Page 77 of Spring Tide

“Was that okay?” I ask, my abdominal muscles clenching beneath her touch.

“More than okay.”

“Is there anything else you like?”

I realized a long time ago that neurotypical communication isn’t my strong suit. In the bedroom, especially, it can be difficult to figure out someone else’s body—to read their cues, learn their cries, and apply that information in order to make them feel good every time.

I spent three years learning how to please one person and one person only. I won’t waste any time with Harper.

“Yes, actually.” She places a chaste kiss to my neck, my jaw, my lips.

“Oh?”

“I like words, too.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “Words?”

“Your words.” She traces a pattern against my stomach. “Your thoughts.”

“You want to know what I’m thinking while we’re together like that?”

“During. Or after, even. Now?”

“I was thinking about ...” I clear my throat, diving through the awkward lilt in my voice. I can’t say I’m used to dirty talk during sex, orafter, but I sure can try. “I was thinking about how good you felt clenching around my fingers. How sweet you tasted. I was thinking about ... how fucking hard you make me.”

Her fingers slip further down my stomach, trailing a pattern underneath the waistband of my sweats. “And now?”

“I’m thinking that I’m still hard. That I’ll probably be hard for days, just replaying the sounds you make when you come.”

Her hand slips another half inch down my waist. “Can I ...?”

“Another night?” I clear my throat, doing my best to ignore the heavy throbbing inside my pants. Of course I want her to touch me, to take me into her mouth, yet there’s still something holding me back.

Maybe it’s because the last time someone made me feel good, they shattered me into pieces a few moments later. No remorse. No apology. Not even an opportunity to wash their scent clean first.

Or maybe, in part, it’s because I feel undeserving of Harper.

Whatever the case may be, it’s proving difficult to fight through this weird mental block.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Harper takes the rejection in stride. With a soft smile, her fingers tap back across my stomach toward the side of my body. One hand curls around my waist.

“So tonight is all about me, then?”

“That was just as much for me as it was for you,” I say. “Probably more so.”

And that’s the stark truth. Harper already makes me feel good every day. It’s nice that I can make her feel good, too, at least in this way.

She hugs me tight, pulling back to meet my eyes. “You’re reallygood, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just so ...”

“So?” I prompt, a crinkle in my brow.

She beams, her smile filled with unknown secrets. “Yeah,” she finally says, giving me absolutely no insight.

“Okay, Harper.” I kiss the crown of her head. “Do you want ... would you stay the night? I know you have class in the morning, and I have practice, but it’s late.”

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