Standing up, I almost stumble, my legs weak and shaky from all the new sensations.
Creed catches me by the elbow and pulls me into the curve of his left arm. With the right, he uses his long, beautiful fingers to slide the straps of my dress down until it falls into a glittery puddle near my feet. It’s dark in here, but the city lights catch just enough of a glow that I can see the outline of his beautiful face.
“Don’t prank me with this,” I whisper, feeling the slightest sting of tears. I’m strong now, but I don’t want to have to be strong through something like this. I want to lose myself in the moment, and then find myself again in Creed Cabot. That’s the whole point. That’s why I’ve waited until now, until seventeen. This is how and when and where I want to do this. “Don’t make a bet out of me, Cabot.”
“Never again,” he snarls, and there’s such a ferocity in his voice that I shiver. I think of the tattoo on the side of Zayd’s neck for the briefest of moments, and then Creed’s kissing me again. He undoes my bra with one hand and then helps me out of it. His hand relieves the heavy weight of my breast, palming it and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb grazes my nipple, and I tremble.
We find our way onto the bed, the sparkling lights of San Francisco limning our profiles as we kiss, and Creed pushes his pants down and out of the way. There’s a bit of an awkward fumble as we figure out the condom, and get it on, and then my panties are coming down, and I’m so short of breath I’m lightheaded.
Creed climbs on top of me, curling his fingers through mine and pinning them above my head.
“Last chance, Marnye,” he whispers, letting go of me with one hand and using the other to reach between us. I expect there to be a bit of trial and error, but Creed is competent, even in new endeavors. Holy crap, this is happening. Closing my eyes, I exhale, and I wait as he touches me between the legs with more than just his hand.
Slowly, almost agonizingly so, Creed moves his hips forward and enters me. In a single moment, we go from virgins to … not virgins. At least, in one narrow world view of how virginity works. There are so many other ways, so many other opinions, but at least we have this, a single perfect moment of being joined together.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice so much softer than usual.
“No,” I whisper back, and he lets go of my hand, so I can curl both my arms around his neck. He uses his elbows to keep himself partially propped up, but I can feel the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, the smooth hard shapes of his muscles as he pulls out, and then slides back in. “It feels good.” My voice is husky, deep, almost foreign to my own ears.
“So it does,” Creed purrs, nuzzling my neck. He moves slowly at first, until we’re both slick with sweat, and then he moves faster, deeper, harder. There are no boundaries between us, and I feel like I’m coming apart in the best possible way.
We both make soft, easy sounds, grunts and moans that tangle together in the darkness.
A desperate ache builds in my lower belly, this throbbing motion that feels so good it almost hurts. When it breaks, I arch my back and press into Creed as he kisses my neck, and continues moving his hips, pushing me over the edge to the other side.
I’m shaking and panting as he finds his own climax, shuddering above me, muscles going taut as rocks before he relaxes suddenly and collapses on top of me.
We stay there like that for several minutes before Creed groans and rolls off, sliding off the bed to dispose of the condom before he joins me again.
I’m basically paralyzed, lying there on my back and staring up at the ceiling. In the distance, I can hear the faint cry of a police siren.
Creed lies down on his side, pillowing his head on his hands and watching me. He’s still breathing hard, and I shiver as he runs his tongue across his lower lip. Honestly … I could probably do the whole thing all over again. Maybe a hundred times more. A thousand.
“Are you going to tell the others?” he asks, and I glance his direction. “About the sex, I mean.”
“I …” That’s a very good question. Didn’t I just get on them all for lying by omission?
“I mean, I know you’re not going to pick me just yet.”
“Just yet,” I whisper, and he sits up, scooting closer to me and sweeping some hair off my sweaty forehead.
