APRIL

I press the phone to my chest after I hang up with Jackson, clutching it like he can feel me.

I close my eyes and hear his gravelly voice ringing through my ears, soothing while exciting me at the same time. I don't know how I played it so cool during the call, because my nerves are so on fire that if I move too fast, I might throw up.

I'm not sure what to expect tomorrow night. As I lie there in the dark, phone now plugged in and resting on my nightstand, I stare at the ceiling and try to guess. My chicken parmesan will inevitably turn out amazing; I'm sure he'll love it. I might be too wired to eat a single bite, but I'll give it a try.

But after that? Who knows where the night will end up.

I try to imagine it, pinching my eyes shut tight. Maybe we'll have wine by the fireplace, maybe we'll watch a movie. Maybe we'll talk about books, or maybe he'll give me a massage.

I can't help but wonder if the hypothetical massage will lead to a hypothetical something else. Tomorrow night, will he ask me to go all the way?

My stomach flips and I break out in a light sweat. Of course, the thought of sex with Jackson has crossed my mind many times. Almost every day, and definitely each time we're together. We've obviously engaged in different forms of sex - oral and manual. But the actual act of penetration doesn't seem plausible; I can't conceptualize it.

I've been a virgin for so long that I don't know how not to be one.

Am I ready? Do I want to? I think I do.

With him, definitely. Right now, so soon, that's what I'm not sure about.

I try and tell myself not to worry, to just go to sleep. Everything will be clearer in the morning, when I can actually prepare myself instead of stew in bed and do nothing. But when I close my eyes, my thoughts keep whirring. The voice in my head, instead of shutting up, gets louder.

Jackson isn't like guys my age. He would never pressure me into doing something I'm not comfortable with. But I'm hung up on making him happy. I remind myself not to put his happiness before mine. If I'm not ready, that's okay.

I don't want him to judge me, though. Or entertain the idea that I was somehow lying to him while we've been intimate - though, I haven't. A lie of omission, maybe. But he's never come out and asked if I'm a virgin. I wouldn't have lied if he did.

I sigh, loud and vehement. All I want is for the night to pass so tomorrow will come, but the minutes tick by torturously slow.

Jackson is so mysterious. I've gotten to know him much better over the course of the last few months, but there's still so much that's gray and unanswered. When I look into his eyes, I'm curious about everything I see. I'm hungry to know every small detail about his past, every facet of his current thoughts, and what he thinks of the future. I never ask, though. Because while he's intriguing, he can be intimidating as well.

That side of him arouses me like nothing else.

I love when he gets commanding and controlling, all the while staying respectful. When he tells me what to do and how to pleasure him, when he manipulates my body in ways he likes. I love being at his mercy, like he could use his power to break me if he wanted to. But obviously, he would never do that.

My body buzzes as I picture what our first time will be like. If it hurts, he'll be gentle. He'll go slow. But right now, thinking about his body - his wide hands, sinewy arms and bobbing Adam's apple - I don't want him to be slow and gentle. Thinking about his plush lips, skilled tongue, and thick thighs, I want to be fucked.

I give in to my desires and slip a hand under the covers, into the front of my shorts. Frustrated with the lack of friction, I flip onto my stomach and use the weight of my body against my hand to find my orgasm. It's nothing like the ones Jackson gives me, but it does the job and lulls me to a state of relaxation. Just far enough that I fall asleep much quicker than I would have otherwise.

I went to sleep with Jackson on my mind, and I wake up with him in the same place.

I sit up and scratch my head, realizing how badly I need to shower. It's only 9am, which means no one else in the house is awake, so I head to the bathroom to spruce myself up.

I go through my normal routine, then take it further. As my hair is wrapped in a towel, I sit on the lip of the tub and shave my legs to the point of perfection. I have no doubt that, even if we don't go all the way tonight, Jackson's hands will be all over me. And I want to be in a smooth, moisturized state for him.

I let the towel wrapped around my body drop after my legs are finished. Using a handheld mirror, I scrutinize my pubic hair and wonder if I should do something about it. I don't exactly know what's normal for a girl; we never, ever talked about bodily things in my house growing up, and it's not something I've brought up with Addison and Amelia. With the way Jackson reacted, though, I got the idea that going unshaven isn't the norm.

It made me feel self-conscious, having the hair, though I know he liked it. I decide to compromise; shave some and keep the rest. If I trim and tame it a little, I'll feel more confident in not being completely bald, which is something I think people do.

It's hard work, shaving down there. The hair is coarse and grows in all different directions, and the last thing I want to do is cut off a lip, or something. So, I go slow.

So slow, that it gives Amelia time to wake up and bang on the door.

"I need to pee," she groans, sounding sleepy.

"Use Addie's," I say, bent in half to get a good look at where the razor is going.

"I can't. I'm seriously about to piss my pants," she says, rattling the doorknob. "It's locked. Let me in, April!"

I roll my eyes and sigh loudly, wrapping the towel again so I can go get the door. Amelia blusters in, waving through the steam, and sits down on the toilet.

"Spa day?" she asks, as I give her privacy and stand just outside the door.

"Yeah, something like that," I say.

The toilet flushes and she appears beside me seconds later. "You smell good," she says.

"Thanks," I reply, and slip back inside. "Now, don't bother me."

I sit down again with a concentrated expression on my face and try to lessen the hair in the manner I want. It takes a fair share of shaving cream and a lot of blade rinsing, but eventually I get my femininity looking the way I want. And I think Jackson will like it, too.

As I'm putting on lotion, there's another knock at the door.

"One second," I say.

"Is my contact solution in there?" Addie asks.

I glance the counter, where the bottle sits. "Yeah," I say. "Hold on."

I'm lotioning my knees when I open the door and hand her the bottle. "What are you up to?" she asks.

"Lotioning," I respond.

"For who?" she says.

"Uh, myself," I say. "I don't know about you, but dry skin isn't my friend."

She raises her eyebrows, tossing the bottle from hand to hand. "Are you going to see someone?" she lilts.

"No," I say.

"What was all the razor-knocking for, then?"

She means when I hit the razor against the side of the tub to get the hair out. The house has thin walls, so the sound can be heard throughout the whole thing.

"My hairy legs," I say.

"Seemed to take you a pretty long time…" she says. "Were you shaving your vag?"

I cringe. "Stop, you're nasty," I say.

"Had you never done it before?" she asks, following me towards my room. "Baby, you could've asked for tips. I would've-"

"It's fine, it's over," I say, emphatically, as I block the door to my bedroom.

"Razor burn?" she asks.

"No," I say. "It went fine."

"Are you bald now?" she says.

I purse my lips. "No," I say. "I left a very respectable, thin layer."

"To each their own," she says, then begins to walk away. But before she can get far, she looks over her shoulder and says, "By the way, I still don't believe that you're not getting all pretty for a booty call."

"Booty call?" Alex says, interest piqued, as he comes around the corner.

"Shut up," I say, glaring in his direction.

But as I look at him, I realize he's the only one in this house who can help me. He's the only one who knows about Jackson, and the only one who knows I'm a virgin.

"Actually," I say. "Alex. Come in here."

Addison shoots us a dubious look. "Are you guys fucking again?"

"We - I - no," I say, rolling my eyes. "I just need help with something."

"I'm helpful," Alex says, gearing it towards Addison before turning and coming into my room. I shut the door behind us and he walks to my bed to sit down.

"I'm freaking out," I admit, standing in front of him.

"What's up?"

I sigh and let my shoulders deflate. "I'm spending the night with Jackson tonight," I say.

He narrows his eyes, confused.

"Dr. Avery," I clarify.

"Oh, fuck," Alex says, realizing. "Dude. Is that why you were in the bathroom so long? Double A wouldn't stop bitching about it."

"We have two bathrooms," I grumble.

"So, is tonight the night?" he asks, sitting against the wall with his legs straight out.

"I don't know," I say, opening a dresser drawer. "Don't look."

He covers his eyes while I change into loungewear, and opens them again as I'm brushing my hair.

"Do you want it to happen?" he asks.

I shrug.

"If you don't know, then you're not ready, dude," he says. "You know better than to force it."

"It's not forcing…" I trail off. "We've done other stuff."

His eyebrows quirk. "Other stuff?"

I can't look in his eyes when I say it. "He's gotten me off, uh… with his fingers. And we did oral for the first time the other day."

Alex's eyes bug out of his head. "In his fucking office?"

I blush red and my cheeks get so hot I have to press my palms against them.

"Jesus Christ, A, you're crazier than I thought," he says.

"So, I don't know what's gonna happen tonight," I say. "But I want to look good. So, you need to help me by choosing an outfit and pajamas."

"You already know what pajamas," he says, suggestively.

I suppress a smirk, because I knew he'd say that. Back when we were doing whatever we were doing, he bought me a pair of pajamas on a whim for seemingly no reason at all. It's a matching set of shorts and a loose camisole - both deep gold, both satin. The shorts are short, as is the shirt, which keeps a strip of my belly open. To this day, I've never worn them.

"Seriously?" I say.

He gives me a look. "They're fuckin' sexy. If that's what you're going for, then yes. If you're going for nerdy, then grab your Tweety bird pants and that awful fuzzy sweater that's like a million years old."

"Shut up," I say, and find the set. Without letting him get a good look, I pack it carefully in the backpack I'm bringing.

I spend a few moments putting essentials in - my hairbrush, toothbrush, and lotion - then an outfit for tomorrow. The only thing left is to put on the outfit for tonight, and I have no clue where to start.

"Should I wear a dress?" I ask.

"Easy access," he mumbles, chuckling.

"It's not gonna be like that," I snap.

"Not at first," he says.

"Alex!" I shrill.

"Fine, fine," he says. "A dress is nice."

"I don't wanna look like I'm trying too hard, though," I say.

"As you've spent all morning trying too hard," he says. "Do you wanna smoke? It'll calm you down."

"No," I say. "I can't smell like that going over to his house."

"He doesn't know you're a stoner, huh?" Alex asks. "What about… does he know you like to kiss girls when you're drunk?"

I roll my eyes. "I don't even do that anymore."

"Because you haven't been drunk in a while," he laughs.

"How's it going with Izzie?" I ask, quickly.

"Changing the subject," he says. "Slick. But I see you."

"Have you asked her out yet?"

Silence.

"Talked to her at all?"

Silence.

"Alex!" I scold.

"We're not talking about me right now!" he argues. "We're talking about you, and the fact that you're kinda lying to this dude. Does he know you like to party? Fuck, A, does he even know you're a virgin?"

I lick my bottom lip and tug it into my mouth, then turn around to zip up my backpack.

"Fuck a duck, he doesn't know," Alex says, surely.

"Yeah, well, I just haven't gotten around to it," I say, still faced the other way.

"Well, you might want to," he says. "Because he invited you to spend the night. I know you're not all that savvy with this kinda stuff, but when a guy asks you to spend the night, dude… that means something. He wants the puss."

"Alex…" I groan.

"He does! I'm just being honest!"

"You can be honest without saying words like that," I say.

"Whatever," he replies. "You're mad 'cause you know I'm right. So, you need to be upfront if you don't wanna fuck tonight. Because you going over there with an overnight bag tells a dude one thing… that you're down to fuck."

I don't throw a snide comment or get quiet this time. I let his words soak in and actually listen.

"Okay," I say. "I'll tell him. If it starts heading that way."

"Good," he says. "Is he gonna respect you? Do I need to be on-call?"

I smile a bit. "No, it'll be fine," I say. "He's…. Yeah. He's the best. He'll understand. It'll be fine."

I turn back to my closet and flip through the dresses, pausing on each one as I decide. When I come across an off-the-shoulder black one with long sleeves and a short hem, Alex pipes up.

"That," he says.

"What?" I say, turning around with one hand still on the hanger.

"That one," he says. "I've seen you in that at a party, or something. Showing off the shoulders, sexy as hell. Wear your hair up."

I raise my eyebrows, impressed. "Alright, stylist."

He rolls his eyes playfully. "I'm not blind," he says.

I set out the dress and crawl on the bed to sit by him, then rest my head on his shoulder. He drops a kiss to the part in my hair, then hugs me with a few rough pats to my outer arm.

"You're gonna be fine," he says.

"Yeah," I murmur.

"You still wanna go, right? 'Cause if you don't-"

"No, no," I say. "I do. Really bad. I'm just… I'm nervous as hell."

"Well, yeah," he says. "You like this dude. Makes sense to be nervous."

We're quiet for a moment, just breathing together, before Alex speaks again.

"Is he a freak?" he asks.

"What?"

He snorts. "Like… is he into kinky shit? I know you haven't gone all the way… but like, you gotta know. Does he ask you to call him 'daddy' or something? Tie you up and shit?"

I pick up my head and look at him, wide-eyed. "Daddy?" I say.

He shrugs. "It's a thing. No hate. I'm just curious."

I shake my head. "No," I say. "Not that… no, I sometimes… Alex, no! Why am I talking to you about this?"

"Because I'm your best friend in the world, and the only one you can talk to about your boy toy."

I scoff. "Whatever," I say. "No, I don't call him 'daddy.' Sometimes, I don't know. I call him 'professor,' you know, when he's… yeah."

Alex looks intrigued. "Sexy," he says.

"I guess…?"

"Maybe you should try the 'daddy' shit," he says. "Dude, yes, you should! It'd surprise the shit out of him that you even know about that! Please, do it. Oh god, please do it."

"I don't know," I say.

"You're already doing the dom/sub shit," he says. "If you pull the daddy kink, he'll love it. I'm tellin' you."

"I don't know, maybe," I say. "But I already told you, I don't think we'll have sex tonight."

"It doesn't have to be during penetration-"

"Don't say that word!" I shriek, and shove him hard. He falls on his side, laughing hard. "I hate you."

"Nah, you love me," he says, staying on the bed while I get up to change.

Later, with a coat covering the dress and a backpack thrown over my shoulder, I'm heading out the door when I'm stopped by Addison and Amelia. Alex is in range, too, sitting on the couch watching TV.

"Where ya goin'?" Addie asks.

"Uh, just out," I say, one hand on the door. "I'm spending the night at my friend's house."

As soon as I say it, I know I shouldn't have. I should've texted them when it got late and dealt with it like that, so they wouldn't be able to see my lying face.

"You're going to a dick appointment," Addie says. "That's why you set up shop in the bathroom this morning."

"No," I say, quickly.

"She totally is!" Amelia says. "It's fine, A. Just be safe."

"I'm not going to - no, it's not like that," I say. "I'm just going over to Lexie's."

They both raise their eyebrows. "So, you both turned gay for each other?" Addie asks.

"I'm not - no, ugh," I groan, shoulders deflating.

Amelia gasps. "Oh, my god. I know why you're being weird. You're going to spend the night with my brother!"

Seeing an out, I take it.

"Uh… yeah," I say, moving my lips to one side.

Addie and Amelia throw their hands up. "You don't have to be embarrassed," Amy says. "I mean, I don't want to think about it, but you do you. Go ahead, you horny little bastard."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks," I say. "Be back tomorrow."

"Use protection!" Amelia calls. "I don't want little Shepherd-Kepners running around this townhouse!"

"Fuck off!" I shout, and head towards the train to travel downtown.

I find my way to Jackson's apartment relatively easily, and on the elevator up I can't stand still. I pace from side to side, wringing my hands, and hope I don't make a fool of myself. Tonight has to be perfect.

This is the first time we're seeing each other out of school. It means something.

Jackson knew I was on my way up, so he's waiting at the door when I exit the elevator.

"Hi, beautiful," he says.

I blush instantly, then tell myself to breathe. The whole night can't go like this; I have to retain some control of myself.

"Hi," I say.

"You make it here okay?" he asks, as I approach him.

"Uh-huh," I say.

"Good," he says. "Anyone give you any trouble?"

I shake my head, pushing my hair out of my face. "Nope," I say.

"Good," he says again, then cups my jaw in his hands. They're warm, soft and strong as he uses his thumbs to stroke my cheeks. "It's so nice to see you."

I smile, cheeks squishing. "You, too," I say.

Looking into his eyes, all I'm able to think about is what he doesn't know: I'm a virgin.

Alex's words ring through my mind: When a guy asks you to spend the night, dude… that means something. He wants the puss.

I gulp subtly. Tonight will be interesting.

"You okay?" Jackson asks, leaning in to kiss me softly. I reciprocate, closing my eyes as our lips press together, and take a deep breath.

"Yeah," I say.

He nods and says, "Alright. Come on in."

He leads me by the hand through the door, and I look around to see an immaculate, modern space. It's extremely clean and decorated smartly, black and white everywhere. Instead of soft cushions and worn-in furniture like the townhouse, everything here has sharp edges and shine. It's different than what I'm used to, but I like it.

"Nice place," I say, clasping my hands at the waist.

"Thank you," he says. "Let me take your bag and coat."

"Oh, right," I say, then shed both. I hand him the bag and unzip my jacket, and when it's off, he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's staring.

"You look great," he says, eyeing my shoulders - left bare by the cut of the dress and my tied-up hair. "You look… amazing."

"Thank you," I say, smoothing over the material.

He puts my things away and I stand in the same place, not knowing where else to go. I know I put it upon myself to make dinner, but now I wonder if that was presumptuous. This isn't my kitchen, I don't know where things are, and I'm not sure if I'm comfortable taking control.

But, almost as if reading my mind, Jackson nods in its direction.

"I laid everything out for you," he says. "And if you want help, I'm here. But if you want me to stay out, that can be done as well."

I chuckle softly. "Okay," I say. "Um…" I glance around. "I don't want to stain my dress. Do you have an apron, by any chance?"

"I do," he says, then pulls a stylish dark green one from a nearby drawer. "I thought of you."

"What, you mean you don't wear this when you cook alone?" I ask, draping it over my head.

He laughs a little, walking behind me to tie it up. He takes his time, fingers grazing the small of my back as he goes. And when he finishes, he doesn't move. His hands explore for a moment before landing on my ass, where he squeezes both cheeks tight and makes wet heat pool between my thighs.

"Watch yourself," I breathe, leaning forward with my hands on the counter.

"How do you expect me to resist you in this dress? This apron?" he asks, voice low.

I turn around, now pinned against the counter by his impressive size.

"I don't know," I say, then run my pointer finger along the path of buttons leading down his chest. "But you're going to be a good boy and wait 'til after dinner."

His pupils widen before he kisses me. While he does, one hand maps across the back of my neck, holding strong where he'd usually take a fistful of my hair. But he can't tonight, because of the bun it's in.

I take a deep breath after we part, unsure of how much truth my words hold. I'm happy to fool around with him tonight, more than happy to give and receive a few orgasms. I can't have him thinking I plan on going all the way, but I don't know how to bring it up.

After a few seconds of confused deliberation, I decide that when the time is right, it will present itself.

I do all the work with dinner and send Jackson to sit at the bar, facing me. I didn't realize how much I would like the feeling of cooking for him, being so domestic while he watches. Even as I complete the most simple, mundane task, his eyes are warm and steady. They never break.

"You're staring," I say, bent over to put the chicken in the oven.

"There's a nice view," he replies, smoothly.

I close the oven door and look back at him. "You're feeling a little spicy tonight," I say, eyebrows up. "Usually it takes you a while to get talking like this."

He beckons me closer with movement from one finger, and I obey. I walk to him and stand between his parted knees, and he runs his hands up my sides before dropping his lips to the freckle in the middle of my chest.

"I'm glad you're here," he says.

I run my fingers through his hair and get lost in the feeling of being worshiped. I could get used to this - and in fact, I have.

"Me, too," I agree.

I finish cooking as we exchange light conversation that grows deeper once the meal is ready. We talk about old books from class, and new ones, too. By the time we sit down, we're onto the subject of recreational reading.

"What's your favorite novel?" I ask. "Nothing school-related. Different than that."

He sits for only a moment before standing up again. "Red or white?" he asks, standing in front of a wine rack I hadn't noticed.

"Red, please," I say, and he pours us each a glass before bringing them over. He sets mine in front of me and I tip my chin to look at him. Pausing a moment, he holds my jaw lightly and kisses me, leaning in for only a moment before going to sit back down.

"The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner is one of my favorites," Jackson says.

"Oh, I've read that," I say. "It was moving. I can see why you'd like it."

He nods, and goes to take a forkful of chicken parmesan. But before he can, I stop him.

"Wait," I say. "Let me. The first bite, let me give it to you."

I reach across the table and twirl his fork around before raising it to his mouth. He closes his lips around the tines, keeping steady eye contact with me before pulling off.

"Delicious," he says, after swallowing.

"Good," I say. "I tried."

"You succeeded," he says, then takes a sip of wine. "So, answer the question for yourself. What's your favorite recreational book?"

"The Book Thief by Markus Zusak," I say. "No contest."

"Oh, really?"

I nod. "Yeah," I say. "Have you read it?"

He shakes his head. "I can't say I have."

"You should," I say, taking small bites. I did a good job, but my stomach is in knots. It'll be hard to keep anything down, and I don't want to ruin this night with indigestion. "It's beautiful. It changed the way I look at the English language, words, and life in general. It changed me."

He blinks at me, eyes warm. "I know how that feels," he says.

I blush and duck my head, taking a sip of wine to give my hands something to do.

"The cool thing is that Death is the narrator," I say. "And it makes you see it as a natural, sentient thing. Death wasn't villainized, it was humanized if anything. It was a beautiful character, with complex feeling and emotion I'm not sure I comprehended before reading this book."

I shake my head, diving further into my explanation.

"One of the book's themes is colors, which is important. And throughout the novel, Death mentions how incomprehensible humans are." I look up and meet Jackson's attentive eyes. "How can we be so kind, yet cause so much suffering and destruction? He likens us to colors - we are ever-changing, and can often be murky with our behavior and intentions."

My words spark a new thought.

"Jackson," I say, feeling bold somehow. "What are your intentions with me?"

He blinks once, eyes sober. "To give you the world," he says. "And to show you everything beautiful inside it."

...

After dinner, he suggests we watch a movie. My nerves don't die down, but confidence does filter in as I become more comfortable in his living space.

"I'll change into my pajamas," I say, after we've cleaned up the kitchen.

"I'll do the same," he agrees.

In the downstairs bathroom, I strip off my dress and slip into the silky material of the shorts and camisole combo. I look in the mirror, take my hair down from its bun, and touch up my face. I'm not wearing a bra, and the outline of my nipples are visible through the satin. I can't wear underwear with the shorts, either, so when I turn around, there's a good view of my ass, too.

I hope Jackson's thought process follows Alex's, and that's the first and probably last time I'll ever think that.

I walk to the living room in bare feet, seeing he's already on the couch, flipping through movies.

"What do you like?" he asks. "Action? Romantic comedy? Horror?"

I come around the side, in his view now. "I'm okay with whatever," I say, and he turns to look at me.

His Adam's apple bobs as his eyes roam my body. "Jesus Christ," he murmurs.

I stay standing, feeling the draft on my legs, stomach, and shoulders. I'm seemingly frozen in place.

"Come sit," he says, extending an arm over the back of the couch and welcoming me to his side.

We end up agreeing on Silver Linings Playbook, and I settle against his body. He keeps that arm wrapped around me, stroking my shoulder softly, and I rest one on his thigh.

A bit into the movie, though, I can't ignore the bulge in his sweatpants. I glance at it while his eyes are on the screen and adjust my position a little to touch it, just slightly.

He shifts, probably chalking it up to an accident. But I do it again, to communicate that it was far from a slip of the hand.

We make eye contact and he raises his eyebrows. I lick my lips, blinking slowly, as I trail one hand up his chest to softly grip the front of his neck.

"Jackson," I say, smirking at his eyes on my lips. "Just kiss me already."

He doesn't waste any time after that. In one fluid motion, he traps my body under his on the couch and rests his weight against me. He's heavy, but it's not anything I can't take.

I open my mouth and invite his tongue inside, and he explores my body with his hands. They land first on my chest, one over each breast, where he squeezes - generous and rough. A moment later, those fingers slip beneath the satin material and are on their way higher before he stops himself.

"Are you okay with this?" he asks, fingers antsy.

I nod. He pulls up the material so it rests on my collarbones and my chest is bared for the first time.

"Shit," he murmurs, stiff erection insistent against my inner thigh. "You don't even know… they're fuckin' perfect, princess."

Princess. I clench my thighs and trap his body between them, trembling as his lips lower to my right nipple. When he envelops it, tongue flat, warm and wet against the hardening bud, my eyes roll back and I weave my fingers through his hair to ground myself.

"That feels so good," I breathe.

I've never had my nipples sucked before, and I had no idea what I was missing out on. He knows exactly what he's doing; how to use his tongue, lips, and teeth. There's not a single inch of my breasts that goes untouched.

He leaves them bruised and covered in hickeys. While his tongue is gentle, his lips and teeth are not, and the skin there has never been handled before. It's smooth, creamy, pale - even paler than the rest of my body - and vulnerable. When he's finished, red welts are scattered in circular patterns around my nipples and the dusty pink rosebuds are puckered up tight.

My heartbeat is folded between my legs, beating hard and hammering as a constant reminder of its presence.

When he leaves my chest, he moves lower to drag his mouth over my stomach. The peach fuzz stands on end as he ghosts his lips through it, eyes closed with his hands planted on my hips. Once again, he worships me. I've never been treated like this.

"I want to take you to my bedroom," he says, voice husky.

I inhale sharply, causing my stomach to push out. I sit up a bit and he follows; we're now at eye-level with each other.

"Okay," I agree, adjusting my shirt so it covers my top half again.

He stands up from the couch first, extending his hand for mine. His fingers envelop my small palm, and we walk to his room without any stray conversation. When we get there, he turns the light switch dimmer up halfway so I can see his huge, white bed next to the window overlooking the city.

"What a view," I say, taking a few steps closer.

"But mine's better," he says, and I find he's looking at me.

"You're very cheesy when you want to be, Dr. Avery," I say, batting my eyelashes.

"Only for you," he says, and guides me to the mattress. "Lie down," he directs. "On your stomach."

Without arguing, I comply. I scoot to the middle of the bed and lie there with my cheek resting on my folded arms, and wait for him to make a move.

I don't wait long. Within seconds, he's on the bed, too. Then, he's on top of me, hovering. He doesn't set his weight down this time - the only part of his body that touches mine are his lips between my shoulder blades, then at the small of my back when he pushes the camisole up.

"Your shorts," he says.

He doesn't need to ask the question for me to know what he means. My head is cloudy and I'm so aroused that I'm barely thinking straight, and I want what he'll give me. I need it.

"You can take them off," I whisper, and he follows suit.

When my lower half is bare, he squeezes my ass cheeks in his hands and I close my eyes. I've never been touched in such a manner there, so fluid, so purposeful and time-consuming. He is thorough while massaging me, forcing me to press my forehead against my wrist and lift up my hips for more.

"I'm going to do something to you," he says, hands still moving. "That I'm sure no one else has done. If you want me to stop, speak up. And I will."

I nod shakily and he adjusts his position lower. He spreads me wide, and I feel the draft instantly as he pushes me up to my knees. Now, my ass is in the air with my face down towards the bed, and I have no idea what's about to happen.

When his mouth touches my core from behind, I gasp and let out a rattling breath. I arch my back to present more of myself to him, and he takes advantage of that by opening his mouth wider and slipping his tongue past my outer lips to reach the throbbing inside.

As he takes care of me, my hips begin to move of their own accord. The gyrating is subtle, but present, and he chuckles softly.

"Just wait," he says, smacking my ass playfully.

My body tingles with the sensation.

Suddenly, he moves higher while never lifting his tongue, and swipes it along the divide until it reaches the other hole. My mouth opens wide and I stop breathing as my body goes rigid.

"Oh…" I moan, sigh breaking at the end.

He keeps moving. I must be soaked at this point because as his fingers move over my lips, the slick, wet sound they make is unmistakable. He never stops moving his head from front to back, not missing an inch as he simultaneously eats me out in both areas.

I've heard of ass play, but only a little. Guys my age aren't all that educated, and I wouldn't have been able to learn from anyone else. I never knew it would be this good; I never knew the amount of pleasure the feeling of his tongue on my hole would give me.

My hips falter from the sensation and fall a bit. He shoves an arm underneath me and props them up again, going harder with the path and rhythm that his tongue has found. My whole body shakes and I can't keep my eyes open; every time he draws the path between my vagina and ass, it sends another shockwave through me.

Using the hand attached to the arm supporting me, he stimulates my clit as he goes. Rubbing in tight circles, I don't stand a chance. I force my hips back against his mouth as he concentrates on my ass, laving his tongue around the sensitive skin just rough enough to send me over the edge, screaming.

"Fuck!" I yell, all pitchy.

He flips me over while I come, body racking and bucking against the air. He yanks my thighs apart and attaches his mouth to my core, lapping up every last drop that seeps from my body while I continue to spasm around his tongue.

"Oh, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I moan, still experiencing my climax. It's the longest one I've ever had, and I never want it to stop. "I can't - I… I- yes, yes, yes… oh, my god."

After it's over, I lie there open and shimmering. With my arms splayed over my head, I track Jackson with my eyes and weakly return the smug smirk he's wearing.

"Did you like that, princess?" he hums, lips close to my ear.

I tremble and recall the conversation I had earlier with Alex in my sex-fogged mind. I lick my lower lip, bite it hard, and hold Jackson's neck while I say, "Yes, daddy."

His lips part slightly as his eyebrows raise. When he lowers to kiss my neck, he asks, "Daddy?"

Then, the doubt slithers in. I shouldn't have said it. To him, it probably isn't hot. It was weird, and he wasn't ready. He hated it.

"Sorry," I murmur, embarrassed. "I just… I don't know. I'm sorry."

He lifts his head back up. "I never said I didn't like it," he says. "You just… you continue to surprise me, April."

I open my mouth in plans of telling him that it wasn't my idea. But then, I realize that would only prompt further questioning as to why I'm talking about our almost-sex life to my friends, and I'm not prepared to answer those. I know for a fact Jackson wouldn't like me airing out what we do, because he's protective of our privacy and the fact that what we have is so delicate. I am, too, but I know Alex. And he'd take a secret of mine to the grave. Jackson doesn't know him like that.

"I'm full of surprises," I say, laughing softly while his lips find my nipple again. "And you… you really know what you're doing."

"I'm experienced, yes," he says, kissing a path to the middle of my chest where his favorite freckle lies.

My eyes find their way to the ceiling, and a question I've halfheartedly wondered floats to the surface of my consciousness.

"Jackson," I say softly. "I don't want you to think I'm asking this for any bad reason, I'm just curious. I promise."

He lifts up again and meets my eyes. I reach out and hold his jaw, running my thumb through his kept beard.

"How old are you?" I ask.

Something flits across his eyes, something I can't quite decipher. Maybe it's the feeling of being put on the spot; maybe this is something he hoped I'd never ask. I can't be sure.

"36," he says. "I turned in August. And you?"

It strikes me that I've never told him my age, either. "21," I say. "April birthday."

He smirks. "Very original of your parents."

"Yeah, I know," I grumble.

We're quiet for a moment, and he kisses the corner of my mouth gently before moving to the slope of my jaw. His lips stay there for a while, dotting kisses in random patterns, before he speaks again.

"Does it bother you?" he asks. "The age difference."

I frown. "No," I say. "Does it bother you?"

"No," he answers.

He sits up between my legs and adjusts them to rest on either side of his hips. My lower half is still bare, and that fact is blatantly obvious when he puts his hands on my thighs to situate my position. With how our bodies are posed, the next step is easy to visualize. If he were to take his pants off, penetration would only be inches away.

My mouth goes dry, but I know I have to say it. And it might as well be sooner than later.

"Jackson," I say, spitting out his name in an unusual manner that catches his attention. "I have something else."

He looks curious. "What?" he asks.

My eyes dart around the room, skirting his face. "I… uh…" I stammer. I clear my throat and wet my lips, though the moisture doesn't stick. "My… I've never... " I clear my throat again. "Okay. Sorry. I, uh… this isn't easy for me to say. Obviously. I'm a…"

I shake my head roughly and look him dead in the eyes.

"I'm a virgin," I finally say.

He stares at me for a long moment, and I convince myself it's all over. He won't want me because I'm inexperienced, and because I haven't been telling him the whole truth. This must be over; at least it was fun while it lasted.

But I'm wrong. Instead of anger filtering into his eyes, realization comes instead.

"April," he says. "That's not a bad thing."

"I-I know," I stammer. "I just… I didn't think you knew, and I wasn't lying. It just never came up, and I was… I don't know. I guess I was ashamed. I didn't want you to think I was just some kid. We just kept going further and further and… I wanted to. I wanted all of this, I swear. It wasn't like I'm making it sound. I want you so bad. But I'm just… all the way, I'm just not ready for that. And I don't want to lead you on. So, if you don't want to wait for me, that's okay. I'll-"

He stops me with a flat hand in the air. "Stop," he says. "I'd wait forever for you."

I stare at him, floored.

"We'll go at your pace," he says, earnestly. "I can see how much this means to you. By no means would I ever put myself in front of your needs. That's not how I work. When you're ready, you tell me. And we can take it from there."

I'm still in disbelief. I'd expected at least a little anger, a little frustration. I can't imagine what this scene would look like if it had been Derek in his place. He would have flown off the handle and stormed out of the room by now.

"Really?" I ask.

His eyebrows twitch. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I don't know," I answer. "I just…" I shake my head. "You're perfect."

He laughs sardonically. "No," he says. "Don't say that."

I don't bother arguing, but I open my arms and welcome him into them. He helps me put my shorts back on and then pulls me close, spooning me from behind while wrapping me up in his grip.

I kiss his knuckles slowly, one by one. I've never felt so safe. My walls, that I've spent years building, are faltering.

And I'm terrified.

Behind me, Jackson pushes up the material of my satin shirt to tickle my back. His lips follow his fingers, and when the shirt rises high enough, I gasp softly.

"What's this?" he asks, tracing a thick line of skin parallel to my spine.

It's a scar I often forget about, not because it's meaningless, but because I've spent an obscene amount of time and energy repressing it and others like it.

"April," he says, sounding serious. He runs the pad of his finger down the length, to where it stops at my mid-back. "What happened to you?

The air stops in my throat. Just minutes ago, I spilled a secret that I thought would be impossible to tell. But he granted me grace and accepted it, moving forward alongside it. Maybe this won't be so different.

Maybe, he'll be the first person I tell.

"Baby," he says, firmly.

I take a quick breath, releasing the hold I'd placed.

"When I sinned," I mutter, voice almost too quiet to catch. "My father made sure I repented."