I give myself permission to follow, moving her hips the way I need them to move, but continuing that pressure on her clit so she can ride out her wave. And just like I saw when we first connected, stars blast me from every angle again, my climax a shocking, power-drunk punch to the gut that leaves me still and holding onto Erin for dear life as it shreds me apart.
For a long moment, I’m in outerspace — floating, numb and intoxicated by an all-consuming pleasure.
Slowly, the room comes back to me, starting with the soft sound of Erin’s haggard breaths, the feeling of me growing soft inside her, of her slick chest against mine and her hands twisted in my short hair.
She drops her forehead to my shoulder, and then her shoulders begin to shake — softly at first, and then uncontrollably, sobs racking her body there in my arms.
I don’t say a word.
I just hold her tighter, let her cry, and press my lips gently to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. I don’t rush her to talk or to look at me. I just wrap her up and pray that she knows she can feel whatever she needs to feel with me — good, bad, or in-between.
You’re safe.
You’re in control.
I seal those silent promises with every kiss.
MY MOM USED TO call me her little bird when I was a kid.
I had a knack for getting into trouble, for getting into precarious situations, and for getting hurt — mostly because I had such an appetite for challenge and a competitiveness like no other. Boy or girl, older or younger, it didn’t matter. If someone challenged me to do something or said I couldn’t do something, I’d prove them wrong.
I had more stitches than Barbie dolls by the time I was ten, but Mom always said I was her little bird, always flying from the nest without fear of falling.
I knew I would fly.
And right now, I feel like I’ve never soared higher in my life.
The last four years have taken me through some major ups and downs. From the drug escapade and getting caught up with the wrong people, to trying to turn my life around only to sleep with my boss, then fall in love with him, then lose him along with my job because I was stupid, then win him back and move in with him… you could say it’s been a whirlwind.
But as it often does, the sea has been settling in my life, the storm gone, waters calming and breeze gently blowing through my hair. For the first time in a very long time, I feel completely at peace.
The summer only brought on more clients and more responsibility for me at Ball & Pen, and my boss, Celeste, became more and more comfortable handing me the more challenging events. She also gave me a bigger budget to hire more staff, including a second assistant for me in addition to Jeannie, who has become my right-hand woman.
Brandon had tried desperately to get me to come back to work at Okay, Cool when we’d made up, but as much as I love him and his company — Ball & Pen felt like the right place for me to be. It was a chance to build my name outside of Brandon, to not be seen as his previous intern-turned-employee-turned-girlfriend. Although we’d embraced our relationship head on and no one seemed to have a problem with it, I wasn’t naïve enough to think the rumor mill didn’t run behind both our backs.
Besides, Celeste sees my potential, and she trusts me with the responsibility I’ve always dreamed of having — ever since I decided event planning was a career I could see myself loving.
And boy, do I love it.
I work tirelessly every day and night, sometimes into the weekends — much to Brandon’s dismay — and even on the most stressful days, I feel so alive, so in love, that I don’t mind.
The only things that fuel me just as much as working are loving Brandon and pole dancing.
It amazes me still how easily the transition was with Brandon, from fighting and breaking up, to not talking for months, to fucking and dating like nothing had changed at all. The little games we played in the spring were maddening, but I’d go through them all again if that’s what it took to have him. The truth is that Brandon’s just as full of pride as I am, and it took playing those games to break him down and get him to realize he still loved me — even if he was mad at me.
And he had a right to be.
It isn’t always easy. Even now, the pain I caused him surfaces and I have to smooth his worries about me possibly betraying his trust again. I never would, not in a million years, and I have no problem continually proving that to him.