Too Late

by C. Hoover

  “That’s it,” he says, whispering against my lips. “Relax. Let me make you feel good.”

  His thumb presses into me and the sensation makes my legs tense so hard, I slide away from him. It doesn’t deter him. He just moves closer. Presses his mouth even harder to mine.

  I’m shocked at the instinctual way my body begins to move against his hand. When I first do it, he groans, so I continue doing it.

  I can feel the pressure of two of his fingers inside me as he presses them as far into me as he can reach. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so fucking tight, Sloan.”

  His voice does things to me when it’s this deep and full of desire.

  “I can’t fucking wait to be inside you.” His lips drag down my neck. “It’s killing me that I can’t fuck you right here. Right now.”

  Jesus. I think I might like dirty talk. That surprises me, but hearing him talk about wanting me is making me want to give it to him. Just not yet. Definitely not tonight. We’re already going too fast, but he makes it seem perfectly okay.

  “I want to taste you,” he whispers. “I want to climb under this fucking table and devour you.”

  “Asa,” I whisper.

  It’s all I can say, because I’m scared if I try to say any more than that, I’ll ruin the mood. I don’t think I can talk like him. The way he’s talking...

  “Do you like this?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  My words must be exactly what he wanted to hear, because the next thirty seconds go by in a blur. His tongue is devouring mine, his hand is touching me in just the right spot that I start to shake. To shudder. Tremors take over and I’m trying to scoot away from him because the sensation is too much, but he’s coming at me with even more force, drinking my moans up like the wine.

  His fingers stay inside me, but his hand is still now as he pulls back to watch me recover from what he just did to me. His chest is heaving against mine and he’s somehow pressed against my thigh so hard, I can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

  I wait until I’ve caught all my breaths before I’m able to find my voice. And then, for whatever reason, I choose to say, “What happens now?”

  I say this mostly because I don’t know if I’m supposed to do something for him. Tit for tat. Return the favor. I feel like an idiot. Like a rejuvenated idiot.

  He grins. “Now...we eat some fucking dessert.”

  As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his hand leaves me and the waiter rounds the corner. I sit up straight, attempting to hide the fact that my hair is a mess and I’m still panting.

  The waiter pretends not to notice anything is amiss. I appreciate him for that. He places a plate of one huge slice of coconut cake in front of us, then sets two forks on the plate. “Enjoy your dessert,” he says.

  Asa dips his finger...the one that was just inside me...into the coconut cake. I watch as he slides it into his mouth and sucks it. He slowly pulls his finger out of his mouth. “This is my new favorite flavor,” he says, smiling. “Coconut cake mixed with you.”

  I blush.

  He picks up his fork and then I pick up mine. I take a bite and smile.

  I like him. He makes me feel...I don’t know. Good and dangerous. It may not be a good combination, but it’s nice right now. Here. Tonight. What’s the worst that could happen? I’m eighteen. It’s not like I’m going to spend my future with him.

  “Spend the night with me,” he says, after swallowing a bite.

  I don’t answer him.

  I think about his request. I don’t really have a place to crash tonight. It’s already too late to catch a bus home and I’d feel bad showing up at any of my friend’s places so late.

  “On one condition.”

  He nods. “I promise I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to.”

  I don’t even have to name the condition. He just laid it out for me. “Okay,” I say.

  He puts his fork down and yells, “Check, please!”

  We were kissing as we entered his house. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I glanced around enough to know that I’m not at all shocked by it. Based on the way he dresses and the car he drives, this house isn’t so out of line with his wallet. The only thing that seems odd is the fact that he owns it. He told me so on our way here.

  He lifts me and carries me up the stairs, kissing me all the way to his bedroom. I told him on the ride over that I don’t think I’m ready to have sex yet. That I’ve already experienced more tonight than I can wrap my head around.

  He assured me that wouldn’t happen—that we’d just kiss until we fell asleep. But I get the feeling he’s going to need something more than just simple making out.

  I don’t know what. I’ve never given a guy a blow job before, so I feel like that’s even moving so much faster than I planned to in the next year. But I feel guilty. I’ve taken more than I’ve given tonight.

  We’re in his bedroom now. His door slams shut and then I’m against it, him pressed against me. His hands are on my dress, lifting it over my head.

  Holy shit.

  Wasn’t expecting to be half-naked this quick.

  Naturally, I go to cover myself, wrapping my arms in front of my bra. As soon as I do it, I feel stupid. But I just wasn’t expecting that.

  He grabs my wrists and pulls them away. “I want to see you, Sloan,” he says, his voice gentle. He takes a step back and stares at me. Luckily, I washed a set of matching bra and panties before the date.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, his eyes trailing slowly down my legs. “Are you positive you don’t want me inside you tonight?” He takes a step closer until his hands are on my panties, pushing them over my hips, down my legs.

  It’s too fast.

  “Asa,” I whisper. “Stop.”

  My mind is still hazy from the wine, but even drunk, I know that the panties should stay on a little longer. Until I’m absolutely ready for them to come off.

  Which may not even be tonight.

  He slides up my body, stopping to kiss me in several different places. When he reaches my mouth, he whispers, “What’s wrong?”

  I exhale and my breath comes out shaky. Nervous.

  “It’s too much,” I tell him, pushing around him. “The whole night...I wasn’t prepared for all of this. I feel like...” I hold in my words until I can sort through and find the exact right ones. Asa is still facing the door as he blows out a slow, seemingly frustrated breath. ”I feel like you think I’m a different type of girl than I am,” I say. “But I’m not used to doing these things, Asa. I’m not experienced; I’m not comfortable like you are right now. You make me nervous. And it’s not your fault; I think you just assumed I was different than I am. Maybe...maybe you should just take me home.”

  He’s facing me again, so I see it when he winces, like maybe I didn’t choose the right words. Hell, maybe I didn’t. I don’t know what I’m doing—what I’m saying. This whole night has been a huge reminder of just how different I am from him. How much more experience he has at life than me. And just because I let him get too far already doesn’t mean that’s his pass to go all the way.

  I need to put the brakes on, no matter if that upsets him or not. That’s selfish of me in a way, I guess. But I can’t help that I suddenly feel uncomfortable. Being in a guy’s house I barely know. Staying the night with him.

  I suspect there’s more of a chance of him reaching for his keys and rushing me home than there is of him engaging in a mature conversation about how getting my first kiss and losing my virginity on the same night may be too much, too soon.

  He rakes a hand through his hair and then grips the back of his neck while he stares at me from across the room. Then, in a display of sheer determination, he walks swiftly toward me, grabbing my face and forcing me to look up at him.

  “You think I don’t know what kind of girl you are?” His voice is quiet but firm as his gaze scrolls over my face. “I’ve been watching you in class for weeks, Sloan. I know exactly what ki
nd of girl you are. I’ve studied you. I’ve admired you. And I’ve thought about you way too much. And lately—I’ve developed this idea that you’re exactly what’s missing from my life. You’re the type of girl I’ve dreamt about. You’re the type of girl I failed to believe existed for the majority of my life. But you’re real and...you’re so fucking special to me already. In my life...special things are difficult to come by. Real fucking difficult. You just might be the first special thing I’ve ever been this close to having all to myself. So if I’m coming on too strong or too fast, that’s why. It has nothing to do with my expectations of tonight. It has nothing to do with your inexperience. I can’t keep my hands off you because I’m scared to death that if I move too slow...if I don’t take things too fast...I’ll be too late.”

  I don’t allow air to move in or out of my lungs.

  I wait until I have time to absorb every word he just said to me.

  Before I’m finished soaking everything in, he continues talking. “Stay the night with me. Please. You can put your panties back on, your dress back on. Hell, you can take your bra off and sleep completely naked. I don’t care. I just want you in my bed, that’s all. I swear, Sloan. I just need to fall asleep next to you.”

  His expression is sincere. His words even more so. That’s why I’m nodding...because for whatever reason, I trust him right now. And I’ve never trusted people easily.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Rather than find my dress, I reach behind me and unfasten my bra. I let it fall to the floor. His eyes are all over me as I stand in front of him, completely bare.

  “Let’s go to sleep,” he whispers, his voice gruff.

  I walk to his bed and climb under the covers. When I look back at him, his shirt is off and he’s sliding off his jeans. He keeps his boxers on as he climbs into bed with me. He moves to my side. “Roll over so I can spoon you.”

  I laugh and roll over. I never expected this night to end with spooning, but I love that it is.

  He wraps his arms around me tight and presses a kiss against my head. “Sweet dreams,” he whispers.

  “You, too.”

  I can’t tell if I like the feeling of being drunk. It’s the first time I’ve ever had more than one glass of wine in a single night. Heck, I think I had five glasses at dinner alone. I think I drank so much because it calmed my nerves—made me feel more comfortable with myself. Too comfortable, maybe. Because now I’m straddling that line from being in a dead slumber to being too buzzed to actually sleep.

  Everything feels heavier when you’re drunk. Your head weighs more, your body grows too heavy to control, your emotions somehow even feel heavier. And now air feels heavier—like the whole world is balancing on top of me while I struggle to open my eyes.

  But being drunk also has its advantages. Somehow—in the midst of feeling all the weight—there’s a lightness on the inside. It’s reminiscent of a feather, tickling the inside of my stomach. Tickling my lips. It makes me crave pressure...touch. It felt good tonight when Asa would touch me. The alcohol made me enjoy it, even when my conscience was fighting to warn me I shouldn’t.

  Even now...in the throes of sleep...I feel it. The warmth of him, the strength of his hands, the sound of his voice.

  I’m suspended somewhere between reality and dreams and I can’t figure out which one I’m in yet. And I really don’t want to wake up, but it feels so real. His hands on my breasts—his mouth between my legs. It feels so real; I wince from the stubble of his jaw cutting into the soft flesh of my thighs.

  I gasp.

  My heart is thrashing around in my chest. My hands are gripping the sheets at my side.

  I’m not dreaming.

  This feels too real.

  Too soon.

  Too fast.

  “Asa,” I whisper.

  I’m confused as to where he is exactly. I feel his hands on me...they move from my breasts to my waist.

  He’s...Oh God.

  “Asa,” I whisper again, my entire body tensing. How did this happen? When did we get to this point?

  Despite the way his tongue is making me feel, the fact that I’m waking up to this seems wrong. Right and so wrong. Did I ask him for this? While I slept?

  Or did he just take it?

  I try to force my legs shut—force his mouth away from me. But he just grips my waist tighter and slides his tongue up the entire center of me—slowly.

  I moan.

  I want to cry, but I fucking moan instead. My voice is a traitor.

  “Please,” I whisper, the word being released between heavy breaths.

  I feel his tongue leave me. His lips press softly against my inner thigh. I’m highly aware of his every movement now, because I can’t understand how I can want so badly to push him away while at the same time, want his mouth back on me.

  “Relax,” he whispers, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “You deserve this. You deserve all the good things, Sloan.”

  The room is spinning. His hands are running over my stomach, caressing me, making me feel like thinking this is wrong is somehow wrong.

  His palms slide down my hips, over my thighs and to my knees. He puts pressure against the inside of my legs, opening them wider. “Just close your eyes and relax. Please let me do this for you.”

  Before I can agree or disagree, his mouth returns to me, his tongue dipping into me, stroking up, all the way up, back down. My back arches off the bed and I’m still gripping the sheets for dear life.

  His tongue begins to make smaller journeys until he’s circling just my clit.

  I’ve never felt anything like it.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and feel myself starting to accept it. I let the weight and the lightness of the alcohol take me in all the right places, and seconds later, I allow my voice to betray me even louder.

  “Asa.” I’m moaning.

  I’m gasping.

  My hand leaves the sheets to find his hair and I grip it, pull it, need him closer.

  “Don’t stop,” my voice says, even though my conscience is screaming STOP!

  Don’t stop.

  Stop.

  Don’t.

  Yes.

  No.

  “Yes.” My head falls back against Asa’s pillow.

  My body gives in to him completely while my conscience is slow to catch up. I begin to tense in a different way this time. Both of my hands are in his hair now as my body begins to respond in all new ways. He’s right. This is good. It feels so good. So good, I don’t allow myself to think of what this will cost me when it’s over.

  I don’t get good things in my life. I need this. I need to feel something good.

  I’m shaking now. My whole body. His tongue and his lips are moving against me with eagerness, like his only desire in the world right now is to please me. The feeling begins to intensify...my breathing grows more erratic, my moans more desperate.

  And then it happens.

  I feel it so deep, I question if I’m actually awake. I have to be dreaming. Nothing in life can feel like this. It’s so intense; I freeze as the feeling moves through me. I stop moaning, I stop shaking, I stop breathing. Seconds pass as the feeling holds me tight. More seconds pass as it releases me, freeing me, sending me plummeting.

  I’m shaking again, panting. His mouth leaves me and he crawls up my body until his mouth is on mine. I taste myself on him...his tongue in my mouth, his wet lips against mine.

  “Fuck,” he mutters into my mouth. “I was wrong. This is my new favorite flavor.”

  His tongue dives deeper into my mouth and I swallow his groan as he settles himself on top of me.

  I’m fighting for air. I lost all mine right before he kissed me, and now I can’t catch a breath because he’s kissing me so fiercely I can’t breathe. My head is heavy but my thoughts are light, and I want to tell him to slow down. I want to tell him to give me a second to breathe. I want to say so many things, but the room is spinning and I’m drowning in guilt for allowing what just happe
ned to transpire when I’m not sure I even wanted it to.

  He finally tears his mouth from mine and I gasp for air as he presses our cheeks together.

  “Hold your breath, Sloan. This might hurt.”

  I feel his palm press against my stomach and I have no idea what he’s doing or what’s about to hurt. “What might hurt?”

  I hear my answer in my own scream.

  Pain rips through me as he forces inside me with one quick, uninvited thrust.

  And then another.

  “Asa!” I scream.

  His mouth finds mine again, just as the tears make their way out of my eyes.

  “Sloan,” he murmurs, closing his lips over mine, thrusting against me a third time. A fourth. I try to squeeze my legs shut, I try to force him out of me and I use my hands to push against his shoulders. His hands find mine, one at a time, and he brings them above my head, pressing them into the mattress.

  This doesn’t feel good. Having him inside me feels so much different than when his mouth was on me.

  “You feel fucking incredible, Sloan,” he whispers. “Thank you. Thank you so much for giving me this.”

  Giving me this?

  Did I give him this? I don’t even remember him asking if I was ready. If I wanted this. He just took it.

  I think.

  Who would do that? Everything he said earlier made me believe he was willing to wait.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think. All I can feel is the pressure inside me. My thighs are burning from being forced apart while I try to squeeze them back together.

  I woke up to this. To him touching me...kissing me. And I didn’t stop him.

  I said yes.

  I spoke that word out loud.

  I said don’t stop.

  He misunderstood me—what I was asking of him. What I was willing to do.

  I was careless with my words, and that’s not his fault. That’s my fault.

  I’m no longer a virgin, and I have no one to blame for that but myself.