The Naked Fisherman by Jewel E. Ann

Chapter Seventeen

I still hadeighty percent of my virginity. It took some complicated math to come up with that. It also meant I still had an eighty percent chance of going to Heaven—one hundred if I followed the once-saved-always-saved philosophy. That was probably the best way to go at that point.

My guilt held on with more permanence than what I’d hoped, but my remorse declined a bit since the dry humping in my bed incident. That brought me to tears afterward. The pool table? No tears. I think I was in shock that I wanted to go all the way. Fisher stopped me. The crude, naked fisherman. I never imagined that. He said we’d go until I said stop. I never said stop. If anything, I had my own little cheering section in my head chanting, “Go! Go! Go!”

Creeping along the side of the house, I made my escape the next morning. A little Sunday morning gospel to cleanse my soul.

Tiptoeing along the side of Fisher’s truck, I hid from sight in case he was watering his plants.

“Off to confess your sins?”

I jumped and glanced at the garage with both doors wide open and Fisher bent over his weight bench working his triceps.

No shirt, of course.

“Um …” I cleared my throat, eyeing Arnie’s Escalade. Did it mean Angie was still there too? “Yes. I’m going to church.” I tightened my grip on the clutch purse I’d used the previous night and took slow steps into the garage.

“You look nice.” He eyed me in my simple white romper and silver Birkenstocks.

“Thanks. Is…” my gaze signaled to the door to the house “…Angie gone?”

“Nope,” he replied with a strained voice as he continued his workout. “In the shower.”

“Oh. Did you … sleep on the sofa or in a spare room?”

“No. It’s my bed. Why should I have done that?”

Swallowing hard, I clenched my teeth and shrugged with stiff shoulders. My entire body tensed with anger. “No reason.” I managed to eke out the words. “Later.” I pivoted, holding my breath—holding everything that tried to pry open my lips to be set free.

“You want to know if I had sex with her, huh?”

My feet stopped in place, but I couldn’t turn around. “No.”

“No? Really? Well, we did. Full penetration. There’s really nothing better than being buried balls deep in a woman. No holding back. No fragile hymens. No guilt. Just raw fucking.”

Tears stung my eyes before I had a chance to flinch at his vulgarity, and I forced my feet to make speedy, gigantic strides out of the garage.

“Not so quick.” I heard the thunk of weights hitting the rubber mat, and in the next breath he grabbed my arm and whipped me around to face him. “It’s a joke.” He shook his head and grinned as his other hand blotted the wet corners of my eyes.

“It’s a terrible joke,” I whispered past the lump in my throat.

“Probably. But Rory comes home in a few days.” He blew out a long breath. “And you said it would stop then. You said you didn’t want her to know. So if we’re a few days from ending whatever this is … then you need to get ahold of yourself.”

That confirmation? The one that said his feelings toward me were way different than mine were toward him? It sucked.

Jerking my hand away, I finished wiping my eyes before a new round of emotion made its way to the stage. “I have ahold of myself. I’m just not emotionally dead like you are. Not because I’m eighteen. It’s because I’m a good person with real emotions, and that will never change. So excuse me if the idea of you screwing someone immediately after consuming me like some tasteless appetizer is a little disheartening, but it’s only because I don’t offer myself up to just anyone like you obviously do.”

Fisher’s head jerked backward. “First…” he held up a finger in my face “…you didn’t really let me taste you, so the tasteless reference is unfair. And second…” he held up another finger “…if you’re insinuating Angie is just anyone, then you need to check your facts again.”

My face scrunched into my most menacing expression, which probably only made me look constipated. “You are … you’re …” My hands balled into tight fists.

He smirked.

Gah!

I hated him for smirking at me when there was nothing funny about anything we were discussing.

“For a cruciv—cruciferous whatever that made-up word was you called yourself, you sure lack in vocabulary when the pressure’s on.”

My hate grew. First his smirk, then his stupid fumbling of the word cruciverbalist. I didn’t want to smile. It wasn’t okay for him to steal my anger with his intentional or unintentional humor. Yet there I stood, with my hands still fisted and an unavoidable grin climbing up my face.

“You’re so stupid. Never again do you get to reference my age since you just called me a botany term denoting cabbage family plants. Not the same thing as cruciverbalist—one who constructs or is good at solving crossword puzzles.” I added an eye roll for good measure.

“Broccoli. Cabbage. Cauliflower. I know. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Again, you just don’t get my humor.”

“I’m going to church.” I turned on my heel and continued toward the Outback.

“Say hi to the virgins for me.”

“Jerk,” I mumbled—but not without grinning because Fisher Mann was so … extra.

* * *

“Welcome back.It’s good to see you again.” A somewhat familiar face greeted me as I took a chair in the Sunday school classroom. “It’s Brendon.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I remember.” I didn’t really. “Thanks. We missed you at the singles’ Bible study on Wednesday night.”

“I wasn’t feeling well. Headache.” The hardest part about having a church family was the accountability which led to truths they didn’t want to hear or lies they happily swallowed while God knew. He always knew. Like earlier that morning during the sermon, I wasn’t thinking about the words echoing through the sanctuary. My mind replayed the previous night. With my Bible open on my lap and people all around me responding to the day’s gospel with “Amens,” I squeezed my thighs together and thought about Fisher between my legs while silently saying my own kind of Amens.

“Well, I hope you’re feeling better now.” Brendon sat next to me.

“Much better. Thanks.”

“Would you like to have lunch with me today?”

Brendon wasn’t terrible looking. He had a great smile, and he was taller than me which was always a bonus. But … there was Fisher.

And … there was Rory coming home in a matter of days.

“Just lunch.” Brendon chuckled as if he could read my mind. “I don’t have that many friends.”

“Okay. Lunch would be great. I could use a friend too.” If Fisher had Angie in his bed … in whatever capacity … I could have lunch with a male friend.

After class, we raced to the parking lot to beat the crowd and congestion of vehicles trying to maneuver out of the tight spaces.

“Shoot. I’m trapped.” Brendon frowned at his car blocked in a parallel parking spot at the west end of the lot. He barely had two inches in the front or the back to maneuver. “Guess I’m waiting for the crowd after all.”

“Leave it. I’ll drive and drop you off after lunch.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

He followed me to my car and gave me an extended glance over the top of it as I unlocked the doors. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” I unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat as he got in on the other side.

“Really? Wow. I thought you were older.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

I wouldn’t have guessed that. Maybe twenty. “You look young for twenty-four.” I smiled, giving him a quick sideways glance as I backed out of the parking space.

“Good thing this isn’t a date. I’d feel a little weird with you being eighteen.”

“I’m an adult,” I said my new and thoroughly recycled mantra.

We settled on a Mediterranean restaurant and a large booth near the open kitchen.

“We’re just a few blocks from my house. I’ve passed this place many times on my walks.”

“You live in this neighborhood?” He narrowed one eye. “With your parents? It’s just … a really nice neighborhood. I couldn’t afford to live here by myself or even with a houseful of roommates.”

I sipped my water then shook my head. “I live with my mom. And she rents the basement of a house. So I can’t afford to live here and neither could she if it weren’t a basement rental situation.”

“I see. Makes sense. So what are you doing this summer? Getting ready for college?”

“I’m taking a gap year.” There it was. My go-to. “But this summer, I’m working for a construction company doing random things in the office or delivering lunch to the crew.”

“Sounds…” he smirked “…fun.”

“It’s interesting. Fun? Probably not.”

“Do you like your boss?”

“What?” My head snapped up from the menu. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Uh …” His eyes rolled quickly to one side and then the other. “Just making conversation.”

I relaxed my defensive posture. “Sorry. Yeah. He’s nice. He’s actually my mom’s landlord. It’s his house. He lives on the main level. And he was kind enough to offer me a summer job.”

“That’s a cool situation.”

I nodded. It was cool. And sexy. And my newest obsession.

“So … what do you do?” I asked. “I assume since you’re twenty-four, you must be out of college, if you went.”

“I went.” He nodded while studying his menu. “I just graduated from law school, actually.”

“Can you be a lawyer at twenty-four?”

He laughed. “If you graduated high school a year early. Yes. You can.”

“Wow. Brainy.”

Brendon set his menu down and shook his head. I was pretty sure that was a blush on his face. “Good memory. That’s all.”

“Photographic?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve never been officially tested. I can read quite quickly too. My dad died when I was in fifth grade. And my mom spent all of her time working to put me and my sisters through school, so we didn’t spend a whole lot of time figuring me out. And we didn’t have a lot of money, so I spent more time reading than watching the single television we had in the house. No cellphone until I earned money to buy my own and pay for a plan. No computer outside of the ones we used in school. No video games. Pretty boring, huh?”

I felt an instant connection to Brendon in that moment. “Well, my dad died too. Three years ago. Then I moved to Texas to live with my grandparents until I graduated. I didn’t have a phone either until I bought my own … which my grandparents didn’t let me do until I was eighteen. So I’ve literally had a cell phone for less than a year. Now who’s boring?”

“Really?” Brendon smiled as if my confession, albeit a little sad and pathetic, made him feel some joy.

“However, we did have a computer in the house. I had one from the school that we could bring home. So it’s not like I didn’t have internet access even if it was monitored for appropriate content.” My nose wrinkled.

“No internet porn for you.”

That made my face heat a bit. Just the word porn did that. “No.” I returned a nervous laugh. But I had seen porn. Once … okay twice. My friend Kat lived with her dad, and her dad worked nights so he was always sleeping during the day. Kat thought it was fun to check out her dad’s browser history on the computer; he wasn’t only paying bills and ordering socks from Amazon while Kat and her younger brother were at the Christian academy. Worth noting too … he taught the teen’s Sunday school class at church.

“Have you taken the bar exam?”

“Nope. I’ve taken a job with a law firm here in Denver, and they’re adamant about helping me study for it. But honestly …” He winked. It wasn’t a Fisher wink, but it was still adorable in its own way. “I’ve got this.”

Confidence.

Man … what I wouldn’t give to have had even half of his confidence. And direction. That was it more than anything. A sense of direction imparted a certain level of confidence. I didn’t know if gap-year kids had as much confidence.

We ordered food and chatted for over an hour. Brendon’s mom lived just outside of Chicago. And his two younger sisters still lived there too.

“Enough about me. Tell me about your mom? Why were you living with your grandparents after your dad died?”

“My mom had some … issues after the divorce. So my dad had custody of me. Then my grandparents stepped in after he died because my mom was still not able to take care of me.”

Why did I lie? I didn’t know. Out of all the people I should have been honest with, Brendon was at the top. He was a Christian, which meant he would not have judged me. (Yes, I realized that thought held zero actual truth.) He wasn’t trying to date me, so I had no need to impress him. And I’d been upfront about my mom’s situation with so many other people before him. I don’t even remember making the conscious decision to lie to him. My mouth started moving, and it took a bit for my brain to process the automated lie.

“So how is it now … with your mom? Are things weird?”

“Well, that’s hard to answer. I no sooner arrived and she left for L.A. to do some salon training. She’ll be home in a few days.”

“You must be excited about that?”

Was I excited? Rory home equaled things ending with Fisher.

“Sure.” I smiled, but it barely bent my lips.

After he bought my lunch, in which I argued because it wasn’t a date, we climbed back into the car and started to pull out of the parallel parking spot and into traffic.

“Show me where you live.”

“Why?” I laughed through some uncontrolled nerves. My goal that day was to avoid going home for as long as possible.

Brendon shrugged. “Sunday afternoon drive. It’s a great neighborhood. And when you mentioned you lived close by, it piqued my curiosity.”

Scraping my teeth along my bottom lip a few times, I nodded slowly. “Okay. We can do a drive-by.”

It took less than three minutes to get to the house. I slowed down, but not much. “That’s it, right there.”

“Wow … wait … slow down. The view from the back has to be spectacular.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Reese.” He laughed. “Seriously, are you not going to stop? Can I see the back of the house?”

“Not a good idea.” I slowed down a little more. Arnie’s Tahoe was gone and the garage doors were shut.

“Why? Because you don’t really live here?”

“What?” I stopped the car. “Of course I live here. You think I’m lying?”

He smirked. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Gah. Fine!” I pulled along the side of the street and hopped out. “Let’s go in back.”

Brendon followed me around to the back of the house.

“Happy now?”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he nodded. His blue eyes bright and the gel in his hair reflecting the sunlight. “Not unless we go inside.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you serious?” He shot back at me.

I couldn’t hide my smile, so I rolled my eyes and led him to the door. “See?” I said as the key fit the lock and I opened the door.

“Yeah, I see. You weren’t lying.” He followed me into the basement. “This is huge. And really nice. When you said you were living in a basement, I think it conjures images of dinky spaces with no light, cobwebs, and a growling furnace. This is by far nicer than any place I’ve ever lived.” He milled around the space, running his fingers along the edge of the pool table. “You play?”

I had used the pool table, just not for pool.

“A little.”

“Then let’s play.” He grabbed two sticks and handed one to me.

Midway through our game, the door upstairs opened and footsteps followed. Brendon shot me a narrowed-eyed glance. Of course, he had to be thinking … who would be coming down the stairs? Surely, I locked the door. Right?

Wrong.

You didn’t lock the door when you secretly hoped your landlord would sneak down with a condom so you didn’t have to stay stuck at an eighty-percent virgin status.

“Hey,” Fisher said coming to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?” I pretended that his uninvited trip downstairs was no big deal.

Was he coming downstairs to take the rest of my virginity? I thought a million things along that line.

“I’m Fisher.” He ignored me and made his way to the pool table with his hand held out for Brendon.

“Brendon.” My non-date friend shook Fisher’s hand. “You have an amazing house.”

“Thanks.” Fisher shot me a quick glance.

I bit my lips together for a second before realizing we were suspended in silence. “Fisher built this house. He’s really amazing.”

“It’s great, man. Really incredible.” Brendon rested the end of his pool stick on the floor and leaned into it casually.

“Thanks,” Fisher said once again while shooting me another glance, this time with his head slightly canted and an unusual look in his eyes. “I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented me on my skills.”

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “Oh? I don’t know about that. Did you …” I dropped my pool stick on the ground with my fidgety hands, and it made an embarrassing clank. “Uh …” I quickly retrieved it. “Did you …” I totally forgot what I was going to say or ask.

“Did I …?”

“Uh … need something?”

The smile that swelled on Fisher’s face was almost too much to handle without wearing more absorbent panties. “Yeah, I needed something, but it can wait until you don’t have company.”

Brendon’s cool expression morphed into something a little more uncomfortable like he sensed a third-wheel feeling.

“Was it about work?” I made an effort to normalize the situation.

“No,” Fisher said slowly, as slowly as he shook his head, as slowly as he made me weak in the knees.

“Did you hear from my mom?”

“No …” He dragged out another long, torturous no.

“Oh … I know. Duh. I was going to show you where water’s getting into the back room.”

Fisher lifted a single brow. I ignored him, handing Brendon my pool stick. “Be right back.” I marched to the back room with Fisher right behind me. As soon as he shut the door, I turned.

“Who’s your friend? Your introduction skills are not up to par. I know his name is Brendon and he likes my house. Care to elaborate now?”

“No. Why did you come downstairs?” I took one step then another toward him, my hands itching to touch him, my eyes disappointed that he was wearing a T-shirt. “Did you bring a condom?”

A half grin formed on his sexy, scruffy face. “No. Give your innocence to Brendon. I’m not in the business of pissing off my friends. And if I were you, I’d look for a new church. The sermon has already worn off. You’re looking for sin just hours after crossing the threshold of the church’s doors.”

“Who’s your friend?” I fisted his shirt, telling my unwise heart to ignore his comment about giving myself to Brendon or his rambling about finding a new church.

“Rory.” He kept his hands to himself and eyed me with caution.

“Rory is your tenant.”

“And my friend.”

“So you thought she’d be good with you only inserting the tip?” I could barely say those words without burning up.

“You’re a temptress. A typical church girl playing the innocent role. You should be truly ashamed.”

“Fisher?”

He waited a second to respond, but when his gaze fell to my lips, I knew I had him. “What?”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Don’t think.”

Wetting his lips as his grin hit full capacity, he said, “I never do when I’m with you.” Then he slid his hand to the back of my neck and kissed me. The knuckles of his other hand brushed my cheek. His touch so gentle—too gentle. It felt different. And maybe it was just my foolish heart hoping for more, but it didn’t feel like a purely physical moment.

“Send your friend home,” he murmured over my lips. “I want you all to myself.”

“I can’t. I have to drive him.” I pulled back, releasing his shirt as he released my neck.

“Did you pick him up at church?”

“His car was pinned in, and we wanted to go to lunch before the crowd flooded the parking lot.”

“A date?”

I started to respond but stopped just as quickly. “Why? Do you have a problem with me dating him?”

Say yes, Fisher. Just please say yes.

He twisted his lips, like his silence twisted my heart. “No.”

Fisher … why?

“Well, it wasn’t a date.” I shoved his chest, forcing him to move out of my way. “But thanks for reminding me how little this means to you.”

“Reese …”

I opened the door, tipped my chin up, and plastered a smile on my face. “Sorry. Problem solved. Now … where were we? Was it my turn?”

“Yes.” Brendon handed me my pool stick as I ignored Fisher’s exit from the utility room.

“Nice meeting you, Brendon. You two have fun.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to hide my slight wince at his words while keeping my back to him.

“Thanks. Nice meeting you too.”

It was really nice that they got along so well. Brendon didn’t want to date me because I was too young for him. And Fisher didn’t want my virginity because he wasn’t in that business anymore. I felt a little rejected.

After Brendon won three games in a row, I drove him back to the church.

“Thanks for lunch. Again, I would have paid for mine.”

He opened his door. “It was my pleasure.” Pausing for a second he narrowed his eyes and lifted his gaze to mine. “What if…” he pressed his lips together, again pausing for a second “…our age difference didn’t really matter? What if we did this again, but we called it a date?”

“A date?” I echoed in a soft tone just before taking a hard swallow. “I … well … maybe we can discuss it next weekend after church.”

“Discuss it?” He laughed a little. “Wow, you really take dating seriously. Since we both have cell phones now, how about we exchange numbers and discuss it this week before church next Sunday?”

I thought about Fisher. Then, I thought about Rory before nodding. With his number and several social media follows, he grinned and closed the door. At any other time in my life, I would have been thrilled to have met Brendon. He was closer to my age. Employed. And he attended church. I also felt certain that he wasn’t a crude talker.

On the way home, I gave myself a pep talk. It involved ignoring Fisher until Monday morning. Eating dinner alone. And going to bed early with a book or my current crossword puzzle.

So much for pep talks …

The second I climbed out of Rory’s car, I marched straight to his front door and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, he opened the door, eyeing me from head to toe before stepping back and silently inviting me into his domain.

“So … you won’t take my virginity.” It felt weird having that conversation because he’d said something so eerily similar to me. “What will you take from me?”

With a contemplative expression that seemed to border on the painful side, he whispered, “Let’s start with your clothes.”

I wondered … I wondered so hard when he made the decision to draw a line. He knew as well as I did that Rory wouldn’t be okay with anything we had done together. It wasn’t just me pushing lines and bending rules to serve my own needs and desires; Fisher did it too.

I just didn’t know why. He could have had Angie or Teagan or a million other women meeting his sexual needs.

Why me?

Why seek something you know you won’t conquer … out of choice?

So many thoughts stirred in my head, but they didn’t stop my hands from sliding my shoulders and arms out of my romper, letting it drop to the floor.

That confused and painful expression remained affixed to Fisher’s face until he met my gaze. Then it vanished, leaving the Fisher I knew all too well.

Cocky.

Confident.

Unapologetically crude.

“Shoes.”

I slipped out of my shoes.

“Bra.”

Reaching both hands behind me, I unhooked my bra and let it slide down my chest and arms. He focused on my bare breasts, on my erect nipples.

After the bra landed on the floor at my feet with my romper, I reached for my panties.

“No.” He inched his head side to side. “Leave them on. Turn that way. And walk slowly to my bedroom.”

There I was, following Fisher off the side of the mountain. Did he know I would do anything for him? Did he know what that meant?

Turning, I feigned confidence and made the slow walk down the hallway to his bedroom.

“Stop.”

I stopped because he told me to stop.

“Turn around.”

I turned around, centered at the threshold to his bedroom.

Fisher took his time making his way to me, slowly peeling off his shirt, leaving him in bare feet and exercise shorts. When he reached the doorway, he pressed his hands to the wood frame. “Put your hands below mine.”

Eyeing his hands for a few seconds, I pressed my hands to the frame. “W-why?”

“Because.” He kneeled in front of me. “Your knees will want to give out soon.” Sliding his hands to the back of my legs, he moved my hips toward his face, stopping with his mouth just above the waist of my panties. “Can I kiss you here?”

I couldn’t speak. Swallowing and breathing heavily became a full-time job. Fisher pressed his mouth to my skin and glanced up at me.

I nodded.

He kissed lower. “Here?”

I nodded, gripping the wood with anticipation. My knees were already weak.

His lips descended another inch or more. There. He was right there. A whooshing sound—a thumping that matched my ever-escalating heartbeat—made it hard to hear anything else.

“Here?”

I barely heard him, but I still nodded.

Fisher pressed a soft kiss over my panties. Then his grip on my legs tightened, and he kissed me a little harder, sucking some of the thin cotton into his mouth. Biting it. And tugging it. Exposing part of my flesh.

Again, he kissed me hard. Sucked. Bit. Tugged.

My panties were no longer covering much. I fought the gullible thoughts tripping over themselves in my head. Thoughts of love and happily ever after’s. Some men showered women with poems and flowers. Maybe oral sex was Fisher’s way of expressing his love. Sadly, my panties between his teeth wasn’t exactly something I could photograph and share with my friends on social media.

#relationshipgoals

#myfirsttime

#LazySunday

#LickIt

We weren’t going public with our relationship anyway because it was ending soon.

“I’m going to fucking devour you,” he said just before his mouth covered my bare flesh.

Just before his tongue parted me.

Just before he hummed.

I was …

Terrified to have his mouth there.

Elated because it felt so good. Too good. Sinfully good.

Confused because it wasn’t sex, but it was sex.

Surely, the look he gave me fell under Rory’s testicle removal threat. Did he think about that? Even once?

All the blood in my body made its way to the exact spot his mouth was on me. And it made it impossible to think or breathe. And yes, it made it really hard to keep from falling to the floor beneath my shaky knees.

“Fisher …” I found a tiny voice to speak one word as my body teetered to the side, my whole forearm resting on the frame as my other hand claimed a large handful of his hair and my knees bowed inward.

It was wrong! I knew it. I just didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to stop it. A prime example of why giving in to temptation was a bad idea. There were points of no return, and I had breezed past mine the second he opened his front door.

Fisher was unrelenting and hungry. He seemed famished. Then he seemed … impatient, ripping my panties down my legs. I released his hair and reached for them, as if they were my last line of defense, even if they weren’t covering anything whatsoever at that point. Did keeping one item of clothing on make it less wrong?

Oops … I didn’t even remove my panties. He accidentally tripped and his mouth just landed there.

Fisher’s hands guided my legs to spread wider before he resumed his oral navigation and, in general, driving me to the edge of passing out or using really bad words.

“This is so wrong …” I mumbled.

In the next breath, he was gone. Well, his mouth was gone.

Fisher stood and chuckled, resting his hands on my hips to guide me backward to his bed while he kissed my neck. “Do you want to stop?”

The back of my knees hit the bed, and I plunked onto my butt.

“We can stop right now.”

Resting back on my elbows, I shook my head. “I just don’t want it to be wrong.”

“Well …” He twisted his lips. “Sorry. I can make it good, but I can’t make it right in your head.”

“I want …” I bit my lip and searched for the right words. “I want it like last night.”

He squinted one eye. “No fucking way.”

Swallowing, I frowned. “I want to …”

Feel like we’re having sex, even if you won’t actually have it with me!

“I want it like last night or … more,” I said with defeat to my voice. At that point, I was already dirty. Would finishing the job before taking a spiritual shower really have made that much of a difference?

“Despite you being naked on my bed, despite you incessantly wetting your lips while staring at my erection …”

Busted!

I cut my gaze straight to his, grinning with admission that he caught me gawking at his tented shorts.

“I’m not taking your virginity. I had a little talk with myself about it, and we—me and my moderately well-honed conscience—decided to pass on the offer. I don’t feel worthy of it.”

“Worthy of it?” I coughed a laugh. “You mean to tell me you’ve never taken someone’s virginity?”

“I didn’t say that.” He grabbed my leg, forcing me onto my back while he brought my foot to his mouth and kissed the pad of my big toe.

“Why? You can’t say that and not have an explanation. Why was it okay then?”

“Because it wasn’t some crowned jewel. It wasn’t a prized possession. There was no hesitation. No chanting ‘this is so wrong.’”

I frowned.

“I can’t give it back, Reese. If or when you have second thoughts or regret, I can’t give it back to you.”

“So you’d rather borrow someone’s used sanitary napkin?”

Dropping my foot to the bed, he ran a hand through his hair. “Um … what?”

I sat up and crisscrossed my legs, covering my breasts in my cupped hands. “My grandma used to say that not having your virginity to give your husband was like borrowing someone’s used sanitary napkin on your wedding night.”

Fisher blinked slowly for several silent seconds. “I … I don’t even know how to respond to that. Were you … raised in a cult? What the fuck? Who says that?”

I winced, feeling a little defensive. It wasn’t that I believed my grandma, but I didn’t like him insinuating that she was crazy or some cult member.

“Listen …” He sighed and took a seat next to me on the bed with his legs dangling off the end. “I haven’t walked in your shoes. So I don’t know what’s been planted into your brain. I liked what just happened in the doorway. It’s that simple for me. I liked it. I’d like to do it again. And I don’t want to feel guilty for being a consenting adult with you. My opinion should mean nothing to you. So while I’d like to tell you to spend more time touching yourself than worrying about going to Hell, it’s not my place.”

After letting his words resonate for a moment, I released my breasts and stood on my knees, swinging one leg over his lap. “Fisher …” I laced my fingers together behind his neck while positioning myself so his cock (covered by his briefs and shorts) was pressed between my legs again, much like the previous night.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, eyeing my mouth while his hands gripped my hips.

“I like how you feel between my legs, naked fisherman.”

“Fuuuck …” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gripping my hips tighter while pushing me down a fraction—pushing into me a fraction.

Cock.

Briefs.

Shorts.

“Yes …” I closed my eyes.

“Don’t say that,” he said with a strained voice and lines of tension along his forehead.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

He prodded me like he, too, knew that point of no return was a mile behind us in a foggy rearview mirror.

My hands ghosted down his back. His hands gripped my butt.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

I spread my legs wider, allowing him to push into me a fraction more.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Each move a little harder.

Each breath a little more ragged, just like his next words.

“I.” Thrust.

“Want.” Thrust.

“Inside of you.” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

“So fucking bad.”

I did too. And while I knew it would be different, that it would be painful the first time, I still wanted it. I wanted it with Fisher. Instead, we were dry humping harder than two people had probably ever dry humped. I swore his cock, briefs, and shorts were halfway in by that point—like a clothes condom—and soaking wet from me … and maybe a little from him too.

“Fisher!” I seethed when he ducked his head and bit my nipple and tugged it like he was trying to rip it off.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

“No.” He released my nipple and grabbed my hand when I reached between us, sliding my hand down the front of his shorts and briefs. “Not a good idea.”

I kissed his neck. “I promise I won’t. I just want to feel you.”

He groaned or grumbled, clearly warring with the decision to stop me or trust me to not cross the next line.

Releasing me, he rested that hand on the bed behind him, chin dipped, watching me slide down the front of his shorts and briefs.

“Make it feel good,” he whispered while a grin stole his lips.

My teeth scraped along my bottom lip as I gathered up as much confidence as I could find. My hand wrapped around the top half of his cock while I rubbed myself along the bottom part. It was so much better than the scratchy fabric.

That day, the naked fisherman taught me how to make it feel good for me and for him at the same time while keeping that eighty percent of my virginity.

I knew it was wrong. I just started to care a little less about its wrongness.

While Fisher showered, I ran downstairs to get my computer. I had several important searches to do.

Is oral sex as morally wrong as intercourse?

What does the Bible say about masturbation?

Can a woman get pregnant if a man ejaculates between her legs without penetration?

That last search sent me into a frenzy. I peed.

Prayed.

Jumped into the shower and put the handheld head between my legs to rid myself of any residual semen.

Prayed again.

Checked my phone for my monthly cycle app to see if I was anywhere near ovulation.

Prayed again.

Dressed.

Sprinted up the stairs.

“YOU CAN GET PREGNANT WITHOUT PENETRATION!”

Fisher closed the refrigerator door, popping the top of a beer and taking a swig, eyeing me intently the whole time. “I’m a guy. I can’t get pregnant.”

“Ugh! Shut up! I’m talking about me.”

Totally relaxed, he perched himself atop one of the barstools. “I came on my own fucking stomach, not anywhere on you. Sperm might be fast swimmers, but I don’t think they jump from one person to another.”

“Fisher! I rubbed against you. My…” I motioned between my legs “…I rubbed against you. And it … you … might have dripped. What if all of it didn’t go onto your stomach? What if a drop or two mixed with my … you know? And you can have SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND sperm in one drop of semen. Did you know that? Because I didn’t.”

Still, he didn’t seem the least bit phased by my concern. “I think the odds are greatly in your favor of not getting pregnant. That would be quite the story.” He chuckled before taking another swig of beer.

“No.” I shook my head a half dozen times. “That would not be quite the story.”

“Are you ovulating?” He stole some of my fire.

No. According to my app, I wasn’t ovulating. But … abstinence was the only certainty. And while we abstained from intercourse—well, full, bare penetration—we didn’t abstain from possibly mixing bodily fluids.

It was like he read my mind … my next train of thought.

“I would have thought you might have been more concerned about STDs than a rogue drop of semen. I know I’m safe with Virgin Therese, but you know I’ve been with other women. Yet you never asked me. Kinda stupid on your part, don’t you think?”

I deflated. I had been stupid. Young and so very stupid.

“I haven’t had unprotected sex … except what just happened with you, since I was last tested. You’re safe. So at least if you’re pregnant, you’ll have one less thing to worry about,” he said.

“Not helpful.”

Fisher grinned. “It’s a little helpful.”

“I’m not ovulating.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was really worried about it.”

“That can’t happen again.”

He set down his beer and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m pretty sure you knocked on my door. And I guarantee you I wasn’t going to get you pregnant with my face between your legs.”

My jaw flapped a few times, but nothing came out.

“Maybe you should think about getting on birth control.”

“What?” My head jerked backward. “I’m not having sex.”

“Reese.” His smile vanished because he was being twenty-eight and I was being … younger. A lot younger.

Stupid.

Naive.

Childish.

I wasn’t stupid. I was scared and disappointed in myself. It was easier to act shocked and offended by his comment than to admit my part in what we did.

“It just …” I admitted my wrongdoing with the change—the defeat—in my tone instead of saying the actual words. “It can’t happen again.”

With a quick half shrug, he reached for his bottle of beer. “Agreed.”

“What if …” I cleared my throat. “Hypothetically, what if I were pregnant?”

“No.” He grunted. “No. We are not doing this. If you come back to me in a few weeks with a positive test, we’ll have this conversation. But I’m not having it now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not.”

“I think it’s irresponsible to not at least have a plan.”

“Me too. If I had a vagina, and I wanted to play peekaboo with the head of a guy’s dick, I’d plan ahead and be on birth control.”

Wow.

That hurt.

Fisher wasn’t just cold about it; he was cruel. Aloof, like he didn’t care about me.

“I’ll see you in the morning, unless I’m driving to the office and we’re not together.”

We’re not together.

It was funny how I managed to say exactly what was on my mind, just in a different context.

“We’re together.”

That hurt too because I knew he meant it completely in the work sense. He let Angie go. He let Teagan go. Why did I think I would be any different?

“Goodnight.”