Page 91 of The Italian Reckoning
“Before the first time?” Rocky asks softly.
I nod. “After, it felt impossible. I tried to force myself a couple of times like at the club with friends, but it wasn’t what Ienjoyed. And it wasn’t the same. But I missed it. Just the silence and the music and the closeness of someone else, y’know?”
“I like dancing,” Rocky replies. “Although anything beyond this might highlight my gross inability to actually perform decent moves.”
“I won’t judge,” I murmur. “I’m just… happy we can.”
We sway back and forth through another two songs and then eventually return to the sofa, only this time, I sit much closer than before. Rocky’s description of why he loves me plays over and over in my mind, battling against my own internal reasoning as to why he shouldn’t. I can’t call him a liar since his words sounded so soulfully honest.
He means it.
But how do I feel?
Rocky takes the remote and switches back to the Gremlins. We enjoy the last half hour of old-school carnage until one scene makes Rocky laugh and his hand lands without thought on my abdomen due to how I’m slouching.
I feel him freeze up instantly, and a jolt of alarm moves through me as if I’ve been burned, but the usual urge to recoil doesn’t flood me this time. Instead, the warm weight of his hand brings me a deep sense of comfort.
Our eyes meet, with panic blaring in Rocky’s, and I see the apology forming before he even says the words. As he tries to snatch his hand back, I catch his wrist. I have no plan. I’m just going by what feels right and touching Rocky, being close to him and his warmth, feels right.
Our eyes meet again, and his lips part until I surge up and silence him with a sweet, brief kiss.
“Sarah,” Rocky murmurs, his voice husky. “You…”
“I know,” I whisper back.
“Are you… okay?”
I nod quickly with my teeth sinking into my lower lip, chasing the fleeting pressure from Rocky’s mouth. “I… It felt right, y’know?”
He nods as well and his eyes dart down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. “Anything else… feel right?”
What an open-ended question. My mind is calm. Maybe it’s the nice night we’ve been having, maybe it’s the effects of the dancing. Maybe it’s the movies.
Mostly, it’s Rocky.
I kiss him again, slowly. Each warm, soft press of his lips has a note of hesitation where he lets me lead, and while it’s appreciated, I miss the power that usually exists in his affection. The tightness of his hands, the hunger in his kiss, and the neediness in his moans. The longer I kiss him, the harder I crave it so I press up into the touch. Rocky makes a surprised sound in his throat, then his hand cradles my face and he kisses me a fraction harder.
There it is.
That’s what I want.
My hands move to his shirt and I pull him closer. What starts as tender kissing quickly dissolves into frantic kissing that grows more and more heated by the second. Rocky constantly tries to hold himself back so his eagerness comes in waves. Soft kisses but firm touches, gentle caresses and nibbling teeth.
Not a single thought exists in my mind until Rocky’s attention wanders south and my clothes are shed, leaving me bare to his touch and attention. The fresh pink scars across my body and abdomen make Rocky pause and he kneels before me, between my spread legs, and looks up at me with such open, honest uncertainty.
“I’m okay,” I say softly. “I promise.”
And I am.
There’s no itchiness over my skin from his touch, no urge to recoil when his lips press against my new scars. There’s no panic in my heart and no prickling warmth down my spine urging me to escape.
There’s only Rocky.
His warm, caressing hands. His soft lips. His constant attention. My mind remains quiet until he’s between my legs and buried against my pussy, eating me out like it’s his first ever meal. There, his touch turns firmer as he grips my thighs for support and presses his face firmly against my pussy. His lips and tongue work magic over my clit, over my lips, and inside me where he thrusts his tongue as deep as he can get.
Noise rises in my mind.
The song of pleasure.
