Page 68 of At the Edge with You

Electrified, vulnerable, and powerful.

For so long, I thought I could never experience real intimacy, truly get off, but that’s not right. I’m still shaking, my body flushed from head to toe as I stretch along my sheets like a fat cat. Between my legs, I ache in all the right ways. My breasts are tender, my mouth swollen, and my brain is still fuzzy with lust. I’m a thousand percent sure I came more in three hours with Jett than I have in years. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and my nose tingles as I revel in how good my body feels.

For so long, I thought I was broken.

I thought I would never experience what is written in books and portrayed in movies.

I convinced myself it wasn’t in the cards for me to have that ultimate connection with someone who could make me feel so alive.

But Icanhave it.

I’m not broken. There is nothing wrong with my body; it was just waiting for Jett Cook.

When he steps to the side of the bed, I look up at him in awe. He’s naked, his body on full display for my hungry eyes. He has tattoos along his thighs and legs that match his chest, and between his legs, his cock hangs proud and thick. My mouth waters at the sight, and when I meet his gaze, it’s playful.

I run my hand up the back of his thigh as he teases, “See something you like?”

I flash him a sneaky grin as I take the water bottle he holds out for me. “Sure do.”

He sits down, and I curve my body around him after taking a long pull of the water. He cups my neck, his other hand stealing the water from me and taking his own sip. I see such peace on his sweet face as he whispers, “So do I.”

I get lost in his reverent gaze. He made me feel so much. My whole body caught fire for him and only him. I have been with eight men in my thirty-eight years, and none of them brought me to life the way he has. His touch was so gentle but needy, his eyes never leaving mine for long. And how he checked in on me…? Kept me in the moment…? I have never experienced something like that, and I want more. I want him. My eyes flood with tears as the emotions hit me from all angles. For so long, I thought I was the problem. I never allowed myself to live in the moment because I thought I couldn’t.

When my tears spill over, Jett’s face scrunches up before he brushes my tears away. “Princess, what’s going on? Are you sore? Do you need ibuprofen?” I probably do after the anaconda he’s packing, but that’s not what has me crying. His eyes search mine as I hiccup a sob. “I’ve got my umbrella, Fable. Unload on me.”

Another sob falls from my lips as I lean into his hand. He bends down, pressing his head to mine, and he holds me as my body shakes with sobs. My mind is firing off like mad, going through each of my past relationships and hookups. How theynever took the time or effort that Jett has. How when I couldn’t get off or enjoy it as they plowed into me, they said it was my fault. I went twenty years believing I was the problem, and I’m not.

At least, not in his eyes.

Through my tears, I meet his gaze and whisper, “Thank you.”

His brows pull together, his lips turning down as he strokes my cheek. “For what?”

My lip trembles, and I take a deep breath through my nose. As I let it out, he waits patiently, still stroking his thumb along my cheek. My voice is small, full of shame, as I tell him, “For showing me that I can enjoy sex.”

I can tell he tries to hide the shock that comes over his face, but I know this man. His eyes widen just a fraction, his lips parting ever so slightly, and his thumb shakes against my cheek but continues to stroke me. He doesn’t know what to say, so I save him by continuing. “I have gone the last twenty years thinking sex wasn’t for me. I’d hear how great it is, watch porn, and wonder why I couldn’t get into it like the women always did. I’d read these books full of pure, raw attraction between two people. Read about their need and inability to keep their hands off each other and wonder why I never felt that for anyone.”

Jett is quiet, his eyes intent on mine, and I feel so exposed under his gaze. I try to look away, but he grips my face and demands, “Eyes on me. I want to see everything. Don’t hide.”

My lips tremble, and more tears fall from my eyes, running down my nose. “Jett,” I whisper, and he strokes my cheek once more.

“I’m here, Fable.”

I don’t dare look away as I put my feelings into words. “I have been blamed and made fun of because I couldn’t get wet for guys. They’d try to get me off with their fingers, and when they couldn’t, they’d give up and then convince me that once theywere inside me, I’d enjoy it. I never did,” I say, my voice shaky. “I’d just lie there, deciding how I wanted to decorate my planner or wondering what I’d watch next on Hulu. I never enjoyed it, and I just felt like I was a hole to them.”

Jett’s eyes turn black as his face morphs into pure fury. “They fucked you, even knowing you weren’t into it?” I nod, and his glare deepens. “That’s not fucking okay, Fable.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But I felt like I had to do it because maybe I’d start to like it. My last boyfriend had a hard time getting it up, so we’d only have sex once a month. And every time, he’d be so into it, and I’d just stare at him, wondering when he’d be done.”

Jett’s not trying to hide how he feels now. His body is shaking, his thumb pressing into my cheek as he gazes down at me. “That is bullshit,” he grits out, and if I didn’t know him, I’d be scared of how pissed he is.

I chew on the inside of my cheek and then admit, “When my ex broke up with me, he told me I have all these tattoos and piercings, yet I don’t like sex. I got them to make sure I could feel down there. I had hope that I wasn’t broken, that I could feel the joys of sex, and now I know that I didn’t have to do any of that. I just needed to be with you.”

While I can tell he’s still fuming, his gaze turns tender as he holds me close. “I can’t believe you went through that, Fable. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are perfect.”

I shake my head. “No. My therapist says I’m asexual?—”

“I don’t even know what that is, but I don’t fucking care,” he snaps, cutting me off. “What did I tell you? These labels are shit. They are unnecessary. You’re you. You’re enough. You’re perfect.”

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