Fragile Longing

One of Danilo’s hands slid into my panties, squeezing my ass. My body clamped up, uninvited images of the night of the party flooding my head. I tried to push those memories away, forcing myself to focus on the kiss but soon my arousal waned.

Danilo continued to stroke my ass but pulled back, searching my face. “Too much?”

“I don’t know.” I was confused. I wanted more, but my mind had shut my body down.

Danilo pulled his hand out of my panties and cupped the back of my head, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Is this still because of what happened at the party?”

I nodded.

“This time won’t be like that. I’ll take my time, prepare you, pay attention to what you like—”

I leaned in and kissed him again. Running my hands down his chest, I rocked myself against Danilo’s thigh, desperately trying to win over my mind, but by now I wasn’t wet at all. Danilo ran his palm over my outer thigh, then to the sensitive area on the inside. As his fingers came closer to my center, I tensed up. He began to draw back but I put my hand on his, stopping him. “Don’t stop.”

He slid his fingers further up, brushing my outer folds. My body felt ready to splinter with tension and not in a good way. Danilo shook his head and stopped kissing me. “This isn’t working.”

I groaned. “I know.” I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to determine why exactly I clamped up. Part of it was me being terrified of the pain, but I doubted it would be like that again. The other part? My brain replaying those blonde chicks Danilo had been with in the past. “Do you prefer blondes?”

“What?” Danilo muttered, bracing himself on his elbow and leaning over me.

I shrugged. “All your dates were blonde, and at the party you chose me because of my wig.”

“Is this because of that?”

“Maybe. I really don’t know.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I never had a thing for blondes. Not even years ago.”

I assumed he was referring to when he had been engaged to Fina.

“I dated girls with brown hair, black hair, blonde hair.”

“Not afterwards,” I said, also avoiding Fina’s name.

Danilo touched my hip, his thumb sliding beneath my chemise to stroke my skin. “I didn’t do those women because I felt more attracted to blondes. I did them because of my anger issues.” He reached for my hair and ran his fingers through my curls. “I love the color of your hair, like chestnuts.”

“Okay,” I murmured, even if anger issues seemed a strange explanation for banging blondes, but everyone handled trauma in different ways. I rolled over, curling into him. “I want to keep trying. Eventually, my body will give in.”

Danilo smiled wryly. “I’ll give it as many tries as you want. But maybe we should continue in the morning.” He wrapped his arms around me, and I settled against his chest.

I felt more comfortable with Danilo every day. I still didn’t understand him, but maybe that was normal. Men, especially the men in our world, were a strange species.I woke up in Danilo’s arms and turned to kiss him. Our bodies were still relaxed from sleep but quickly heated up. But like before, my mind messed things up.

Danilo gave me time to compose myself and went downstairs to prepare breakfast.

Staring at the ceiling, I slipped a hand between my legs. I was dry as the Sahara. It was strange how quickly my body turned from full-blown arousal to a desert-state once it clamped up. I hadn’t stroked myself since the party. For some reason, the events had dulled my libido. My fingers worked my clit the way I usually liked it, but my body barely reacted. Frustrated, I rubbed harder.

Danilo cleared his throat.

I jerked my hand away and closed my eyes with a groan. The bed dipped and I opened my eyes as he set a tray down. “I was just trying to see if my body still worked.”

Danilo leaned down and kissed me slowly. “You looked as if you were in pain. That didn’t look pleasurable.”

“It wasn’t.”

“How about we have breakfast and then we’ll tackle the issue again?”

“Tackle the issue?” I repeated, my brows climbing my forehead. I put a strawberry into my mouth. “That doesn’t sound pleasurable, either.”

We’d finished our waffles and were talking about my plans to start college in spring when Danilo asked, “Will you ever let me read something of yours?”

My cheeks blasted with heat. So far, all my stories had been sappy and sexy love stories.

Danilo raised his eyebrows. “That bad?”

“Just really embarrassing.”

“Worse than how I embarrassed myself by not recognizing my own fiancée only because she wore a wig?”

I snorted. “Maybe.”

Danilo’s phone beeped. He groaned. “I have to call Marco.”