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Chapter Twenty-Three: If She'd Been Calling Me Nick


I'd call Chris in the morning first thing, I told myself. I'd tell him that I was done with the bet. I wouldn't even tell him about this. This would have nothing to do with the bet -- no guilt attached. I hadn't started this, Becky had. It would've been cruel to interrupt her and tell her I'd been lying to her. She was heart broken enough without me telling her that. I'd tell her after.

Becky pulled off her tank top and threw it just before her back hit the mattress of my bed. She lay beneath me in just a plain cotton bra and underpants. She had a small spackling of freckles across her collar bone. Her eyes were closed as I kissed her neck, her shoulder... "Nate," she gasped. "I've never done this before."

"I know," I whispered against her skin. My mouth slid to her along the dip of her collar, across the plain above her breasts. "I'll be gentle."

"I don't know how to --"

"It's okay."

She ran her hands down my spine.

"You're doing good so far," I said.

Her skin tasted so good, like it was made of honey or vanilla or something. She moved under me, and we scootched up further onto the bed, until her head was on the pillow, her hair pooling around her head. Becky pushed my undershirt up over my head and I tossed it to the floor with her tank top, then moved so that I was kneeling over her, straddling her, and I stared down at her, at her bright, wide eyes, at her chest heaving up and down as she gasped in air.

Her bra clasped in the front, a little N shaped hook keeping the two cups together. I reached down, my hands shaking. I don't even remember the last time I was actually nervous before sex but this time - with Becky - I was nervous. She'd never had sex before. She'd never been touched before. I was the first. That meant she didn't know what she liked, so she didn't know how to direct me. It was up to me to discover it all. My fingers held onto the clasp, her eyes on my eyes. I could feel her stomach moving as she breathed.

It was like Christmas, pulling open that clasp.

Becky was a small girl, but she was perfect. I bent forward, my hands sliding under her, lifting her gently just enough to put an arch in her back. She moaned as my mouth descended onto her, and I felt her shift her hips against mine. I spent a good time just kissing her, tasting every square inch of her.

Finally, I slid my underwear off, and hers, too, and I kissed her ankle, her shins, her knees, her thighs. She was pushed up onto her elbows, watching me as I neared her. My kisses reached the top of her thigh, where it joined to her pelvis and I moved across her abdomen to her belly button and kissed the soft skin just below it. She was pushing up towards my chin with her hips, her heavy breathing moving her breasts. I put my hands on her hips, slid them around the orb of her butt, cupping her to me like a man stranded in the desert about to drink from an oasis. She swallowed as I moved slowly south, planting kisses every couple centimeters until I reached her center and I paused, hovering, my lips only just off her skin.

She reacted like she'd been struck by lightening, dropping back onto the mattress, her hair like a firework around her, fingers gripping the pillow case. "Holy shit," she gasped.

I'll be the first to admit that usually I'm a selfish lover. I like things done my way and usually, because the girl knows who I am, she's more than willing to oblige. Usually, I get exactly what I want and don't even think about what the girl wants.

With Becky, it was different.

I felt like it was my duty to make sure she had the most mind-blowing experience that a man could provide her with. I wanted it to be perfect for her, for every trouble and care she'd ever had to melt away into the depths of the sheets and the dark. And by the moans and cries that she made I'm guessing that I did pretty well.

By the time I was leaning over her, staring into her eyes, about to slide into her, she was shaking and covered in sweat. I kissed her again, our lips pressing against each other, my hands curled into her hair as I leaned on my elbows.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," I whispered.

"Don't stop," she gasped.

So I moved slowly forward and she wrapped her legs around my waist and she gasped into my mouth as we connected.

It was the most amazing sex I've ever had.

And as you're aware, I've had a lot of sex.

"Nate, oh Jesus," she gasped, tears forming in her eyes as we moved together. Her hands were clutching to my shoulders, hooked under my arms, her nails in my skin, heels pressing into the small of my back.

The only thing in the world, I thought, that could possibly have made it better was if she'd been calling me Nick.

As I moved my hips and she clung onto me, I wished more than anything in the entire world that I'd told her before I'd had sex with her. I wanted to roll back time and tell her. I could feel the regret building inside of me, could feel the remorse. My heart was breaking even as she climaxed, crying out against my skin, her face buried into my neck. I let her finish out, and I rolled away without finishing myself, suddenly unable to stand the thought of what I'd done. Suddenly unable to stand myself.

Becky was gasping for air, coming down from Cloud Number Nine, her eyes closed, chest heaving. She rolled into me pulling my arm around her, pressing my hand against her breast and heart as she breathed. I pressed my face into her hair, closing my eyes and smelling her, trying to work up the courage to tell her the truth.

"Oh God Nate," she said, "You are so... incredible... I love you."

I opened my eyes.

"What?" I whispered.

She turned, craning her neck to look up at me. "I love you, Nate," she said thickly.

Now, I thought. Tell her now.

I opened my mouth, about to say the words. Then, "Thank you," she added. "I don't think I could've taken even one more bad thing happening to me today. But you made everything better." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "I love you. And I've never said that to anyone before. You just make me feel so happy."

I looked into her eyes. I knew that I should tell her, but I just couldn't hurt her like that. Not right then, right there, at that moment.

I couldn't rob her of the happiness. She got so little of it.

First thing in the morning, I promised myself, I'd tell her first thing in the morning. And then I would call Chris, and I would tell him the bet was off.

I'd messed up, I thought. I should've told her before -- when we were in the car, when we paused on the door step, when we hit the mattress, when our eyes had locked, before I'd had sex with her. Before this moment when she'd declared her love. Before the guilt had set in, before the remorse, before the moment that I'd taken something from her that she could never get back, something that she'd now given to a complete stranger.

I lay there in the dark, my face pressed into her hair, and holding her bare back against my bare chest, listening to her breathe.

And I felt like shit.