Page 97 of Tell Me Again

And yeah, he’s fucking right. I do. I can’t help it as I moan again, and I think I’m fucking shaking too. He starts moving inside me again as he kisses my back, and it’s maddening and incredible and fucking powerful. He does speed up, just a little, and I hear him moan too, even as I’m losing myself. There’s an intoxicating dizziness, some edge, some peak that my body now knows and craves. And I’m almost there.

“Ahh, god, yeah. Fuck. That’s—that’s it. Ahh—” I hope he’s with me, because I’m gone, crying out his name as it crashes over me. Huge waves of pleasure, my whole body pulsating with this intense relief and release and—fuck, it’s just so fucking good.

When the buzzing finally calms minutes later, I’m still shaking and trembling, and he’s in front of me, holding me to his chest, his lips pressed against my forehead and his hand rubbing my back. It’s fucking intense for him too, I guess—his release but also my reaction. He says he loves to hold me as I come back down. And I’m fucking glad, because this is the best place to be. There’s never anywhere else I want to be.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he whispers.

He says that sometimes too, and I thought I’d be self-conscious about it, but I’m not. He’s also fucking beautiful. Our love is a beautiful thing. Shit, I’m such a softy. When the fuck did that happen?

I try to come up with something sentimental to say. But all I manage is to press my lips into his and hold onto him tighter. His hand comes up to brush my hair back off my forehead, and then he touches my cheek.

“I love you,” he says quietly, and he kisses me gently and then pulls back to look at me, his eyes so full of this deep tenderness.

God.

It’s all I need. That’s all I need. He’s all I need.

“Tell me again?” I say, and I settle down into his arms, my head resting in the crook of his shoulder—that space that was somehow made just for me. My arm wraps around his waist, and then I feel his breath against the top of my head.

“I love you . . . Always have, always will.”

I tilt my head back, and he’s watching me with this soft, fucking gorgeous smile that might be reserved just for me. Then he leans in and kisses my forehead again.

And there’s this fullness in my heart, this feeling of safety that I’m not sure I’ve ever really felt before. It’s everything.

I nod, rest my head in its spot again, and close my eyes. “Always have. Always will.”

***

Josh

One month later

Coop squeezes my hand as he reaches out to pull the door open. “Remember, I’ll be right here with you, no matter what happens,” he says quietly. “And we don’t have to stay if you’re not comfortable. In fact, we can just turn around right now. Go back to the hotel.”

I nod but don’t say anything as I step ahead of him into the restaurant, the bright lights and warm air a contrast to the chill of the dark night outside. His hand slips out of mine and finds its spot low on my back, and the familiar touch lends me some strength, as it always does.

Taking a deep breath, I scan the room ahead of us. The space is small—intimate is maybe the better word—and it doesn’t take long for me to find them. They’re sitting at a booth in the back corner. My mom’s staring at her phone, swiping at the screen like she’s sending a text, and my dad’s reading the menu, his mouth set in a tight scowl.

My heart starts racing, and my stomach drops. This was a bad idea, I can feel it already.

Coop squeezes my hand again. “Really, we can leave. We don’t have to—”

I stop him with a shake of my head. “No. No, we drove all the way here. I’m going to do it. I need to.” I try to make my voice sound strong or defiant or something, but I’m sure I’m nowhere near masking my uncertainty.

I’ve avoided my parents for the last six months. Told them I was too busy getting settled at my new job in White Hills. Told them I had to work over the holidays. Told them all manner of excuses any time they’d reach out to me and ask about... things. But when Coop and I got married in California last month, I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding them for much longer.

We talked about it a lot, and Coop assured me it was still my decision. Brenna too—we’re still close, still good friends, and every time the topic comes up, she always repeats what she told me when I first came out to her. “It’s still your choice. If and when and to whom.”

And I know I’m not really ready for this. The way my stomach is churning and how lightheaded I feel are pretty obvious indicators. Honestly, part of me is hoping it’s quick—they’ll just see us together, and there’ll be some sort of immediate rejection, and Coop and I can just take off, back to White Hills. Then at least they’ll know. And I can keep avoiding them.

I’m happy now. So much happier than I ever thought it was possible for me to be. Coop is amazing and supportive, and the community in White Hills has embraced us like I hadn’t expected. So I don’t need to do this.

At the same time, it seems like some sort of final thing I actually do need to do to really, really be free of the last bit of the old me—the super-closeted me who suppressed my true self for so long. I’ve told Coop this, and he still assures me that I don’t ever have to come out to them.

But I’m through lying. Really. Even if that means we’re eating takeout back in our hotel room because my dad won’t be able to stand seeing me here with my husband.

Despite all this resolve I’m trying to talk myself into having, my feet stick to the ground as my mom chooses that moment to look up and across the room. Her eyes are dull and tired-looking, but for a short moment, I see a flicker of something in them. Something different. Something I maybe wouldn’t have recognized six months ago.

---