Page 64 of Bourbon Bliss
He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. Unbuttoned my pants and slid them down my legs. As the clothing came off, my anxiety grew. I was at war with myself, indecision distracting me from the feel of his hands on my body.
Stop it, June. Stop thinking and feel.
George hooked his thumb into the waistband of my panties while his other hand cupped my face. “Are you with me?”
He was asking permission. I needed to give him an answer.
“Yes.” The word escaped my lips on a sigh. I hoped saying it aloud—making a firm choice—would calm the storm of anxiety swirling in my brain.
It did. For a few moments, at least.
Closing my eyes again, I let him touch and taste me. He kissed my neck and sucked on my nipples. Those hands that were so appealing caressed my skin.
He paused to roll on a condom and settled on top of me, between my legs. I felt him thrust in, not too hard, checking in with me to be sure I was okay.
“Yes.” I said it again. Because I wanted that yes to be true.
The mad cascade of thoughts in my brain didn’t stop. It continued on, relentlessly reminding me of what this meant. Questions bubbled up through the chaos in my head. Was he really different? Was I capable of this? Had I made a terrible mistake?
Why couldn’t I just benormal?
He moved and thrust into me. Somewhere, beneath the noise of my thoughts, I knew my body was responding. I knew this felt good—that the physical sensations were pleasurable. I should have been losing myself in this experience. He moved with expert grace, with sensual strength that should have had me mindlessly calling his name.
But I wasn’t. Because I wasn’t normal. I was June Tucker, and I’d never understood how to do this right. How to get out of my head long enough to be intimate with another person. I’d come as close as I ever had with George. But now that we were crossing the line into physical intimacy, I was lost.
I couldn’t do it.
Sadness poured through me as I felt his climax build. I clung to his back and buried my face in his neck. He murmured and groaned and I tried to be there with him. I didn’t want him to know.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, come.”
He held me tight as his body went rigid. I felt the deep pulsing of his cock inside me. I didn’t make a show of faking—I wouldn’t have known how—but I rode his orgasm with him. I wanted him to enjoy it. To be happy. To feel good.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t. Something inside me didn’t work right. I was weird. Everyone knew it. I wasn’t built for human relationships, and I’d been wrong to think I could have this with George. Sexual intercourse didn’t leave any room to hide, and he was going to feel my failure.
He rolled off me, his brow furrowed. “Baby, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to hold back the tide of emotion. Mentally, I stepped away. Separated myself. “Nothing happened. It was perfectly satisfactory.”
“Why are you doing that?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“Shutting me out.”
“I’m hardly shutting you out. I’m completely naked in your bed.”
“You didn’t come.”
The words flew at me, an accusation I couldn’t deny. “You don’t know that.”
“Uh, yeah I do. Are you okay? Did I do something?”
“I’m fine. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I needed to go. This was scary and uncomfortable—making me feel inept and inadequate. I didn’t like it. I got out of bed, scooping up my clothes.
“June.”
