So, instead, I watched in awe as a man who had found something that brought him joy outside of his family ranch, fought with fierce determination.
And suddenly, I felt like I understood Clay a little better.
Maybe we are both a little broken, searching for meaning and to shed our youthful identities by doing something new and different that no one else might approve of. I’m not the same girl people in Lonestar Junction—or even my dad—still see me as. I’ve changed, grown, matured. I can take care of myself and have days that are good and bad, and both are totally appropriate and deserve to be acknowledged.
But everyone still seessweet little Maggie. Always agreeable, kind, and shy.Including Clay. And that’s why I came tonight. To motivate me to push forward and to remind me that change isn’t always a bad thing, even if it means your childhood crush had changed.
I certainly didn't come tonight to get swept up in a punishing kiss from Clay that leaves me too dizzy to think straight.
I ease myself onto the scratchy towel that he’s laid across the cracked and worn bench in the dark locker room.
Ok... This is happening...
I’m not protesting, but I’m definitely a little in shock. My childhood crush—the guy I never imagined would see me as more than a girl—is currently on his knees in a dimly lit, smelly locker room. And here I am, sitting cautiously in front of him,wearing a dress that suddenly feels all wrong for this steamy occasion.
“Going to need you to spread your legs wider now, Mags,” he says in that deep voice I've had dreams about.
I glance down, realizing that I’ve pinched my knees together so tightly I’m bruising the bones. Slowly, I ease them apart. Clays cracked and bloodied knuckles trail up my calves, ending on my knees to nudge them apart even wider.
The fabric of my tight, light blue dress bunches around me. His hands move from my knees to push the material up past my thighs, then past my butt, and over my hips. I look down, feeling totally exposed and resisting the urge to snap my legs shut again.
I’ve never had someone go…down therebefore. The few times that Kaleb and I have had sex in the past, it’d been uncomfortable and fast. Little foreplay or cool down. Frankly, it left much to be desired.
Sure, I’ve fooled around in other ways during college: fingers, blow jobs, heavy petting, but I’ve never been thrilled about the vulnerability of having someone’s face…there, seeing me all up close and personal.
Clay’s eyes are laser focused on the pale grey thong I’m wearing that’s now clearly visible. I pinch my eyes shut and feel my body shiver, embarrassed at how I must look to him from this angle. I know that he’s way more experienced than me, which isn’t saying much. Everyone in this town is probably more equipped for what’s about to go down, so I give myself an internal pep talk to play it cool and act like I'm not totally freaking out.
“What are you doing?” Clay’s deep voice asks as I peek my eyes open at him.
“Just... nothing,” I respond.
His gaze is heated as a handsome smile crosses his face while he looks up at me from where he’s still kneeling, “Maggie, if you’rescared or don’t want to do this, we can stop...”
“Don’t. Just don’t,” I snap harshly because if he tells me one more time howgood, innocent, and naiveI am I might lose it. I’m twenty years old and I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m a fragile little child. “I’m not scared, I want this. I wantyou.”
He nods and smiles before his fingers reach towards the front of my thong and brush over top where my clit is barely covered. It zings to life and my toes curl in my wedges in pleasure. My nipples pebble against the fabric of my cotton dress and I wonder if going braless tonight was the best decision. I feel a surge of wetness between my legs and know that the thong I have on is skimpy enough for him to be able to see more than just the outline of me, so I look away, unable to make eye contact.
Pull it together...
“Look at you… I can see how soaked you are through this thin fabric. You weren’t scared watching me fight, were you? Does watching me fight turn you on, Maggie?” he asks as his fingers brush over the fabric covering my opening once again.
The cold locker room contrasting with the heat of my body is intoxicating and when he slips the panel of the cotton to the side, dipping one finger inside of me, I feel like I might lose it too soon. A deep groan escapes from his lips, and I watch in raptured awe as he stares between my legs. Together we experience his fingers disappearing in and out of my slit accompanied by a quiet squishing noise.
“Answer me, Maggie…” he murmurs gently, his gaze meeting mine again, “you like watching me hit bad men, don’t you?”
I bite down on my lip and nod, trying so hard to not let my labored breathing give my inexperience away.
You’ve been fingered before! Stop acting stupid!
But this isnothinglike what I’ve experienced before. Though neither is Clay like any of the guys I’ve ever hooked up with.
“You’re so damn tight.” He swirls that one, calculated finger and hooks it slightly at my opening where the nerves are extra sensitive. My body clenches down instinctively as my breathing picks up.
He’s older, mysterious, and experienced, he clearly knows how to take care of me - or any woman, I’m sure. I’m completely out of my depth and suddenly insecurities creep in making me wonder if I’m totally bad at this.
Can you be bad at getting fingered?
“Watching you fight turned me on,” I respond to his question finally.
