Page 115 of Riding the Sugar High

When my finger grazes my clit, I let out a gasp. My shoulders sink into the pillow, and I pull my knees up, spreading my legs as my eyes remain trained on him.

His jaw tightens, his sharp focus on every one of my movements, like a wolf ready to pounce on his prey and lock his teeth around its neck. Aroundmyneck.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks as he takes another step forward.

“Hm?”

“When you moaned my name.”

“You, of course,” I say as I remember the night when he caught me masturbating. My eyes dart to his knuckles—white with the death grip he has on his forearms.

“What was I doing?”

“You were closer than this, for one,” I say as I attempt to stabilize my voice through the sensation gripping me under his sheets. I crack a smile, but the tension in my body sucks it back in, my eyes wide as I press my lips together to hold back a whimper.

“How about this, Barbie?” He walks to the foot of the bed. “Is it close enough?”

Exhaling, I shake my head. The movement of my finger is now causing a wet noise that has his throat working hard.

I’m so sensitive to his presence. To him. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this consuming, impending desire.

“No, of course not. I can’t even see anything from here.” He reaches forward, his hand bunching in the blanket, then runs his eyes up to me as if silently asking for permission.

He wants to pull it off me. Expose my body.

I bite my bottom lip, hating that this gives me pause, but it does. I’m not sure I’ll be able to relax if I spend the whole night wondering what my body looks like from that angle, if he hates some part of me, if he regrets having sex with me.

“Barbie? Am I misreading your signals? ’Cause we fucked on the bike, then you climbed into my bed, butt naked, and that’ll make someone think?—”

“You’re not,” I breathe out. “Maybe...maybe we could turn the light off?”

“Oh.” His jaw tightens as if he’s only now realized the issue. “I’m not a cat, though. Can’t see in the dark.”

“We could turn this on, uh—” I look for the bedside lamp’s switch. “For some softer, gentler lighting.”

“Barbie.”

I look back at him, his hand still clenched around the sheet.

“We rode together for the first time.” When I nod, he does too. “Remember that feeling, backpack?”

Yes. Trust, intimacy, synchrony. Just the two of us, tightly holding on to each other as our bodies molded together. There was no talking, not even eye contact—only our fingers entangled on his stomach—and yet it was the most intimate experience of my life.

“How about when I filled you up? Remember that feeling?”

Of course. It was my first time doing that, yet I know nothing will ever come close.

“Think we can get to that place again? Right now?”

I honestly don’t know. We’ve done so much already, and through it all, he’s looked nothing but pleased. Hungry for more. But if I showed him everything, and he didn’t like what he saw, I wouldn’t be able to take another chance on men again. On intimacy or love.

If seeing me naked makes him change his mind, I’ll die.

“I-I’m...” He nods, and though I don’t need to say it, I do anyway. “I’m afraid.”

“I know. And I want—Jesus, Ineedto see you, but it doesn’t matter. WhatIwant doesn’t matter, okay?” He lets the blanket go, his movements slow as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “What doyouneed? What doyouwant, Backpack?”

I study the hungry gaze in his eyes, the tension in his body. We trusted each other enough to ride together—with our lives. I trusted him with my body. I think I can trust him with my insecurities too.

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