Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

Tate texted back, Are you at home? Are you okay?

  At home. Not really okay, I answered.

  What happened?

  And there it was. I wanted to blow him off so I wouldn’t have to tell the truth. A lie would be so much easier. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't a good liar at the best of times, and Tate deserved better than that from me. He hadn't done anything wrong. I was the one who was fucked up. It wasn't fair to let him think this was his fault. Forcing my fingers to move, I wrote,

  Sorry. It wasn't you.

  I hit send and stared at what I'd written, knowing it wasn't enough. Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to keep going.

  I have panic attacks.

  I hit Send again, feeling as if I’d thrown myself off the side of a cliff, my stomach tight and nauseated, my ears ringing.

  Was that a panic attack? In my office?

  It was close, I admitted. I'm sorry, I typed again.

  Don't be sorry, he answered almost immediately. Can I call you? I want to talk to you.

  My first instinct was to say no, but that was always my first instinct when I felt this way. The panic made me want to pull the covers over my head and hide for the rest of my life. It was wrong. I knew that. Sometimes, saying no was the smart answer. This was not one of those times.

  K.

  A second later, my phone rang in my hand, sending a shock of sheer, icy panic through me. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before I accepted Tate's call.

  "Emily," he said, his voice unbearably gentle. "I'm sorry."

  My breath hitched as I said, “No, I’m sorry. I'm sorry, Tate. It was a really nice date. The best date. I'm just fucked up. I'm not normal. I don't do normal things. I shouldn't have gone out with you. I should've known that would happen."

  "Emily, no,” he protested. “You're not fucked up. It's okay. We can try again."

  I didn't know how to explain it to him. How to make him understand. "Tate, it's just too much. I don't know what we're doing. I don't know how to date someone. I just can't."

  There was a long silence, so long that I wondered if he'd hung up. I checked the screen of my phone and saw the timer on the call ticking upward. He was still there, just not talking. Finally, he said, “Don't give up on us. We'll figure it out. I think there's something good between us, and I don't want to walk away. We can take it slow. Slower. Whatever you need. Just don't give up."

  I didn't want to give up. I wanted to try again. How long would it take before Tate got sick of dealing with me? Did it matter? If I walked away now, I wouldn't have him, anyway. I knew from experience that the only way to deal with my anxiety was to face it head on, no matter how awful it would feel.

  I hadn't freaked out from spending time with Tate. I'd actually been surprisingly relaxed and at ease with him. It was the sex that had freaked me out. It had been too much, and I was too inexperienced. Tate was offering to go slow, but maybe slow was the opposite of what I needed. Maybe I needed to just suck it up and get it over with so the whole sex thing wasn't such a big, scary unknown. The thought grew in my mind. As crazy as it was, it felt right. I trusted Tate. He hadn't pushed me, and he'd said he was willing to be patient.

  "Emily?" he asked, and I realized I'd been sitting there thinking for too long.

  "We should have sex," I said in a rush.

  "That's not taking it slow," Tate said, sounding confused. That made two of us.

  "It's not sex itself that freaks me out," I tried to explain. "It's just that I haven't done it before.”

  "You haven't done it before?" Tate asked.

  "No," I admitted. "I've been doing really well with the whole anxiety thing, but new things are always a problem. I don't know what I'm doing, and I think that's why I panicked."

  "So you want to have sex as therapy?" His voice sounded funny, not like he was laughing, but tight and weird.

  "Not just as therapy," I said. He probably though I was crazy.

  "It's not that I don't want to sleep with you,” Tate said, “because I really, really do. But I don't want to push you, or rush you, and jumping right into sex when it scares you seems like a very bad idea."

  "I don't think it is, though," I said. "It's hard to explain."

  “Try. I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you want us to have sex, you're going to have to give me a good reason we shouldn’t wait.”

  "The short version is that the best way to deal with my panic attacks is to do the thing that scares me in a safe and controlled environment."

  "We were in a safe and controlled environment tonight, weren't we?" he asked.

  Any normal person would have thought so. "Not really, because I didn't know what was going to happen, and that was part of what set me off. If I know that we’re going to have sex, that takes the uncertainty away. Does that make sense?"

  "Kind of."

  "So you'll do it?" I asked, half-hoping and half-terrified that he'd agree.

  "When? Where?"

  I thought about that. Soon, because I didn't want to give myself time to worry about it. Not at my apartment. There was a comfort level in being at home, but if I decided I wanted to leave and we were at Tate’s, I could just go. I had a feeling it might be harder to get him out of my place if he wasn't inclined to leave.

  "Tomorrow night,” I said. “Your place."

  "What time?"

  "Eight.” I said. I didn't want to make it like a date, so after dinner. But not too late.

  "I'll see you at eight, then," Tate said.

  "Okay. See you tomorrow," I said lamely. I hung up the phone, concluding what had to be the weirdest conversation of my entire life. Then I forced myself to get out of bed, wash my face, and put on my nightshirt. I was suddenly exhausted. I’d just propositioned Tate Winters, and in fewer than twenty-four hours, I was going to lose my virginity to him. It was crazy, but I knew without a doubt I wouldn't regret it. And maybe, if I didn’t freak out and ruin it, we could try for something more.

  9

  Tate

  The knock sounded on my door at 7:58. I'd worried that she might change her mind and bail on me. I'd been shocked as hell when she'd run out the night before. After our conversation, it made a bit more sense, but I was still out of my depth with Emily. I didn't know that much about anxiety or panic attacks, but if she was half as nervous as I was, we might be in trouble.

  Crazy to say, with my history, but I’d never slept with a virgin before. I still couldn’t get my brain around the idea that smart, beautiful Emily Winslow was untouched. Un-fucked. How could a girl with a body like that—all soft curves, with that round ass and those full tits—hit her early twenties a virgin? Had no one bothered to break through her shyness? It seemed they hadn’t.

  I had the fleeting thought that I should bow out and leave her to a nicer guy, one who hadn’t slept with so many faceless, nameless women. One who was as shy and sweet as Emily. That thought hadn’t lasted long. She didn’t need some mild-mannered guy to take her to bed. She needed me. I knew how to handle a body like hers. I’d make her come all night and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. I’d make her mine.

  Was that what I wanted? For her to be mine? To belong to me? I couldn’t swear it, not yet, but I was pretty sure it was exactly what I wanted. It had taken all my willpower not to chase after her the night before when she’d run off. All my instincts had screamed that she was prey—all I had to do was catch her. I hadn’t known about her panic attacks. I was thanking God that my gut—and Jo—had warned me to give Emily space. Chasing her down the street would have pushed her over the edge.

  Jo said she was shy, but shy and having an anxiety disorder were not the same thing. If I’d known about the panic attacks, I might have done things differently. I’d followed her home at a distance, far enough that she couldn’t spot me but close enough to see that she got back to her building safely.

  Maybe I should've left her alone for the night, but I couldn't do it. I'd settled for texting her once I knew she was home, ho
ping at the very least to reestablish communication and keep her from shutting me out. I had not expected her proposition that we have sex. Don't get me wrong. I wanted sex with Emily. I could barely think about her without getting hard. But just going at it didn't feel right, not when our hooking up was the very thing that had almost sent her into a panic attack.

  I could see her point, that taking it slow would just give her time to get nervous, and once she got it over with, it wouldn't be so intimidating. The way I saw it, my job was to show Emily how good she could feel when she was with me. I was starting to understand that her shyness and the panic attacks meant I'd have to handle her with care, but they had an unexpected upside. Once I'd had Emily in my bed, once I’d shown her how much she wanted to be there, it was unlikely she'd look elsewhere. I'd gotten used to women who fucked anyone who caught their interest. I'm not judging. I did the same thing. Until now.

  Emily had me thinking about more than just a random hookup. When I thought about Emily, I thought about time. Not just time in bed, though that mental image was becoming an obsession, but time with her. Emily was the first girl who caught my attention on every level. I wanted her body, and I loved to look at her. But she was more than that, more than her body, her face, her hair, and those crystal-clear gray eyes. She was smart, and a gamer. She was perfect for me. I just had to convince her that I was perfect for her.

  I swung the door open at her hesitant knock, and my breath caught in my throat. Unlike the night before when she’d clearly dressed for a date, Emily wore faded jeans and a zip-front sweater that was attractive and well-cut but not the least bit seductive. Her gray eyes met mine, wary and skittish before landing on my shoulder. I thought I should let her take the lead, though it occurred to me that this might work better if I tossed her over my shoulder and carried her to my bedroom.

  "Hey," she said.

  "Come in.” I stepped back from the open door to let her enter, closing and locking it behind her. She stood before me, her arms wrapped around her middle, each hand clutching the opposite elbow. Not the picture of a woman ready to be seduced.

  I'd planned to let her take the lead, concerned about pushing her too far. I considered going the traditional route—a glass of wine, the right music—but we were beyond that. I’d tried that approach on our date, and it hadn't ended well. I decided to step outside the box and take the direct approach.

  "Which part makes you nervous?" I asked gently. "Is it having sex itself? Foreplay? I want to understand so I can make this good for you."

  Emily visibly relaxed, her arms falling to her sides. She met my eyes, a sheepish expression on her face.

  "This is embarrassing," she admitted. Trying to ease her mind and take the pressure off, I walked into my kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, getting an extra for Emily. I popped them open, handed her the bottle, and leaned back against my counter, pretending I was completely chilled out about the conversation we were having. She was nervous enough on her own. She didn't need to know I was just as tense, afraid one wrong word would send her running again. I wasn't going to give up on Emily, but I knew we'd both be much happier if we could get past this now.

  "Don't be embarrassed," I said. "Were going to figure this out together. I just need to know what it was last night that set off the panic. The way I touched you? How hard you came?"

  I shifted against the counter, glad my jeans were loose enough to hide my hard cock. Just the memory of her coming, her tight pussy squeezing my fingers and her moans, had me on the edge. In response to my graphic questions, Emily's cheeks flushed a gorgeous deep pink. The color spread down her neck and over her collarbone. Were her tits that same shade of pink? I'd find out soon enough.

  "It wasn't that," she said, her voice low and husky. She took a quick sip of her beer. "It was after. I didn't know what to do, and I started to worry that I was going to do something wrong, and then everything got tangled up in my head, and it was too much, and I started to panic."

  I had to change the subject fast. I'd needed to know what set her off, but we weren’t going to talk about it since that was clearly cranking her anxiety right back up to danger levels.

  "So everything that came before was good?" I asked, loving how the flush in her cheeks deepened. Yeah, it had been good. Better than good. If I were being honest, feeling Emily Winslow coming on my fingers was better than the best sex I’d ever had. Knowing I was the first man to take her there, that mine were the first fingers inside that sweet pussy . . . there weren't words for how good that was.

  Emily swallowed and nodded her head.

  "Then I know what we’re going to do," I said. "This first time, you don't have to do anything. If I need you to do something, I'll tell you. Or show you. You don't have to make any decisions, and nothing you do will be wrong."

  "How do you know I won't do anything wrong?" She asked, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

  "Because you couldn't possibly do anything wrong. It doesn't work like that. And I already know you're going to be a natural at this. You just need a little practice."

  I set my beer on the counter and crossed the kitchen to Emily. I was giving her too much time to think. She didn't need her brain right now. She just needed to feel. I stopped in front of her and took the beer from her hands, setting it carefully on the counter behind her. She looked up at me those beautiful gray eyes clouded with worry and said, “How do you know I'll be good at it?"

  "No one who kisses like you do could be anything but good in bed."

  Her eyes brightened, and a small smile curved her lips as she looked up at me. The contrasts in this woman were killing me. She was beautiful and brilliant, fun to be with, and filled with passion she hadn’t yet tapped. She should have had all the confidence in the world, and when it came to her work, she did. But there was no reason a woman like Emily should be so uncertain when it came to her appeal. I'd never wanted anyone like this. There was no way I was just going to fuck her once and leave her. My normal MO was out the window. I didn't know where things were going with Emily and me, but getting her in my bed was going to be more than a one-time thing. If I could do this right, I could keep her there as long as I wanted.

  I took her hands in mine and led her out of the kitchen, down the hall to my bedroom. I couldn't let myself touch her until we were near the bed. Slow, I reminded myself. You have to take this slow. I wasn't just worried about scaring her. I was terrified I was going to hurt her. I'd felt how tight she was the night before, and at the time, it had turned me on. It still turned me on, but my cock wasn't exactly small, or even average. I dreaded the idea of hurting her almost as much as I was desperate to get inside her.

  My plan was simple. Get her so turned on, she couldn't think. We hadn't had any trouble with that part the night before. It was afterward when everything went to hell. This time, I knew what to look for. I looked down into Emily's face, meeting her eyes, falling into the clear gray, entranced at the way arousal and anticipation were chasing off her fears.

  My fingertips light on her smooth skin, I brushed her hair back and tilted her face up to mine, touching my lips to hers in a light kiss. She let out the breath she was holding, scented with beer and mint. I ran my thumb over her full lower lip. She obediently opened for me. The mental image of her following other, kinkier orders flashed through my brain. Slow.

  I kissed her again, tasting her with my lips and my tongue, wrapping my arms around her until her body was pressed to mine. Triumph surged through me when her hands wrapped around my back, her fists clenching in my shirt. She let out a little moan as I kissed her harder, losing myself in her mouth and the way she fit her body to mine.

  Whatever went through her head when she got anxious, it wasn't a problem when I was touching her. I broke the kiss and our embrace just long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She acquiesced immediately, raising her arms and pulling them through the sleeves.

  "I want to see you naked," I said. "Help me take your clothes off."
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br />   My hands went to the clasp of her bra. Hers dropped to the button of her jeans. With a rustle of fabric, her clothes hit the floor a second later, leaving her in nothing more than a pair of black lace panties. My mouth watered. Despite being black lace, they weren't overtly sexy panties—not a thong, and they didn't ride low on her hips. But on Emily, they were more than enough. Reminding myself for the millionth time to slow down, I scooped her up and carried her the few feet to my bed. Her eyelids were heavy as she stared up at me, her breath shallow as she let me lay her down on the dark comforter. I stripped off her black panties as I moved away, leaving her completely naked in my bed.

  I stepped back to get rid of my own clothes, my mouth dry at the sight of Emily in my bed. Her long, dark hair gleamed in the dim light, and her creamy skin seemed to glow. Her body was almost too much. I wasn't used to women who looked like Emily, though I'd always been attracted to them. The women in my circles were groomed to within an inch of their lives, with perfect hair, perfect makeup and bodies surgically enhanced and incessantly exercised to drive off any hint of excess weight.

  What they didn't get was that all that work would never outshine a woman as natural as Emily. Her legs were toned from walking, but her thighs and hips were full below the gentle rise of her belly, tapering to a waist that narrowed just below her un-fucking-believable breasts. No question—those were real. More than a handful, their weight pulling them to the sides, topped by small pink nipples drawn by arousal into tight little points. Except for her temptingly hard nipples, everything about Emily was rounded and soft and begged me to touch, invited my fingers to sink into her ass, her hips, and the back of her thighs as she straddled me and I fucked up into her tight, wet pussy.

  Before she could start to think and get nervous, I joined her on the bed. Stretching out beside her, I took her mouth with mine, waiting until she relaxed into my kiss before touching her anywhere else. Patience had never been so hard before, but I'd never wanted to touch a woman as much as I wanted to touch Emily. When she moaned and rolled into me, I slid one hand down her back, around the curve of her ass to the back of her knee, and pulled her leg up over mine, opening her just a little. When my fingertips grazed the slick flesh between her legs, her breath caught and she let out a whimper. I hiked her leg higher and teased her with one finger, sliding it up and down, avoiding her clit, until her hips moved against me. I pushed my finger inside her, my balls drawing tight at the sucking clasp of her pussy. That was just one finger. I was going to have to stretch her out before I fucked her if I didn’t want to hurt her. But first, I was going to make her come.