Page 42 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“A little discomfort. I mean, I know intellectually that vaginas can stretch a lot, but I usually need a lot of pre-” He slid his finger out and added a second one, and this time, a sharp pain jostled through me, wrenching a gargled noise from my lips, followed by “Wait.”

He stilled, two fingers half buried inside of me. I closed my eyes and let my forehead drop against his shoulder. His other hand wandered up my spine until he could cup the back of my neck, thumb massaging strong circles into the tense muscles there. It did nothing to relax the muscles between my thighs though. I had literally just broken up with Parker on the phone, so I could do this. And yet, here I was again. Same old Delilah, unable to do the most humane thing any human had ever done without switching her brain off. Wanted to have a bit of casual sex, then couldn’t.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, lips brushing over my temple.

“I can’t,” I murmured, voice clogged.

His hand slipped out from between my legs and came up to tilt my chin so I could look at him. I could smell my own arousal on his touch, and another pang of guilt marred my insides. Because I was so obviously physically attracted to him and I. Just. Couldn’t.

He tilted his face until his eyes found mine. “This is not a failure, Del.”

“Of course, it is. I’m clearly into you - and then I can’t even relax enough to enjoy this.”

He leaned down, his lips tracing the curve of my cheekbone, stubble brushing over my skin. At the same time, his hand slipped back down, curving to my backside instead. He grabbed my ass at the same time as kissing the hollow beneath my ear, and I melted into him, the rich fabrics of his clothes so soft against all my naked skin. “Do you enjoy this?” he asked, voice husky when his mouth travelled lower, leaving a scalding path down my neck and to my collar bone.

“Yeah.” I swallowed.

“Come here.”

Beck directed us onto the sofa and pulled me into his lap with firm but gentle hands, until I had one knee braced on either side of his hips. He leaned back, deep into the cushions, widening the gap between his chest and mine. Like this, with my legs spread around him, he had a full view of my swollen sex. “Is this uncomfortable to you in any way?”

“No.”

“Being naked, sitting on me like you’re about to ride my cock?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Just because you spell it out, doesn’t make it uncomfortable.”

“Alright, I need you to think about the next question. Don’t answer the first thing that comes to your mind, just sit with the thought for a moment. Do youwantto have sex - or do you want to want it?”

Despite my first instinct to answer, I allowed the question to unfold in my mind. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to have sex - I was just so tired of feeling like I was doing it wrong because I couldn’t climax. If I could somehow leave my prefrontal cortex at the door and just lose myself in the physical sensation? I’d pay any sum for that. “I want to, I just-” Before I could get another word out, he kissed my neck again, took my hand and directed it to his crotch, where a thick hardness was pushing against his trousers.

“Ignore your anxieties. Just the idea of me inside you.”

Ignoring the fact that what I was feeling had absolutely no chance of ever fitting inside me? Ignoring that my core was already clenching shut because I was going to be in pain if he ever tried to push himself into me? Ignoring that I’d lie there like a starfish, worrying about whether the pain could lead to lasting medical issues? Just Beck’s hands on me and his skin under my nails and our bodies moving together? “Without the anxiety? I’d want that. A lot.”

“Good. That’s settled.”

“What is?”

He smiled, hands wandering over my thighs. “Everything considered, we had to clear up the basics. Asexuality or compulsory heterosexuality.”

I blinked. I’d been over my situation with my exes, with my OBGYN, and even with my old therapist. “Nobody’s ever brought that up.”

“Very few people think about sex and sexuality in more complicated terms than missionary or doggy style, straight or gay.”

“But you do?”

“You saw my nightstand. That’s just the easy-to-reach-for part of my collection.”

“Should I start reading 50 Shades of Grey for research?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I don’t have a red room of pain. Besides, that would make terrible research. I can recommend much better books if you do want to familiarize yourself with the topic.”

“BDSM?”

“Sexual behavioral theories. Sexuality. Safe sex. Kinks.” He repositioned us, allowing me to slide deeper into his lap until his erection pressed hard against my center, and his face was only a few inches from mine. “Terms like BDSM have become sensationalized by clutch-your-pearls kind of people. Those of us in the community usually have a nuanced understanding of our sexuality, physical and emotional boundaries, and the boundaries of others. Knowledge is power. Even in the bedroom, sweetheart.”

I chuckled. “Are you going to make me study for sex?”

---