tells me she is the best thing that could ever happen to me.
My mind is spinning with this influx of new emotions. I’m not used to feeling anything but a soul-crushing need for revenge. Hearing her spill the truth ripped me to shreds. I don’t know if she’s just saying what she thinks I want to hear, but it tugged at something inside me. It cracked my wall, just slightly. Now I don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to give up the only thing that seems to keep me stable and calm?
“Come here,” I murmur as I back toward the bed.
I don’t know what my next move is, but tonight, right here with her, I know exactly what I need. And by the look on her face, she needs it as much. I keep my eyes locked on hers as she takes a nervous step toward me. I extend my hand and she timidly places one of hers in mine. Jess is always so determined and funny, but she looks like she’s about to throw up. I know how scary it is for her. I remember the first time I took the leap and gave myself to someone.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, studying my face.
“About the first time I had sex after . . .” I trail off. I hate that word. Fucking hate it.
Jess’s eyes soften. “Tell me about it.”
She sits on the bed and I drop down beside her.
“Not sure it’s going to give you a great deal of confidence, baby,” I murmur, making tiny circles on her palm with my fingertip.
“I want to know anyway.”
I focus on her hand as I speak. I’ve never told anyone this story, and I’m certainly not about to share it with anyone else but her. It’s not something I’m proud of.
“I was seventeen. I was at the peak of my fucked up-ness.”
She smiles at my use of her word, and I can’t help but grin back.
“I met this girl at a club one night. She was blond, pretty, ready for a fuck. I was underage but she didn’t know. A bunch of us had managed to sneak into the club. I was a good size for my age. I didn’t look seventeen. Anyway, that’s beside the point. I danced with her, drank with her and somehow found myself back at her hotel room. I was so drunk I didn’t think it would matter. I thought I wouldn’t remember. We began messing around and I seemed to be taking it well, so we went further. Mid-way through, she was riding me when I realized what was really happening. Memories started flashing in my head and I freaked out. It was like I blacked out and forgot where I was and who I was with. I came about to see that I was shaking her. My hands were on her shoulders and I was shaking the absolute shit out of her. It was fucked up. After that, it took a long time to get into it. I didn’t trust anyone and then—”
“Then?” she asks, cutting me off.
“Then I met Macy.”
I see the way her face flashes. She’s jealous.
“Who’s Macy?”
“I was with her for about two years. From nineteen to twenty-one. She was the first person to break through my barrier. She taught me to . . .” I stare at her, noticing her cheeks are pink, so I pick my words carefully, “To . . . be with a woman.”
“She was important to you,” she says. It’s not a question, but a fact.
“I remember the first time she put her hands on me, I flipped out,” I say, sighing. “I was so crazy I couldn’t stand the idea of having someone’s fingers on me. It took her a solid year to be able to run her hand down my face.”
“That must have been hard.”
I nod. “I’m forever grateful to her, though. She helped me past it. I still can’t deal with being touched, but I don’t flip out like I used to. God knows she was a strong girl, putting up with me.”
“She must have loved you,” Jess says, her voice soft and low.
I shake my head. “In her own way, yes, but it wasn’t a deep, binding love. She felt for me, she wanted to help me, but I think a big part of her knew she could never be with me. I was too much work, even for her.”
“I think she must have cared about you a great deal more than you think, if she tried to help you that much.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Why did you hate being touched so much anyway?”