“He was also wrong,” Hunter said. “You could never be ugly,” he said, looking back up at me. “And I want you.” He slowly got onto his feet, one of his hands reached out toward my face, stroking my cheek. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Thank you for not telling me I have an ugly pussy or running away like I was a demon,” I said, thinking of the other boys. They were boys. Because a man acted the way Hunter was acting.
“Whoever did that was a dickhead and had no idea what they were missing out on,” he said.
“What were they missing out on?”
“You.”
Then he leaned forward and kissed me, soft. Little kisses across my lips before pressing down. I sank into it. Into him. My arms went up and around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue slipped between my lips, teasing mine and sending a flood of desire to my core. He kissed me for a long time, until I felt like I was floating, until I felt it all the way down to my toes. Then he pulled back, his eyes hazy. “We don't have to have sex,” he said and the pulsing need between my thighs was in complete disagreement with him.
I smiled slowly at him, shrugging a shoulder. “All talk, huh?” I asked. “Cant get it up without the phone in your hand?”
He snorted, leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead. He reached down, grabbing my hand and turning it so the palm was out, then placed it down on his crotch. His cock was straining against the thick material of his jeans. “Cant get it up, huh?”
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to see it to believe it,” I said, pursing my lips at him.
He chuckled, taking a step back, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it off in one swift motion.
He was too good looking. Like, seriously. It wasn't right for one man to be that perfect. The face alone was enough. The face should have been paired with some flabby man boobs or a beer belly. Just so the other guys stood a chance. But, no. Hunter was perfect everywhere. His shoulders were wide, strong, his chest defined. And then, of course, because no God would be complete without them... he had abs. The kind that you could sink fingers in between. And that glorious, beautiful V that half-hid beneath the waistband of his jeans. There was a thin black trail of hair that disappeared underneath his top button.
As if sensing my need to see more. See everything. Like he got to see me. He reached down, slowly unbuttoning the button and pulling down the zipper. He pushed the material down and it fell with a slight whooshing noise to the floor. His dark boxers were all that was left. Beneath them, his legs were solid. His cock was hard, pushing against the thin material and I could make out the perfect shape of the head.
He grabbed the waistband and pulled it open, letting the boxers fall to the floor.
Yup, perfect. Head to toe. Every little space between.
“Okay, I believe it,” I said, glancing at his long, thick cock with a surge of anticipation. What would it be like? Without the fear? Without the shame?
All I knew was I wanted to find out.
“Come here,” he said, tilting his head to the side, looking down once then back up to my face.
I did. My feet moved across the cool floor with a weighted feeling. “Hi,” I said, my feet next to his, our bodies a whisper from each other.
“Hi,” he said back, smiling. Then he leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose. “So, wanna go to the bed?” he asked, reaching down and taking my hand.
I laced my fingers between his and nodded.
He pulled me into the hall then to his room, still bare-walled and dominated by the huge bed with rich black blankets and sheets. He closed the door, turning to me and wrapping his arms around my hips, pulling me against him. I felt myself shiver as our bare skin touched. He leaned down and breathed in the smell of my hair, then started moving forward, making me slide backward blindly across the floor.
The backs of my knees hit the bed and I untangled myself from him and slid up on it, moving toward the center, my knees to my chest. He stood there looking at my for a minute before moving closer, crawling across the bed toward me. I laid backward against the pillows.
He sat back on his heels, running his fingertips up the tops of my feet, my calves, the sides of my thighs, not even hesitating over the cuts and scars. Like they were normal. A part of me. A part of my skin. I felt my thighs part around his hips, my knees touching the sides of his stomach. He pressed forward sightly, letting his hands settle on either side of my shoulders.
“Guess what?” he asked.
“What?”
“I've thought about you naked a thousand times,” he admitted, lowering down to trail kisses across my shoulder, my collarbone. “and my fantasies didn't even come close to the reality of how perfect you are,” he told me, sinking his lips into my neck and sucking the skin into his mouth.
I knew I wasn't perfect. Far from. But, for the first time in my life, that was okay. Because Hunter thought I was. And that was more than enough.
My hands moved up his back, enjoying the hard muscle beneath. His hardness was pressed up against my lower belly, as needy as I felt. But Hunter was taking his time, his lips moved to mine, pressing into them with every bit of passion I was feeling, before trailing downward. Touching my throat, moving between my breasts. His hair fell forward, tickling my nipples as he slowly planted soft kisses across the scars under each breast. I arched away from the strange sensation, noticing the surge of panic at the contact.
He moved upward, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, running his tongue over the peak until it was straining, until there was an impossible tightness there, then moving to the other one to do the same. Then he was trailing his tongue down the center of my belly and I felt my legs fly out on the mattress around his legs.
Every muscle in my body felt tense as desire pinged off of each nerve ending, making me feel frazzled, overwhelmed with each new sensation. He moved his lips across my hips, his hands reaching down to press on my thighs, holding them open against the mattress. Then his tongue was touching the edge of the W, tracing it down then up, then down, up, before moving on to the next letter.
And all of a sudden, they felt different. They didn't feel like a brand, like a curse. They felt cherished. They felt like something that was a source of desire, not shame. I almost cried. But then he looked up at me, a devilish smile toying at his lips for a second before his head dipped and I felt his tongue sneak between my delicate folds, sliding upward. His lips closed around my clit, sucking. My thighs strained against his hold as I let out a surprised yelp. My hips arched into his mouth, begging for more, begging for things I was barely familiar with. The pressure built until it was painful, before his lips pulled away, his tongue stroking over the sensitive bud quickly side to side. My hands went to his hair, grabbing it and twisting, but pushing him closer. Holding him there.
“Hunter,” I whimpered, my toes curling, my whole body straightening as I felt my orgasm build higher and higher.
He opened his mouth, breathing warm air over my clit for a second before his tongue started working in small circles. Then I felt his finger press against my slick entrance, pausing for the briefest of seconds before pushing in, turning, and stroking against the top wall. Over and over until I couldn't fight it anymore and my body exploded into orgasm, making me cry out and push his head harder against me.
I fell back against the mattress after, feeling sweaty and weak, like my limbs were too heavy to move. He went back on his ankles, looking down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “You're so sexy when you come,” he said, running his fingers up and down my inner thighs, giving me time to recover and making my body come alive at the same time.
When I was panting again, whimpering against his exploration, he leaned over, reaching into the nightstand and pulling out a condom foil. I watched as he slid it on, watching me with a fierceness that was almost scary.
He moved forward, going down on his forearms, and taking my lower lip between his teeth. I felt his weight settle
on top of me, his chest hair teasing my hardened nipples. His hips pushed against mine and I felt his hardness against my inner thigh.
“You ready?” he asked, then smiled. “I mean, I know you're ready,” he said, licking his lips, tasting me there still. “But are you sure?”
I smiled up at him, my arms going to his shoulders. “Never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said, leaning up and planting a quick kiss to his lips.
He reached down between us, settling his cock at my threshold, pausing there, pressing but not penetrating. I rocked my hips against it, shameless with my need. He made a chuckling sound somewhere deep in his chest then, with his eyes on mine, he thrust once forward, pushing all the way inside.
A surprised cry escaped my lips as I felt his thickness spread me, just shy of painful, a tight pulling sensation that felt foreign but right. Like I had been missing it all along. “Fuck,” he said, dropping his forehead to mine, taking a deep breath. “You're so fucking tight,” he ground out from between clenched teeth.
I felt my insides pulling at him, begging for the motion I needed. The motion he wasn't giving me.
“Hunter, please,” I whimpered, my hands grabbing at his shoulders.
He lifted his head, looking down at me, a smirk on his face. “Please what, baby?” he asked, innocently.
I half laughed, half groaned. “Please fuck me,” I said, digging my nails across his back.
“Well, if you insist,” he said, pulling out and slamming forward again.
He smiled down at me then withdrew again, rocking his hips into my quickly. Because we were both too desperate to take it slowly. We were both too close already. My hips rose up to meet his thrusts, pulling him deeper. I felt myself tightening around him with each thrust forward.
To my ears, everything sounded muted. His harsh breath, his quiet groans. My own moans. But I knew I was loud enough to wake the neighbors, completely lost in him, in the sensations I had never felt before.
“That's it,” he said, sounding winded. “Come for me baby. I want to feel your pussy grab me.”
My hips rose to meet his one more time and I felt myself teeter on the edge then plunge over, my body shooting into my orgasm so hard that I saw white. My fingers raked across his back as I cried out his name, burying my face in his neck.
“Fuck, Fee,” he growled out as he slammed forward, twitching deep inside me as he came.
We laid there exactly that way for a long time, our hearts slamming in our chests, our breathing ragged on each others skin. Hunter turned his face slightly, kissing my jaw, before pushing up and looking down at me. “Not that the phone sex wasn't great,” he started, smiling in a tired way. “but Jesus Christ, Fee,” he said, leaning down and kissing me once more before moving off of me, out of me, and turning away for a moment.
I felt oddly empty when he was gone, completely aware of my nakedness, but unconcerned with it. I watched his back until he turned back to me, sliding into the empty space next to me. He slipped a hand under my shoulders, turning me onto my side and pulling my across his chest.
We laid like that for a long time, my leg moving up over his hips. His hands moved lazily up and down my back, stopping just below my tattoo that was burning sightly from all the squirming around. “You alright?” he asked, sounding half asleep.
And I was. Maybe for the first time ever, I was fine. Good even.
Beneath me, he drifted off to sleep, his hand still and heavy at my hips. I traced shapes on his skin as I breathed in his sawdust soap smell that still clung to him despite not actually being around any sawdust that morning.
So that was what sex was supposed to be like. That was what I had been missing, what my body had begged for until it gave up. Until it forgot to want it anymore. Now the floodgates were open, and I wanted. Oh, how I wanted. I almost felt bad at how much I was going to take advantage of Hunter. Up and down the hall and through the floor.
I woke up a while later on my back, my arm thrown up over my head, asleep and throbbing painfully. Hunter was on his side next to me, his hair wild and his eyes hazy. He was staring at my chest. When he noticed I was up, he reached out, touching one of my scars.
“How do you feel about these?” he asked.
I pulled my arm down, feeling it drop heavily to the mattress. “Feel about them?” I asked, still struggling against my sleep-cloudy brain. “I hate them.”
He nodded, still stroking the soft skin. “I could cover them,” he said, looking up at me.
“What do you mean cover them?”
“Well you know what underbust tattoos are, right?” he asked. “They're really popular now.”
I thought of all the pictures I had poured over. So many of them with girls holding their hands up to cover their nipples as the tattoo draped under one breast, moved up between them, then draped under the other. They were always intricate, lace-like. Beautiful.
“Yeah,” I said carefully, not letting myself hope too much. “But...these are... big scars. Can you even tattoo on a scar?” I asked, knowing how I had never grown hair on the marks between my legs when I hit puberty.
“Yeah,” he said, stroking again. “A lot of women tattoo to cover mastectomy scars now. Some even tattoo ink bras over their breasts to hide them. It covers.”
There was a heaviness in my chest as the realization settled in. I wouldn't have to live with them. Pretend they weren't there. Avert my eyes when I looked in the mirror. I wouldn't spend every day of my life with my awful past etched into my skin. All thanks to Hunter.
“Will you do it for me?” I asked, my voice sounding more emotional than I wanted it to.
He looked up at me for a second, then bent down at kissed the center of each scar. “Of course I will.” He said it easily, like that had been the plan all along. “I could maybe do something about these,” he said, touching the word without a trace of hesitation. “I saw a woman tattoo a phoenix across here. It went up her belly and the tail went down over the side of her thigh,” he said, stroking his hand down over my self-inflicted cuts. “These could be a memory too.”
And I would think twice about slicing into something beautiful that he had painstaking made a part of my skin. True, maybe I would just find a new place to cut open. But there was a chance, albeit small, that the sayings were right: time does heal. Maybe that was what this was. Maybe this was healing.
“Hey,” I said quietly and his eyes met mine. I found no strangeness there. No disgust. But, better yet, no pity. I leaned down, grabbing his face and pulling it to mine, letting myself kiss him with every failed hope, lost dream, every frustrated moment of low self-esteem, every hidden, dark, secret, shameful thing. I kissed him like therapy. Like I could pour it all into him and finally be free.
And he sensed it. His hands went to my face, cradling it softly as I purged all the old away, leaving room for the new, for him, to sink in.
He pulled away slowly, giving me a small smile. Then laying down on the mattress next to me, rolling us both on the sides to face each other.
“So,” he started.
“So...” I said, smiling.
“Tell me your story, Fee.”
“My story?” I asked, sounding confused. Because I was. I had already told him the awful, ugliest parts of me. I told him things I had never told anyone and he wanted more. “You want more?” I asked, feeling uncertain.
“Oh, Fee,” he said, reaching out to touch my cheek. “I want everything.”
Sixteen
How were you supposed to start? How do you tell someone the entire story of your life? How do you find those kinds of words?
As if sensing my dilemma, he let his hand drop, grabbing mine. “How about your mother. Tell me about her.”
My mother. I had such guilt about my mother. I remembered when I left, how I had learned to hate her. Almost as much as my father. More at times. Because she was supposed to protect me. She was supposed to save me from his torment. And I
hated her for letting me suffer while she stood by and did nothing.
It took me a long time, maybe a year after I found what had happened, to forgive her. To understand. “My mom was damaged. She was raised with an abusive father. I think it was easy for her to just... continue the cycle, bow down before another abusive man. And she was never good enough for my father. He was always picking at her. At how she cooked, how she cleaned house, raised us. But, most of all, how she wasn't a religious enough woman.”
“But she must have had a rebellious streak to teach you to read,” Hunter said, nuzzling his face into my neck.
“Yeah. And she named me Fiona. I was supposed to be Mary, but because my father didn't go in the delivery room... my mom named me Fiona. After her mother. And,” I said, thinking of her running out barefoot in the snow, her eyes wild. “when my father was doing this,” I said, waving toward my crotch. “she... set the living room on fire.”
“What?” he said, popping his head up.
“Yeah. I guess she knew she could never make him stop. And he seemed like he would be happy to carve into me until there was nothing left, that's how angry he was. So she took a stick and set the side of the chair next to the fireplace on fire. She waited until it was going good and ran out and screamed for my father.”
“Wow,” Hunter said, reaching out and rubbing my hip.
“Yeah. I felt so bad for not realizing what she had done for me while I was growing up. The small ways she had looked out for me. Protected me.”
“You see it now,” he said, shrugging.
“Too late though,” I said. “I was so angry when I ran away from home. So, so angry. I had been beaten that morning for not getting my chores done early enough. I had to go have breakfast with my grandmother and my father was in rare form. I couldn't even sit down when I got to Gram's house with my backpack I said was filled with my sewing, but was actually spare clothes and the money I had stolen out of my father's bible. When my grandmother went into the kitchen to get the tea, I ran. I ran and ran and ran, every step of the way cursing my father and mother.”
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