He took the small box from my hands. “Turn around.”
I whipped around faster than you can say ‘Yes, Sir.’ I grabbed a hold of my long hair, twirled it around and held it on top of my head, exposing the nape of my neck.
I waited patiently as he fiddled with the necklace, and finally when I felt the soft touch of his rough hands on my collarbone, I closed my eyes, and warmth filled me. He was gentle as he worked the clasp. “All done,” he whispered.
I turned to face him, and he had never been more beautiful to me; happy, excited. I wanted to stamp the vision of his face in my brain forever, never to be forgotten.
“It’s your sweet sixteen… I figured it should be special.”
I thought about my dad and my brothers who had completely forgotten, and I couldn’t rein in my emotions any longer. Gavin was right. A sweet sixteen should be special. I was so thankful for him. My nose stung and my throat burned as I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to be strong.
“What’s wrong?” he asked and those two simple words broke me to pieces. I fell into sobs, and he wrapped his arms around me without a word.
He held me for what seemed like an eternity, and I cried on his shoulder. I held on tighter than I should have, not wanting to let go. I breathed in his distinctive fresh scent of soap and man. I pulled my head from his shoulder and brushed my cheek against his, reveling in the rough texture of his trimmed beard.
“Abigail…” he whispered.
I wanted this. I needed this. We both did.
When I brushed my lips against his, he didn’t push me away. I rubbed my face against his like an eager kitten. My hungry mouth furtively searched for his. When it finally found it, he was too weak to fight me off. Our little dance increased the tension.
When his mouth finally settled against mine, I felt it in my entire core, from my chest, down to the tip of my toes. I couldn’t stop myself then. I’d lost control, and so had he. My mouth eagerly opened for his, and his sweet tongue explored mine. His labored breathing aroused me. He craved this as much as I did. I’d never quite understood all this talk I’d heard about sex before, but in that moment, it finally made sense.
He felt so good.
A pained growl escaped his lips and he tore himself away, pressing both his large hands on my shoulders. “We need to stop,” he breathed. He clearly didn’t want to stop, but something stronger than his desire for me was making him push me away.
“We need to stop this,” he repeated, more sternly this time. He was still breathless and completely worked up. His mouth was wet, his eyes dark. It hurt… so much. I just wanted to kiss him. Was that so much to ask for?
“I’m sixteen now, Gavin,” I pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with this. I’m of legal age. I researched it. In the state of Michigan, age of consent is sixteen, unless one of the people is in a place of authority, like a teacher or something, which you aren’t.”
I eagerly awaited his response, studying every inch of his face for clues. His shoulders were hunched, his mouth a straight line. The tall strong man I knew had collapsed in the face of ‘doing what was right’. It was ridiculous.
“Do you think you’d be taking advantage of me?” I asked. “Because I’m so young?”
He didn’t say a word, just stared at the carpet and shook his head.
“You wouldn’t,” I told him. “I’m old enough to know what I want, Gavin. And I want you. I need you. You’re the only one who cares about me.”
His gaze lifted to mine. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I do care about you. I love you, kid.”
My heart swelled, so big I thought it might burst. I threw my arms around him. “I love you too, Gavin… so much.”
He pushed me away again, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re still too young.”
I blew out a breath of irritation. “I’m not as innocent as you might think,” I scoffed.
He cocked a brow. “Really?”
I crossed my arms and didn’t say a word, making him mull it over for a few seconds. Maybe I’d been around. What did he know? I spent my days with the infamously promiscuous Izzie after all. She could have very well rubbed off on me.
Concern traced his features and made him look ten years older. “Are you telling me you’re not a virgin anymore?” he asked. “Who have you been with?”
I smiled. “That’s a very inappropriate question to ask me, Mr. Foster.”
He inhaled a long breath, clearly unsettled.
“I haven’t been with anyone,” I finally confessed. “I haven’t even kissed anyone but you.”
