But there's nothing. Nothing except me.
I reach over, grasping her hand and squeezing her fingers. “Sarah, I’m right here. You can breathe. You’re having a panic attack, sweetie. Please listen to my voice and let me lead you.”
Tension tightens her face, and she lets out another sob. Helpless, my heart begins to pound out of control, and the hair stands up on the back of my arms and neck as another uncomfortable shiver rolls through my body. Sarah reaches around to her back, but then her arm jerks and she lets out a pained cry at the soreness she no doubt still feels there. Working fast, I finally get her pants off, now revealing a lacy pair of black panties, and I shuffle back a bit to give her room as she flops around on the floor and reaches around once more, trying to find the clasp on her bra but still can't reach it.
And I can't find it in myself to compromise her dignity while she's at her most vulnerable.
My chest tightens even more when she begins sobbing."He doesn’t want to be my friend; he’s only doing this because I’m pathetic, just like Brandon said."
My eyes widen, and I stiffen as I hear the words, strangled and full of pain, rip from her throat. I ignore my heart pounding and reach forward to smooth my hands down her hair, her shoulders, trying to comfort her. I don't care that she's half dressed and flip-flopping all over the floor or if this is improper at all. I just want to help. However, at this point in her panic attack, I don't even know if she can recognize my efforts or not.
I fight through the tightness in my own throat. “No, sweetie, that’s not true at all. You’re not pathetic, and Iamyour friend. Listen to my voice. Let yourself reach for my voice.I’m right here.”
"Get it oooffff!" she screams.
She bends her arm and scratches for her bra clasp again. The choked gasping torn from her throat is my undoing. I give up trying to preserve her dignity at this point, reaching around and unclasping her bra. The result is so fast its as if I'd performed a miracle. Every straining muscle relaxes as she immediately lowers herself into a downward dog position. Placing her cheek against the rough wool of the carpet, crying big heaving sobs that finish cracking what's left of my heart.
When our eyes lock, she brings her hands up to her face, covering herself.
"Oh, sweetness," I murmur. "You don't ever need to hide herself with me."
Ever.
Standing, I walk a couple feet to the foot of the bed and grab a pillow, before sinking back to the floor with her. "You're safe," I repeat.
I cradle one hand under her head and shoulder, and then lift her to settle across me. While I work, I try my hardest to make sure her breasts stay out of view, protecting her modesty. Shifting my legs so I can make her as comfortable as possible, Ican't help but notice how her breasts feel squashed in my lap as I settle her across my thighs on the floor.
She cries for long, torturous minutes. Every sob and wet drop that soaks into my thigh fucks with my head.
Tears flow in unrestrained streams down her cheeks as she lays there, trembling. She stares at my bare forearm, making me aware that at some point I’d pushed up the sleeves of my dress shirt and loosened my tie. She blinks and sniffs. The tears begin to recede when my hand comes up to rest on her head, just over her left ear. I press gently, hoping—wishing—to ground her. My other hand raises to the top of her back and makes gentle sweeping motions all the way to her nape and then back down to her hip.
I can't believe she's letting me touch her like this.
“Sarah… tell me five things you can see.”
Though I try my hardest to keep my tone soft, I still jolt her.
She trembles, her eyes flickering. “Uhm…I see your watch, the blue of your suit…the platform of the bed, the w-window…the desk chair there.”
“Give me four things you can touch,” I say, matching her tone, stroking her hair now. My wrist brushes her cheek as I move, and she takes a deep breath.
“The carpet, your legs, this pillow, my hair,” she breathes on an exhale before dragging another deep breath into her lungs.
“Good girl," I say, keeping my touch light. "Tell me three things you can hear.”
“Your voice, my voice…the—the air conditioner.” Her eyes flutter, and she sags on another slower breath, relaxing even further into me.
“That’s it," I croon. "Relax. You’re safe here with me, sweetness. Now, take another deep breath and tell me two things you can smell.”
Sarah takes a deep breath before furrowing her nose and frowning slightly. “My perfume. Coming from your hip very strongly for some reason,” she whispers, glancing up at me, and I feel my face turn hot and my chest tighten at being caught. “Andyou.I smell you. You smell very good…like a man.”
I chuckle humorlessly. “Thank God I’m a man. Now, one thing you can taste.” I lean my head back into the mattress, looking up at the ceiling, feeling pained.
But I have to finish talking her through this before I can focus on myself.
I wait a few moments before I suddenly feel the warm wet lash of her tongue on my wrist. To my dismay, my cock hardens immediately at the contact, and I'm grateful she's not that far on top of me to feel. I tilt my head, looking down at her and raise a brow.
“You just…licked me,”I say rather stupidly, wincing as disbelief colors my tone.
