Sebastian
I feel Millie’s heart racing against my chest as I hold her. Her breathing hasn’t slowed, and she’s still hot. It does nothing to help me regain my composure. Even after going to the bathroom and coming back, I still haven’t returned to my normal in control state.
I’ve never felt anything like I did when I entered Millie. It was like I was coming home, becoming grounded in a way I didn’t know was possible to feel with another person. She filled some part of me that I didn’t know was empty.
And now I’m spooning and snuggling with her in bed—something I never do. I’m not doing it out of obligation. I want to hold her—all night or maybe even longer than that…
I want her to talk to me. I want to know what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. What she desires. What she needs.
However, I know the most important place to start is her darkest secret, the man or men who hurt her. We are in our thirties. She should have had dozens of orgasms by dozens of men by now. She should have experienced a whole world of men. Instead, she found the assholes. No wonder she calls me that—it’s her defense mechanism.
“Tell me about your darkness.” I choose my words carefully. She can tell me anything. My words make no assumptions that her darkness is another man, but if I had to guess, it is.
A man she dated treated her wrong.
Her father abused her.
An uncle touched her.
Something happened that caused her to not be able to experience an orgasm with a man—until now.
I feel a strange, wicked pride knowing I was the man to end her dry spell, to conquer the darkness that she has yet to share with me. But I don’t focus on that. I want to hear her. I want the truth.
This is completely out of character for me. Usually, I just bang women and send them on the way, usually the same night, definitely before breakfast.
But I crave every word Millie is going to say. I want her to want me, to need me, to let me help her. I shouldn’t want to. It feels too much like therapy, like work. I’m not a therapist, but I might as well be because the work I do is therapy. But I never bring my work home. Until now.
I’m not sure I’ve earned her words yet, so it doesn’t surprise me that she doesn’t immediately spill all of the dark things that have happened to her. A real husband would already know, but I’m just the fake stand-in helping her escape her past.
I hold her in my arms, hoping it brings her enough comfort to talk. I’ve heard enough people spill their guts to know that the most important part is just being patient, just being there for her to open up when she’s ready.
My fingers wander to her spine, and I trace down it, watching as chills roll through her body with a shudder, bringing life back into her.
“I’m here. I’ll wait all night. And if that isn’t long enough, I’ll wait as long as it takes. Even if we aren’t together anymore.”
She sucks in a breath, like she’s sucking in all my words and using them for strength.
I suck in a breath too because if she’s about to tell me what happened, then I need to be prepared for the monster she is about to call out. And I’m going to want to kill that monster.
Millie is the most confident person I’ve ever met. At least, that’s what she exudes. She’s confident and adventurous and fun, but it’s all an act. It may be who she wants to be, but it’s hiding the truth. It’s hiding the lack of confidence, the pain that someone caused her.
Maybe she’s able to play so confidently because her darkness isn’t that vast. Or maybe she’s an actress in real life. Tomorrow when we head home, I’ll learn who she really is—her job title, where she lives, what she does in the real world. But I don’t care about any of that, because what we experienced here was the real us. The parts of us that matter, that we hide from the world. Hopefully, we can take more of these parts back to the real world instead of just having to pretend.
“I don’t know if I could pin it on one moment or a series of moments,” she starts.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe. My mind goes to all of the darkest of places—she was raped, abused, tortured. I’m not going to survive her words.
“I’ve never had a particularly bad experience with men. Never had a man take things too far. Never been hurt by a man. Never been abused—nothing like that.”
I exhale a breath and grip her tighter, like that will somehow protect her from ever being hurt.
I want to talk, to tell her to continue, but the silence is easier for her to fill if I don’t. So I wait for her to continue. I’m patient, and eventually, she does.
“But I’ve never found a relationship that was particularly amazing either. Never found that once in a lifetime kind of love that people talk about.”
I hang onto her every word, wanting to know more. I’m an excellent listener. I have all the patience in the world, but I’ve never struggled so hard to keep my mouth shut as I am right now.
“I thought I had found it. Numerous times, with numerous men. But each time, I was wrong.”