Page 63 of Dallas

As part of the moment. As part of who I am, and part of what we are.

His hand begins to move again, his finger pushing deeper inside me, his thumb slides over my clit, perfect, the rhythm he establishes sending waves of need through my body.

And before I know it, the wave of my climax crashes over me. My entire body shaking as I cry out his name. As I cling to his shoulders, I experience my first orgasm with another person.

Tears are streaming down my face. But they aren’t sad tears. I’m just so happy. So happy that it’s him. So happy that it’s us.

And for a brief, wonderful moment, I feel like everything might be okay. I can’t remember the last time I ever had that feeling. And then I do. With shocking, blinding clarity. It was the first moment I met Dallas.

A scared child, moved into my first foster home, barely verbal. Completely taken apart by everything that had happened to me.

And then I saw the strongest, most handsome boy I’d ever seen in my life. And I was so sure that he could slay every dragon for me. That he was my rightful king. The one who would take care of me and save my whole world.

I lift my head, and our eyes meet. He’s trembling. Just like I am. And there’s an expression in his eyes that I can’t quite read.

“Sarah,” he says. “Can I take you to… Can I take you to bed?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

There is no hesitation. This is right. This is mine. This is what I was always supposed to have. This is the thing thatI thought I wasn’t worthy of, that I thought I was too broken for, and I still get to have it. Because of him.

Because one day I met the most beautiful boy in the whole wide world, and he never, ever forgot me.

And that is an epic story by every metric.

He takes my hand, and he leads me slowly into his bedroom. My heart is thundering, but now I know for sure it isn’t fear. No. I’m not afraid of anything right now. Because I’m with him.

“You never done this before?” he asks.

I shake my head, and then remember he wants me to use my words.

“No,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “I have. Quite a few times.”

That annoys me, but I realize he’s telling me that to put me at ease. I realize he’s telling me that so that I know that he knows how to take care of me. So I choose not to be up in arms about it.

“I’m going to make it good for you,” he says. “But if at any point you want to stop, if at any point you don’t like what I’m doing, then you just tell me. You’re not going to make me mad, you’re not going to hurt our relationship, do you understand me? Nothing could ever do that. Because we’re not like that, okay? We’re not like anybody else. We always find each other, don’t we?”

I nod, and then he kisses me. He kisses me and I nearly tremble to pieces. Because it’s really happening. His hands go to his belt the buckle, and I reach between us and touch him. My breath escaping in a gasp. He’s so hard, and… Very, very big. I feel him through his wet jeans like an iron rod. And there’s a minute there where I feel some very real trepidation.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve got this.”

“Oh, are you used to walking women through their first time?”

“No,” he says. “I mean, not since my first time. But I do know what I’m doing.”

Yes. He knows what he’s doing. And that is a good thing, I remind myself. A good thing that I’m going to benefit from. So I try to relax into him, and he continues to work his belt free, and I let out a shaking breath. He pulls his belt through the loops of his jeans, undoes the snap on them, and then lowers the zipper.

He doesn’t have any underwear on, and suddenly I realize exactly what the fabric was he threw on the floor in the entryway.

Then, that realization just doesn’t matter. Because all I do is stare at him, my mouth dry. I’m not sure that I ever thought I would be able to find a man beautiful.

I find him beautiful.

His body is a glorious testament to all the ways in which masculinity can be something good and caring and protecting. Strong.

And I want him.

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