“Sorry. Sorry.” He’s stopped moving. Leaning closer, he kisses me gently. “I’m sorry.”
“N-no. It’s okay.” It’s already dissipating. “It feels okay.”
“You sure?”
Wiggling my hips, a little, I nod. “Yes. Better.”
“Thank fuck.” That’s when Lucky pulls out and presses back in. He repeats this move over and over and over again until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Yes. Lucky.”
“Jesus. You feel amazing, Becklyn.”
I love all of his terms of endearment, but there’s something about hearing my actual name in this moment that means something special. “I love you, Lucky.”
“I love you more, Becklyn.”
And with that, we do something that they only write about in books. (At least that’s what Deena says.) We both come at the exact same time.
34
Becklyn
“O-M-G. You did it.Didn’t you?”
Looking up from my textbook, I see a very disheveled Deena in the kitchen drinking old coffee from the pot I made earlier this morning. It’s now noon. “Did what?”
She slams the cup down onto the counter. I frown because a) I know she’s figured it out, and b) I’ll have to clean up the coffee that just sloshed out of the cup onto said counter. “You did I-T,it. The deed. The horizontal Mamba… unless he did you up against the wall, then it’d be the vertical Mamba.” She starts playing with her hair and tapping her foot.
Never good.
She’s not done. “Coitus, sexual congress, sexual rela—”
Holding up my hand with the hopes she’ll stop, I resign myself to telling her. “Yes, Deena. I did it. We did it.”
Rushing from the kitchen over to the sofa, she plops down next to me, reaches for my book, and unceremoniously drops it onto the ground. “Spill. I want to hear this from beginning to end. Don’t leave out one thing.”
“Deena.” Sure, my voice is whiney. Because I don’t want to tell her everything.
“No.” Her head moves from side to side. “Don’t you dare try to get out of this. I’ve waited two years for you to pop your cherry—”
“Eww.” My face is scrunched up. It’s my “I’m disgusted” look.
“Oh, stop.” She slaps my knee. “You know what I mean.”
I do know what she means. It doesn’t mean I like it. “I’m not going to tell you everything, because, well, because it was special, and I want to keep it that way.”
Deena’s face suddenly morphs from something rabid, like she’s going to attack me if I don’t talk, to something much softer. She tilts her head to the left and says, “Awwwww. He was gentle?”
I wouldn’t necessarily say that, but when we did it the first time, definitely. The second time, not so much, which is okay because I asked him for more. I smirk at the recollection. Lucky absolutely knows what he’s doing in bed.
Deena clears her throat, reminding me I’ve gotten lost in thought. In the memories. “Let me just say this.” I pause and turn to face her fully. “He was perfect.”
She stares at me for a good minute. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me? He wasperfect?” Standing up from the sofa, she grabs hold of her ponytail and starts to slide her hands down the length. Pacing in front of me, she says, “I need more than that. This isn’t how it works. You don’t just say something like that and then not expand on it. I mean…” She stops in front of me. “I’m dying to tell you about my night with Theo, but I’m not going to do it until you reciprocate.”
She’s got a point. I’d love to hear about Theo. The fact that he didn’t come out of her bedroom with her just now intrigues me. “Did he sleep over?”
Crossing her arms, she glares down at me. “Not until you spill the beans on you and Lucky.”
