by Daryl Banner
“Free movies all spring break?” finishes Dmitri with an excited glint in his eyes.
“Free movies,” I affirm. “But not free popcorn.”
“Does your theater sell Cheetos?”
“Nope. But I have three or four pointers on the perfect way to sneak contraband into a movie theater.”
“You devious moviegoer, you.”
He sleeps on the couch that night. I sleep in my room, curled up and staring at the totally unkillable green-and-yellow plant that grows on my windowsill, the one I call Little Nico. He hasn’t been “little” anymore for the past six years, but I can’t stomach changing his name.
All night, I squirm in my bed, wondering whether Dmitri is asleep or restless as well. I fight the urge to get up and check on him in the living room, wondering how creepy I’d look standing there watching him sleep on the couch.
So I close my eyes and dream of the boy in the room right next to mine instead.
Goodnight, Dmitri.
It’s the next day that we expertly employ the very skills I boasted of the night before, smuggling in not only a sizeable bag of Cheetos, but also Twizzlers and a pair of Milky Way bars. Sitting in the back of a near-empty theater, we giggle our way through a “horror” movie while Dmitri teasingly tries to lick all of the orange off my fingers. I call him a gross cheese monster, then proceed to engage in a Twizzler sword battle that ends with my sword being bitten in half by Dmitri’s full set of lips and shiny teeth. We laugh about it so much that, for the first time in my life, I find myself becoming the very moviegoer I can’t stand: someone who won’t shut the hell up in the back of the theater.
That evening, I sit in front of the piano to play the first draft of my composition, the one I found in my dreams at the bottom of the ocean. It’s the biggest project of my college career and has a chance of being put into the School of Music’s end-of-year symphonic show, if it’s selected.
Dmitri sits at my side. “I can’t wait to hear it,” he murmurs softly, as if afraid to disturb the peace of my house since my mom’s gone.
“Me neither,” I admit.
He looks between the side of my face and my unmoving fingers, back and forth. “So … what’re you waiting for?”
“The right moment.”
“Ah. Of course.” He puts his hands in his lap and waits, too.
I close my eyes. I know my piece from memory. I don’t need the sheet music in front of me; the music lives in my fingertips and my heart. Trouble is, I don’t know where my heart is. Is it in the hands of the boy on this bench next to me? Or is it that pesky thing thrashing uncontrollably in my chest?
Then my fingers start to move, and music happens.
Music that fills every corner of the house. Music that my father took with him on the road. Music that illustrates my childhood pain in a series of battling melodies and unexpected harmonies. Music that works to unsettle you as quickly as it mends the wounds you didn’t even know lived in your heart.
At least, that’s what I’m going for.
The sound stops when my fingers do, but the music seems to linger, filling the air with its memory.
Neither of us move. My eyes are closed.
Dmitri doesn’t say anything.
I can’t open my eyes until he says something. Was it that bad? Does it need work? Did I even play anything at all, or are we still here waiting for that right moment?
Is that what we’ve always been, Dmitri and I? Two people waiting for the right moment?
Maybe I dreamed the music.
Then a hand gently pulls hair behind my ear, revealing the side of my face. The cold air of the room touches me.
And I keep my eyes closed, stilled by the gentle touch of his fingers.
I feel him again. Fingers gently tease their way into my hair, like a soft invitation, combing a path through it. My hair has grown so long that it reaches the middle of my back.
The sounds of each of my individual breaths are all I hear. That’s the new music filling the room, breath by breath.
His fingers graze down the side of my body.
I shiver.
A set of lips touch my shoulder.
My eyes clench shut tighter. My breathing deepens. My chest rises and falls as my lungs work, and my heart works, and my brain shuts off and gives in to the sensations he’s making me feel.
His lips kiss up the side of my neck. Oh my God. His mouth reaches my ear where he plants the tiniest kiss.
I inhale sharply. The right moment …
I turn toward him, eyes still closed, and the next thing his lips touch are my own. They meet after a clumsy wrestling of noses, cheeks, and chins.
And when they come together, something as tangible as the floor beneath our feet surges between us. I feel it, and I know for certain he does, if the sound of his quickening breath is any sign.
Now the music of his breaths join in harmony with my own, and my whole world is reduced to the size of Dmitri and I, two bodies, two mouths, two sets of lungs …
And then a tongue, teasing its way past my lips …
And then a hand gripping my shoulder, encouraging me …
And my hand sliding around his back, pulling myself against him …
And our nostrils flaring as we breathe harder, our cheeks blasted by warm air as the kiss deepens …
And then his lap when I straddle it, his thick thighs beneath me as I’m balanced precariously on this old piano bench …
And both of his hands at the small of my back, securing me in place and making me feel safe, like he’d never let me fall.
He will never let me fall.
Dmitri lifts me up suddenly, and my legs wrap around his waist as our mouths remain connected. With ease, as if I weighed nothing at all, he carries me down the hall, kicking open my door with his foot. Then my back finds my bed as he lays me down.
I open my eyes to the gorgeous sight of Dmitri standing over me.
Still, he says nothing. The curious, hungry look on his face reflects the one on my own. Slowly, he reaches toward the bottom of my shirt where his fingers, smooth as silk, slip underneath. They’re so gentle, like he’s exploring my body for the very first time. Every inch of me is a discovery. His hand glides up, taking my shirt with it. His movements are so soft and gentle, chills race over my skin. It almost tickles.
My shirt slips off, drops to the floor with a little muffled sound, and then the fingers return, tracing my naked skin.
Almost naked. He arrives at my bra, then starts to explore it. I can’t move an inch. He’s a precious animal in the woods I’m trying not to scare off. He’s just as nervous about this as I am.
Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to me?
I sit up and grip the base of his t-shirt, following his example. He lets go of me and just watches, his arms hanging at his sides, as I slowly work the fabric up his smooth, firm body. He brings his arms up as the shirt slips over his head and is cast aside just as freely as mine was.
I gaze on his naked chest, his nipples, the smooth ripple of firm musculature that defines his pecs and the gentle ridges of his abs. His body is just the perfect balance of not-too-muscular and not-flat-and-shapeless. A dusting of hair makes a path down his abdominal ridge, covering his belly button, and disappearing into his low-hanging jeans.
I reach up to touch his chest, curious, and discover his heart racing. I look up at his eyes and find them still hungering.
Still hungering, just the same as the day I took him to my dorm, feeling brave. Tonight, I’m braver.
My fingers trace down the smooth, subtle ripples of Dmitri’s flesh, hooking into the waistband of his loose jeans. My eyes have followed, and I study the V-shaped ridge on either side of his abdomen that leads below as I undo the button. The dimple of his belly button moves with his every slow, measured breath.
Pop.
As if the jeans were struggling to contain what’s within.
The zipper nearly moves itself. And as his jeans peel open,
I make another discovery: no underwear.
I look up the chiseled, slender form of Dmitri. He stares down at me, open-mouthed, greedy-eyed, and beautiful.
And then I freeze.
I don’t know this woman, this brave, fearless woman who’s undoing a boy’s pants in her bedroom. I have no idea what I’m doing. At once, all of my fears rush into me, paralyzing me to the bone.
Dmitri senses it. His hands come up to gently caress my face as he crouches down, bringing his eyes level with mine. His expression is a warm one, searching my eyes for the things I’m not saying.
Instead of using words, he kisses me. I shut my eyes, succumbing to his generous show of patience and comfort.
He brushes his lips past my cheek on the way to my ear, then he whispers the first words either of us uttered since before I filled the house with my music: “You are beautiful, Samantha Hart.”
I’m forcing myself to breathe evenly despite my heart racing so fast. I’m not sure I can respond even if I wanted to; I am far too focused on where he plans to put his lips next.
Or his hands.
I feel his fingertips on my shoulders, then shiver as they slowly glide down my arms. The way his mouth moves on mine writes a thousand poems of his inner urgency; he yearns for this as badly as I do.
He gently pulls my hair over a shoulder, then helps himself to the back of my bra. It loosens quicker than I expect, and then my breasts are freed.
I’ve never felt so exposed to someone. I’ve never been so exposed.
He pulls away from my face to get a good look at my eyes. Then, as if the devil enters his own, he peers down at my breasts, mesmerized.
I’m so nervous, yet I manage to swallow the fear and force myself to act like the bold, brave woman I want to be. “See something you like?” I ask him, intending to sound like an expert seductress. Instead, my voice wavers, betraying my inner terror.
Either Dmitri doesn’t notice, or he graciously ignores it. He meets my gaze again, then only nods slowly.
I try on a smile. “Tell me … what they … taste like.”
He wastes no time. Dmitri moves to my left breast, then covers my nipple with his mouth. I wasn’t expecting it to feel so good or for my body to react so sensitively, but I buck, surprised, and let out a totally involuntary moan.
That seems to inspire Dmitri all the more. He runs the flat of his tongue across it over and over, and my nipple hardens in response.
I gasp, my thighs squeezing together instinctively. There’s so much pressure down below. I’m quivering, desperate to feel him inside me. I want to know what it’s like. I want him to be the one.
The only one. “Dmitri …” I start to say.
He shuts me up by moving to my other nipple. His tongue is nothing short of a miracle in and of itself. Where did he pick up such talent? Such experience? With guys? With girls?
There’s something about him having experience with both genders that makes him so much deeper to me than just a lover. He is an open soul. He is fearless. He isn’t caged by some forced alpha concept of what men think they have to be. He isn’t afraid to embrace a sensitive, vulnerable side that men think they have to suppress. He is both, and he is neither, and it seems as natural to him to be this way as breathing. It’s just who he is; nothing more, nothing less.
I feel safe with Dmitri. I feel taken care of.
And I feel him sucking harder on my nipple.
His fingers glide up my body to stimulate the breast he just parted from. I’m tingling all over with excitement, rushing toward some edge of oblivion that I can’t properly identify, not in this intense state of mind. Dmitri is working me too expertly.
Maybe this is why I never really gave it up to Tomas or pursued him more aggressively, despite his totally vanilla sensibility in the bedroom. Maybe I was saving myself for Dmitri all along—ever since I scratched my name on that seating chart so long ago.
That one bold little move has given way to countless others.
And now, here we are.
After an eternity, Dmitri slips his face from my breast, kissing down my stomach. His hands trickle along my sides, then land on my thighs where he clutches my pants and gives them a tug, freeing them (and my panties) from my legs in one instant.
Then he holds my thighs and starts to pull them apart.
I don’t let him. I stare down at Dmitri, out of breath, and whisper, “I h-h-haven’t. I’ve … I’ve never—”
“You’ve never felt like this? Me neither.”
“No. N-Not that.” I’m terrified suddenly of a few simple words. I can’t make my mouth move.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promises, his voice as light as his touch. “I’ll take care of you, Sam.”
Despite the deep, intoxicating gaze he gives me, I have to make sure he has no misunderstanding of what I’m trying to say.
The words finally dance off of my tongue: “Dmitri, I’m a virgin.”
He studies me for a long while. I can’t tell if he’s dubious or simply giving my statement due respect. Then, with a little tilt of his head, he says, “You … You never …? Even with—?”
“Even with Tomas,” I affirm. “Nothing. I’ve never … I’ve never done it. With anyone. It just wouldn’t have felt right. I didn’t want him to be the one, Dmitri, and … he didn’t want to be either. It didn’t feel right.”
“Okay.” He nods slowly, and I notice his grip on my thighs turn gentler. Then, unexpected, he smiles and looks up at me. “You know I would never hurt you, right?”
“R-Right,” I breathe.
“Can you … trust me with this responsibility?” he asks. “After we do this, you and I …”
“I know.”
“We can never go back,” he states. “It will be a line that we can’t uncross.” He continues to eye me patiently, as if looking for a hint of misgiving.
He doesn’t find it. I feel so safe with him, safer than I’ve ever felt.
“I need you to say it,” Dmitri murmurs. “I care so much about you, Sam, and I want to make absolutely sure …” He nods at me. “I want to be sure you’re ready. If you aren’t, we don’t have to do anything.”
“I’m ready.”
“I don’t want to pressure you,” he goes on, his hands on my thighs as his face hovers near my legs. His eyes are so full of need, yet I know that at just a drop of a word, he’d put a stop to this and cuddle me into the night. Dmitri is a man of honor, that much I know. “I want you to want this. I want to know for certain that—”
“It’s the right moment.”
I’d spoken too quickly. Dmitri lifts a brow. “What?”
“It’s the right moment,” I repeat. “Right now. Tonight. This is the right moment, Dmitri.”
The smile that spreads across his face sets me aflame. Then, with the gentle urging of his hands, my thighs spread apart, and he invites himself between them.
The sensation that ripples through me when his tongue meets my pussy sends me throwing my head back.
I’ve never felt anything like this. Whatever he’s doing between my legs triples the sensitivity my nipples felt, and then some. Pleasure is rocketing through my body so potently, I’m already fast approaching the brink of an orgasm just from his tongue.
A hand slips down to join his mouth.
Brink of orgasm now reached.
I don’t know tongue from finger down there, but something starts to stimulate my clit, and I’m squirming in an uncontrollable fit. I fight an urge to wrap my legs around him in some sort of wrestling maneuver, smothering him between my thighs. I start to moan loudly, clawing at the bed sheets and squirming with delight.
The exhilarating rush of orgasm hits me much quicker than I expected. I’ve never felt this level of intense release with someone else in the bed with me. What the fuck is he doing to me?
Then I hear the weight of a belt hit the floor. His pants are off. Then his face rises from below, the vacuum of sensations causing me to feel empty for a second
and desperate to have him back there. But when he gently pushes me back onto the bed and crawls over me to position himself, I realize what’s coming next.
I put a hand to his chest, breathing heavily. “Dmitri. Condom.”
“It’s already on.”
“Go slow,” I beg him. “Please. I want to enjoy every second of this. I want to feel everything.”
“You will, Sam, but … but it might hurt at first.”
“I’m ready. I want this. I want this with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. More than anything.” I hook my hands around his back, my fingers clinging to his firm flesh. I want to pull him into me, to feel his body against mine, to relish in his warmth. I’ve been, for so much of my life, cold. “I’m ready, Dmitri.”
He slips his hands underneath my back, cradling me as his hips start to move. I feel the tip of his cock touch me, and I buck at first, surprised. My eyes are on him, and he doesn’t once look away from me.
He seems to gauge my reaction, studying me with eyes wide open, watchful and alight. He’s obeying my every request—slow, careful, and gentle as a dream lover.
“You’re beautiful, babe,” he whispers.
Babe. I smile. That one word of endearment …
My body relaxes. He presses forth some more. There’s pressure. I wince a bit, then let myself relax again as I meet his eyes.
And he pushes more.
He slips in. My mouth opens and I let out a moan. Staring up at Dmitri as he watches my every reaction is so erotic and intimate, I feel like he’s truly with me through every tiny moment of this.
“Oh, Dmitri …” I whimper.
He slides in even more.
“Oh, God … God … God …”
The feeling of him inside me can’t possibly compare to anything else. I’m giving him my greatest intimacy. He’s holding me through it all—protecting me, caressing me. I will never feel alone again.
“You okay?”
“In,” I beg him, desperate, hungry for him. “In, in, in. All the way. In. Fuck me, Dmitri. Oh, God, please. In!”
He thrusts with more force this time. I feel something give way, a pinch of hurt, a sigh of pleasure, and I’m all his.
He slides partway out, then back in. I cling to him, fingers digging into his flesh as the crackling energy between us crashes over my skin. I’m driven insane in seconds. Dmitri must take pity on me, because he starts to pick up pace. His hips flex and relax with every thrust, first gently, and then with vigor. He thrusts and thrusts, cradling me tighter, pulling me against him as he invades me, filling me.