Who Do You Love(53)
Author: Jennifer Weiner

“Ooh!” I hadn’t meant to say it so loud, but when he put his finger on that spot it was like when we’d learned about circuits in science class, when you touched a live wire to another and electricity flowed through. Andy moved his finger gently, leaning forward to kiss me, and it was like nothing I’d ever felt, nothing I’d ever imagined. How had he known how to do this? Had he done this with other girls? I wondered, and then I pushed the thought away, because I was feeling too good to care about that or anything.

Andy moved one finger gently, rubbing me, and slipped another finger inside, moving it until he was right up against the barrier. My arms were spread wide, my hands were gripping the sheets, and I was breathing hard, and my heart was pounding, but I barely felt it, barely cared. Finally, he lifted himself onto his elbows and looked at me, his face serious in the shadowy light.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Please.”

He had a condom. I watched him pull it out of the pocket of his discarded jeans and open it with his teeth. Together we rolled it down, smoothing it over his hard penis. I didn’t feel any anxiety or any shame, even though I’d never seen a penis up close.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said. I lay back, spread my legs, shut my eyes, and sucked in my breath when I felt the tip brushing me. Then his mouth was on my breast, and my hands were on his shoulders, and he was pushing his way inside of me, rocking back and forth, inching himself forward in the tiniest increments, until I couldn’t stand it anymore, until I grabbed him and whispered, “Oh, God, go deeper, put it in deeper.” With a groan, he pushed himself all the way inside of me, and there was pain, an instant of searing pain that made me gasp . . . and then his face was buried in my neck, and he was shuddering, his hips jerking, whispering, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait.

I cradled his head in my hands. I stroked his hair. My hips were still rocking in a faint up-and-down motion. I wanted to put my hand between my legs or have him put his hand back . . . and then he did just that, cupping me, covering me possessively.

“Am I bleeding?” I whispered.

He didn’t even look at his fingers. “Did it hurt?” he asked instead.

“Just a little.”

“And did you . . .”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, with my face against his chest. He had some hair there, and he smelled so good, that specific Andy smell, soap and cotton and his skin. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure I ever have.”

He looked down at me, his expression a familiar mix of amusement and doubt. “How can you not be sure?”

I squirmed, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know! It’s not like with boys, you know.”

He held still, like he was considering this . . . and then he was touching me again, with just one finger, moving lightly, almost teasingly against me. The fluttering ache intensified, and my hips rocked faster, and I felt his penis, slick with whatever they’d put on the condom, begin to stiffen against my leg. He was propped on one elbow, watching my face as he moved his finger, higher, then lower, slowly, then more quickly. I sighed and wriggled, and then, when he was touching me in the spot he’d found the first time, I whispered, “There.”

“Like this?” he whispered back, and then, because it was Andy, because my body was moving without my direction, because something was building inside of me, something wonderful and unstoppable, I grabbed his wrist and moved his hand the necessary fraction of an inch. My hips rose and fell, rose and fell, and my breath was coming in pants, and then my hips snapped up, and I froze as an unbelievably pleasurable feeling burst through me, radiating out from where Andy was touching down toward my feet and up through my chest as I felt myself, my whole body, clenching and releasing.

“Oh,” I whispered, “oh my God.”

Andy bent down and kissed my cheek. “Did you?”

I caught my breath and opened my eyes. When I could speak, I said, “If there’s anything else I don’t think I could stand it,” I said, and laughed, a little shakily.

“Pretty girl,” he said. His hands were moving in my hair, big, warm hands. I put my head on his chest and closed my eyes as contentment rose and swelled and filled me, until there was no room left for any doubt. He’d been lonely, and I’d been lonely, but if we were together, we’d never have to be lonely again.

•••

We must have fallen asleep, and when we woke up, the candle had gone out. Outside the window, the sky was almost dark.