Page 44 of Slots & Sticks
Now I’ve got Dot Shaw, the girl I’ve been half in love with since we were kids, warm and trembling beneath me, and I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up. I want her to think I know how to touch her, how to make her feel everything she’s been missing, but all I can think isdon’t ruin this, don’t hurt her, don’t let her see you don’t know either.
“Since we’re telling each other things…” She clears her throat. “I don’t have a lot of experience. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You could never disappoint me,” I tell her. “No such scenario exists.”
“I just mean…” She sighs again. “I’m a virgin. Not that it technicallymatters,but I’m pretty sure that reading smut hasn’t given me a great idea of what it would actually be like to have sex with a real person, you know? So whatever you want to do is fine by me, and if you do anything I don’t like, I’ll tell you.”
“Oh.” I let myself tip to the side so that I’m resting next to her. “I see.” A thought slips out before I can stop it. “What about your college boyfriend? You never—?”
She shakes her head, cheeks pink even in the dark. “No. It didn’t feel right.”
“Didn’t feel right how?”
“I don’t know.” She stares up at the ceiling. “He was nice enough, but every time things got close, my brain… said no. Like my body was waiting for something my head couldn’t explain.”
Something tightens in my chest. “Something—or someone?”
Someone like me.
There’s a long pause. “Maybe both.”
All the noise in my head drops out, leaving one clear thought: she waited.
Of course, Dot misinterprets my silence.
“I shouldn’t have told you!” Something thumps against the pillows. “Now you’re going to stop.”
“No. I’m going to adjust my expectations.” My voice is calm, but my brain is screaming,Dot waited too!I doubt that her reasons were the same as mine, but this changes things. I knew she’d had a college boyfriend, and until right now, I assumed that she’d slept with other people.
“I want this,” she whispers, voice soft but certain, her fingers brushing mine with a barely-contained tremble.
“I know.” I cup her cheek and kiss her temple. God, I know. But I want more than tonight. I want a first time we remembernot because of the flimsy hotel comforter or the redneck picnic, or the AI peeping Tom, but because it meant something. She deserves that. She deserves perfect.
But she arches into me, and the way her body trusts mine? That already feels perfect.
Her fingers land on my stomach and pause. “Oh! You have…” she trails off, eyes wide and reverent as her palms trace each muscle. “Abs. Real abs.”
I can’t help the grin tugging at my mouth. “Flattered.” I press a kiss to her collarbone. “Can I take your bra off?”
“I’ve got it,” she says quickly. Her voice wobbles. But her fingers are sure as they reach behind her, a flick of the clasp, and then—
Christ.
She slides the cotton straps off her shoulders, arms, and chest. The fabric slips away, and she lies back, half-defiant, half-vulnerable, watching me through her lashes like she’s bracing herself for impact.
She has no idea.
I stop breathing.
Dot’s breasts are… fuck. Full, high, impossibly soft-looking, the kind of tits they used to sculpt in marble and airbrush on bomber planes. The kind of tits that get songs written about them. Perfect in the way that wrecks a man. Her nipples are a dusky rose, already pebbled, and my mouth actually waters.
She’s built like a goddamn 1950s pinup. Curves like sin. Waist narrow, hips generous. Her belly soft, thighs thick, skin glowing in the warm, low light like honey and cream. A body made for lingerie, for heels, for slow undressing—but here she is, offering it all up without an ounce of vanity. Nervous, yes. But proud. Brave.
She has no fucking idea what she does to me.
I want to fall to my knees and worship her.
I remember wanting to kiss her in high school and a thousand times since, but freezing because I was terrified she’d laugh.
