"Go easy on me, baby. I was still a child. Didn't get the chance to feel the world around me."
Chapter Theme Song: 'Easy on Me' by Adele.
••
Becca
Richie: Becca? (Received 7:08 am)
Richie: Still mad? (Received 7:08 am)
Richie: Becca, answer me. (Received 7:09 am)
Richie: Becca, answer me, please! (Received 7:10 am)
Richie: Becca, come on :( (Received 7:15 am)
Richie: Becs? (Received 8:30 am)
"Girl, you're mad at him because he helped your dad?" Tee narrowed her grey eyes at me, dipping her blue-painted nails in a tin of pretzels. "Why?"
"Because..." I sighed, sitting upright in bed. "One, my father thinks he earned that spot. He thought they looked at his work record and liked how hard he worked. Not because his daughter made out with some boy whose family has good money. I did my research, his uncle owns that company. I just feel like...he should have spoken to me first. It's not his responsibility to give my father a job just like that. He could have said something..."
"I understand. But have you told him all of that?" Tee asked, sucking the salt off her fingers.
"Well...not all of it, but..."
"Then you can't be mad at him." She threw a hand up, dipping again. "He didn't know that's how you feel. Text the boy and tell him."
I'd been ignoring Richie all week. It was now Saturday, and I still wasn't going to text him. He should have said something about it; I hated he kept that a secret from me.
Soon, I heard a horn honking at the gate. Tee and I exchanged glances at the same time, knowing exactly who it was. With my heart beating fast, I climbed off the bed and walked over to the curtain, pulling it away.
"Is it him?" Tee asked hopefully behind me, and I nodded.
Richie climbed out of a black pick-up truck in a white polo shirt and brown khaki pants—looking like the perfect rich boy he was. He sauntered toward my front door, peering down at his cellphone before sliding it into his back pocket. He had on white sneakers with white ankle socks.
"What's he doing?" Tee asked, too excitedly.
He was not planning on...
Then the doorbell rang downstairs, and my heart leaped. "Oh shit," Tee chuckled as I moved to the other side of the window where I could properly see him at the door. It seemed my mom had answered it as he was now gesturing with his hands and smiling.
He was so handsome...
He then nodded, and my stomach leaped when my mom called from downstairs. "Becca?! Come here, baby!"
"Oh, shit!" Tee threw her back against the bed, my pillow cradled at her belly. "If Winston doesn't act like that when I ignore him, I don't want him!"
I sighed and opened the door, making my way down the stairs. Richie was at the door, smiling at my mother as she spoke, smiling too.
At the sound of my footsteps, both heads angled in my direction, and I suddenly couldn't feel the ground I was walking on. Nerves zinged from my toe-points to my head. Richie had stained my living room with his signature smell. Clean clothes and sweet citrus—that was what he always smelled like.
"Oh, Becca! You didn't tell me you made another friend?" Mom said with a gin. Couldn't do a better job at pointing out that I was socially conservative. Richie chuckled, that boyish laughter that always had my cheeks and neck turning warm. He was too hot—made me wonder what he saw in a social piranha.
"Oh, um..." I started, but Richie chimed in:
"How could I forget? I brought this for both you and your husband." He fished into his back pocket and took out two strips of long, white paper. Tickets. "To the Carrolton Show."
My mom squealed.
The Carrolton Show was an event hosted by a long-time local music group. They started out in the seventies and were active until the early two-thousands. Now every year they did short, little series of performances at the Downtown Theatre Centre. My parents always wanted to attend, but just couldn't find it within them to spend money on it. How did Richie even know this? I tried to recall if I had mentioned it that night at the party, but I don't think I did. Or was it all just a coincidence? Most adults in our area loved the show.
Then Dad finally stepped out of his study cave for the day. His footsteps sounded against the stairs as he made his way down, still clutching his office books under his arm. My father was obsessed with working so much, it worried me.
"Oh, Ben! You're gonna love this. Becca here, brought a new friend, and he so lovingly got us tickets to the Carrolton show!" Mom gushed, and I shuffled on my feet, embarrassed.
My parents made it seem as though me making another friend, meant the world would end. They didn't quite fancy Tee. They said she was too...open. "She stands for nothing." Dad would say, "And people like that are easily influenced. Is she smoking pot?"
"Lovely, you are?" Dad asked as he came to a stop in front of Richie. He had on his fatherly armor—the type that implied: "are you having sex with my daughter?"
Sex? No. Making out behind mailboxes in black Honda Accords? Maybe.
"Richie." He left his last name off as he took my dad up in a handshake. "I'm Becca's friend. Presumably soon-to-be-boyfriend."
I covered my face. "Oh my God."
Dad laughed. "Say what now?"
Mom chuckled and pocketed the tickets, rubbing her husband's shoulder. "It's fine. They're young. Let them explore. You just go upstairs and find something to wear tonight. We aren't missing this show."
Dad sighed, as my gaze caught Richie's. His eyes softened as he tried to tell me he was sorry with them. I looked away.
"I have work, Sasha. Come on..."
"Work on a Saturday?" Richie asked, looking at me then back at my dad. He looked confused. Anyone would be. My father worked on public holidays. On Christmas, New Year's Eve. One time he even had his laptop next to the turkey at Thanksgiving.
"My husband loves his job," Mom said, but I heard the frustration in her voice. As though she were waiting for an outsider to bring it up. "He works twenty-four eight."
"That's 'cause I'm good at what I do," Dad boasted, then surprised everyone when he nudged Richie's arm with his elbow. "Hey, son, you should know that I got a great job offer the other day. Assistant Manager of the Department of Sales..."
Mom pushed her lips up with feign annoyance, smiling while she did.
My hands sweated, and I crossed my arms against my chest. My eyes met Richie, who was only looking at my Dad. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, magnificent, huh? If that doesn't freakin' prove how good at my job I am, I don't know what does!"
Richie realized that I hadn't told him anything and brought his eyes to me. His brows furrowed slightly, and his lips parted in comprehension.
"Well, that's that. Go get dressed," Mom patted Dad's arm, "And Richie. How'd you get these two tickets? VIP ones at that? I thought they were already sold out?" She flipped one of them. "And it says you got it this morning?"
"Oh, um, I have my ways." He smiled, looking awkward as I studied him.
"Your ways?" Mom squinted her eyes playfully as though saying: you didn't steal these, did you, kid?
Richie could tell as he laughed. "No, ma'am."
••
We sat in his car, outside of my house in silence.
"Are you still mad?" He asked quietly.
The sun was slowly setting in the distance, an orange blanket falling over the scheme, slim, paler rays drifting along the windshield. I focused on where Mr. Crowberry was feeding his dogs across the block.
I crossed my arms. "Obviously..."
I was so mad I hadn't gone back up to change my clothes. I was still wearing my white tank top with faded red flowers and my blue short shorts. I had never looked this average next to him.
Richie smiled as though my anger was funny and shifted in his seat to face my body. "I am sorry, Becca. I only wanted you to feel better. The other night, when you said you were worrying about your dad, I stayed up all night wondering what I could do for you...I should have asked first, and I'm sorry."
I jerked my legs and my knees bumped together. That hurt, but I didn't show it.
"And I think the reason I didn't say anything was that I knew you would not have liked it. I knew you'd say no. So, I went ahead and did it...because I just wanted to make things better..."
His voice had fallen, and I stole a peek at him, finding him staring off in the distance. His eyes looked a little shiny, so much I could see my reflection, and his lips were squeezed tight. He looked ashamed.
I sighed. "You didn't do anything bad..." I turned my face ahead of me. "It's just...my family's issues are not your responsibility. I don't want you thinking it's alright to give them things."
"So, giving the tickets was wrong too?"
I shook my head. "It wasn't. But...the tickets are alright, but the whole job thing was a bit far-fetched. I mean, it was kind of you, but I wish you had said something. My father thought he got the job off his own performance and hard work. I'd hate to make it seem like I had a hand in it. As you can see, I didn't tell him anything. I just don't know how to tell him I got him a job by making out with you..."
"Becca," Richie sounded shocked. "He didn't get the job because I kissed you."
"Oh yeah? Then why'd you kiss me then?" I turned my face to him, staring head-on.
Richie stared back at me, then he looked away and laughed. "Becca," he started in disbelief, "I kissed you because I like you. Because I want to be with you."
"Well, you never said that." I blushed red, looking away and at my shorts.
"I thought you knew."
"How?" I turned my eyes to him, my heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his.
"Because it's the new-age. When a boy and girl kiss, it's pretty self-explanatory what it means, Becks. Automatically, they are dating..."
"No..." I shook my head.
He laughed and pointed his eyes back to me. "What?"
"That's not how it goes," I chuckled. "What age do you live in?"
He grinned and chewed on his plump bottom lip.
"Fine," he said after we'd been sitting there and staring at each other for a long time. "I'll make it official then..."
He leaned in and brushed my hair behind my ear. I stared up at him, probably flushing the reddest I'd ever flushed before. His eyes looked as though there were stars in them, as he pointed them at my agape lips. Now, I kind of wished I had gone up and fixed myself up a little. His gaze was like laser beams, burning every inch of my skin they landed on.
"I like you, Becks...and I wanna be with you." Closing the small space between us, he placed his soft lips on top of mine. This kiss was softer, gentler than the first time. It was as though the first kiss was a trial and this was the full deal. Though slower and more relaxed, I think it more brought along the message that Richie Moscow, did in fact, want me. The same way that I wanted him.
When our lips broke apart slowly, both our mouths dented and red, I looked up into his eyes. His lips pulled back into a smirk, eyes twinkling like there were really stars inside of them. "Was that a little clearer?"
I smiled and nodded. Oh, it was.
••
"There he is, there he is!"
The night was cold, some hours young, and Tee couldn't stop yelling at the top of her lungs, almost bouncing over the boy next to her. The lad scrunched his face and scooted away, and I gave him an apologetic gaze, to which he just smiled and shook his head.
"Tee. Calm down. Are you gonna act like this every single time you make out Winston?" I said, tilting my head away so my cheering friend wouldn't smack me square in the nose.
She, presumably, hadn't heard a word I said as she was too busy screaming out her heart and soul. Our school had just scored the fourth time in a row. Presumably, it was Richie who had made the goal, which meant they had won that Friday night's game against Stanford High. From up here, on the bleachers, Richie looked a lot bulkier, a lot older in his white and red protective helmet, thick, broad shoulder pads, and his jockstrap—I could relate to how overwhelmed Tee must have felt seeing Winston in the gear. Richie looked...really attractive.
Boys in their red and white and blue football duds friskily jogged over to smother him for the win, lifting him into the air in victory as he roared, pumping a fist to the sky. When the crowd shuffled away and allowed me to get a glimpse of a now standing Richie, Winston was leaning into his ear and pointing up to the gathering of people. Their coach was saying something to them, but they were already hurrying off to where the bleachers were.
"Oh my God. They're coming!" Tee laughed.
Richie climbed over the metal rails, dodging little grabs and holds from girls while he did. Smitten heads followed him as he made his way up to us. Shyly, I chewed on my lip as his lips separated in a toothy smile.
"Hey," he grinned and leaned over, kissing me on the mouth. Faces of shock and intrigue surrounded us, and my hand shook from nerves, but I felt less anxious when Winston went over to kiss Tee, who had reacted to the affection quite differently. Dad was right, she really was open—even with her relationship. I, on the other hand, wasn't good with the public affection. But I had to get used to it, if I was dating the notorious Richie Moscow.
The game was over, and Chris announced that they all were going to Tinco's diner to hang out. We sat at one of the back booths. Winston and Tee were making out. Chris and some girl were playing around while he tried to slip his hand under her skirt. And some of their other friends were laughing and making jokes. Richie was strangely engrossed in his cellphone, and I sat there, feeling a little cold. The A/C was too high.
And I was getting bored. But luckily, Richie got bored with whatever he was staring intently at and slipped his phone into his jeans pocket. "Aren't you guys going to order? Call one of those waiters over." He put his arm around me, and I melted.
Attention at last...
"Yo! Knuckle-head!" Chris called out, and everyone started laughing. Even Tee. I wasn't, when I noticed who it was. Mason, my mom's friend's son. He was wearing the red and white Tinco uniform with a plaid cap. His green eyes darted to our table where he stood behind the till, the white ceiling lights reflecting off his glasses. He made his way over to us with that bored look he always seemed to wear.
"Move a little faster, knuckle-head!" Chris carried on, and I didn't like it.
Richie laughed and tossed the red table linen into Chris's face. To which he dramatically groaned and pretended he was dead. The girl next to him giggled, fixing her bra.
"Good evening," Mason began, and his eyes landed on mine. Should I say hi? But he cut his eyes off as though I didn't exist. Right, we weren't friends. "What can I get you guys?"
Everyone made their order, and Mason wrote it down swiftly and went to fetch them. When he came back, faster than I thought he would, Chris made a joke about how he moved like a snail. I frowned, and Richie narrowed his eyes.
"Shut the fuck up, Chris. Not everyone's parents wear polo shorts and sit on their shriveled asses playing golf all day. Have some fucking respect!"
Mason, not caring much for the defense, turned and walked back to the till, while I felt as though I had fallen even more in love with Richie Moscow.
Chris pursed his lips, and the table fell quiet.
I looked at Richie, who'd started on his burger, his tongue coming out to sweep the mustard off his lips. A smile pulled at my lips. I liked that.
••
"I'm shy, Richie!" I complained. "What if they don't like me?"
"Jesus Christ, who could not like you, Becks? You're damn pretty, funny...come on, a person would be damn out of their mind not to like you." He pulled me into his side as we made our way up his cemented pavement. I hadn't been back here, at his house, since his party a couple of nights back. Now I was back for the first time since then—but to meet his parents. God, what was I thinking agreeing to this?
Was I their idea of a potential daughter-in-law? I didn't consider myself the prettiest. I had black, wavy hair, big brown eyes that tended to make me look permanently frazzled. Thick lips with a permanent scar at the corner where I'd busted my mouth as a baby, and I had gap teeth. My skin could get nasty in the summer, as I also had trouble with pimples when the days got too hot. But I was good at my academics, and I was in the school band as well as the book club. That'd look great on my college applications. But that was college. I didn't know what'd look great on a meeting-the-parents application.
"Becca. You're dating me. Not my parents. You shouldn't care what they think. Come on, you know that."
I didn't. My father's mom didn't like my mom, and she gave them hell because of it. I'd hate to star out a Bollywood series where the parents despise the girl their son wants to marry.
Marry? Woah! Hadn't even made it to second base, Becks.
"Alright, I guess I understand." He said, rubbing my shoulder. "But my folks are actually really cool people. Don't worry, they won't be unwelcoming."
Of course, I didn't want to be here, but Richie had been spending a whole lot of time with my folks. My parents had warmed up to him. He helped mom with baking, which he was surprisingly good at. And then he had a whole advise about a new product dad was looking to implement. He spoke so fluently, so educated that my father couldn't help but like him. I couldn't help wondering if Richie had gotten those marketing advice from his Uncle's study files. But I didn't ask. It'd have probably stirred up those long-time feelings of how angry I was that he never told me. We were doing so well, and I didn't want to mess that up by being petty.
And then I didn't want to be reminded of how my father had actually gotten the job. Alongside the fact that I was yet to tell him.
Bleh.
So here I was, throwing myself into the lion's den. For Richie. He deserved it. He had been good to me and my family. He was the perfect boyfriend, and everyone loved him. My parents, Tee—everyone. Even the mere strangers we came in contact with. Girls fawned over him, boys watched him as though he was the latest trend they wanted to imitate. I got lucky; I felt like I did.
Richie wrung the doorbell, and the door soon opened to reveal a man. He was the living replica of Richie. Only, his hair was black, so I supposed Richie got the dirty blonde hair from his mother. The man stood 6ft something with an intimidating tenor. His ears were decked with black earrings, and he was no doubt, handsome.
I stood overwhelmed by his features until he stretched out a hand for me to take. "Why, who's this pretty lady?"
Richie stood smiling his face off, looking proud. "Becca Rose."
"Wow. Beautiful name..." His father said and leaned down to plant a kiss on my knuckle. I was caught off-guard and looked over at Richie to see what his reaction was. He was still grinning, hands in his trousers pocket, rocking back and forth on his feet—it felt as though his father's reaction and approval were everything to him. I'd never seen him looking this bright. But yet he said it didn't matter what they thought of me? It mattered. It sure did.
"I'm Richard Moscow, Becca, call me Rich or Richie," he said as he released me, and Richie laughed loudly.
"How can she? I'm already Richie, remember?"
His father chuckled. "Shit, yeah!" His teeth were white, sparkling under the patio lights, and I joined in since they were both laughing. "Totally forgot. Why the hell did I name him Richie?" He mused to me, "Now I don't have a damn nickname."
I chuckled as he put his big arm around me, leading me inside the house. I glanced back at Richie, who was smiling widely and biting his lip.
A lady in a white blouse and a black skirt shut the door behind us as a voice came from what seemed like the dining room. "Maybe Chard?! That could work?"
Richard laughed, and Richie shook his head with a smile as we broke the corner of the wall. A woman stood at the table, fixing the linen with a wide beam on her face. Her hair was long and blonde. His mom.
"Chard sounds like the name of a fucking cheese brand," Richie said, and I flinched at the curse word. But his father laughed and patted his back.
"Shut up. Pull out a chair for the lady."
Richie sent me a smile as he drew out one of the dinning chairs, and I sat there, smiling as I pulled it closer to the table.
"Lizan?" He gestured to the woman who'd closed the door earlier. "Let's get the food rolling."
••
Richie had been right. His parents were too cool. They spent the whole time talking about their jobs and Richie as a kid. I got a few genuine laughs but faked a few too. Okay, a bunch. I faked a bunch too. It made me melt when Richie slipped his hand underneath the table and covered my hand, resting them on his thigh.
"So, what are your plans for college?" His mother asked. She was beyond beautiful. With sparkling blue eyes and perfectly arched eyebrows. But I suspected she had a nerve issue. Her hand kept shaking the entire time. And sometimes she'd look off, sort of far away, especially whenever her husband would speak. I got the impression she was afraid he'd say something offensive? I wasn't sure. Oftentimes, I would find myself getting nervous whenever Richie would come over to my place and we were all having dinner. My mom had a tendency to bring up embarrassing stuff.
"Well, um, I'll be attending college," I said confidently, and his mom raised her brows, impressed, as she slid a fork of pasta into her mouth.
"Woah, nice. What are you planning on studying?" Richard asked, taking a sip of his champagne.
"Um...medicine."
Both of their brows shot up now.
"You want to be a doctor?" His mom asked, and I smiled.
"I guess?"
"You guess?"
"Her family wants her to be a doctor," Richie chimed in, using his tongue to clean the food from the corner of his mouth. "But honestly...I think she should just be what she wants." He took a drink of his champagne.
"Yeah. Being a doctor is good and all, but if you don't like it, then it doesn't make any sense," his father added, and I automatically began to feel comfortable.
I smiled a little wider. "I think that's true."
"Oh, it is." His father chuckled, just as his wife's hand went forward to reach for a stick of carrot.
"Do do that that, Caroline, use a fork," Richard roared, and I saw the mother's hand shoot back so fast, she bounced over the glass of red wine next to her plate. It splashed all over her white sequin dress, and she stood up fast. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry."
Richard cast a look in her direction, brows furrowed tightly, his mouth squeezed tight. His profile had changed from that soft undertone, and he now looked a thousand times scarier. Richie kept sawing his meat, impassively, as though nothing was happening, while Caroline looked as though she was about to shake out of her shoes. The waitress came by quickly to clean up the mess, while Richard swallowed grimly, just watching and watching his wife.
Then when the lady left, he said, "Go upstairs and get some rest. You look tired."
Caroline swallowed, and there was a freakish look in her eyes as she nodded. "Okay..." She smiled and looked at me. "I hope you enjoy the rest of the night, Becca. I spilled all over my dress, so I'm going to go up to get changed. Then I might have to get some rest as I'm not feeling so good. I'll see you another time."
Richard nodded and briefly smiled my way, sorting his vegetable side with his fork.
"Okay, no problem," I smiled genuinely. "It was really nice meeting you."
"It was nice meeting you too..." She walked around the table and placed a swift kiss on my cheek. Then one on Richie's.
"Good night, mom," he said as she made her way towards the long staircase.
Richard sighed. "Well, eat up, Becca." He smiled.
I sat upright and finished up my meal.
••
After dinner, I stood in the hallway that led to Richie's room, staring up at the pictures posted on the walls. Pictures with Richie's mom, his dad, and some other people I was yet to meet. The one that stood out to me was the picture with a little Richie, dressed in a dinner suit, standing between his two parents. He looked so serious, a bit angry, and it made me smile. His parents supposedly hadn't given him what he wanted that day or he was just not up for the picture taking.
"What are you looking at?" A voice came from behind, and I craned my neck to look up, smiling as Richie leaned down, planting a kiss on my lips. He hugged me from behind.
"You. You look so angry here..." I giggled, and he laughed.
"Angry, mm?" His lips landed on the side of my neck, and I chuckled.
Then I felt it. For the first time ever. It poked against his dinner pants with a weight, I couldn't miss. My cheeks burned, and my lips parted as he squashed me closer to his body.
"Wanna see my room?" He asked quietly. His voice was thick and hoarse.
And without thinking, I nodded.
"Come here..." He pulled away to clasp my hand in his, pulling me with him down the hall. The farther we went, the darker it became as the lights from the living room were now becoming hidden by this huge wall, smothered between two tall pillows.
He opened the door to his room and pulled me inside of it, closing the door behind us. I'd never been inside his room before. On the night of the party, I didn't come up here. His king-sized bed took up the majority of the space, but not all. There was still room to amply move about. His floor was covered with a lush grey carpet. And everything was either navy blue, grey, or black.
I turned to him, as he stared at me in the dark. His eyes were shiny, glowing in the gloom, and I couldn't feel my feet anymore.
Richie slowly approached me, and I stared up at him, unable to move. Placing his forehead on mine, he held my waist and pulled me closer to him. I felt it again, so much bigger than before.
"Richie..." I muttered.
"I want you, Becca..." He whispered, and I lost my breath.
He leaned in and kissed me. Slowly. Parting my lips with his and sliding his tongue inside. We made out for two full minutes before he gripped the straps of my dress and slid them along my arm. The silky fabric sagged and spilled down my tummy, exposing the pink bra I was wearing. Richie's eyes took me in, making me feel a tad insecure, and I almost gathered my dress to cover myself with it. Laser beam eyes. My skin heated under his gaze. And then his pink lips parted and he sucked a breath in.
"You're so beautiful, Becca."
He curled his fingers in the bunch of my dress and slid the fabric all the way down. It dropped in a pool at my feet, and Richie's eyes slid down to my white panties with the pink bow on the band. It had a lace layer at the front, down where my privates were, and on the waistband. Richie's mouth parted, and I could tell he was blushing from the moonlight streaming through the window.
"Wow..." Was all he said, and I flushed. I had never been seen this way by a guy before.
He closed the last space which was left, and his hand moved down between us. With his eyes on mine, he cupped me over my panties. I gasped and gripped his shoulders.
"You're wet, Becca..."
With flushed, parted lips, and desire-filled, freakish eyes, all I could do was stare into his face as he rubbed me between my legs. It felt deliciously good. So good that my legs buckled from underneath me. Richie groaned and placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me so that I straddled his waist. He placed me on the bed, on my back, and spread my legs.
I'd never felt this...open. Richie sat up on his knees over me, peeling his dinner jacket off his shoulders and throwing it aside. He started on the last button of his white dress shirt, and when he shrugged it off his shoulders, his stomach tattoos caused the butterflies to reawaken in my abdomen. He was lean, but very muscular. His shoulders were a bit broad, his waist small, and he had an impressive six-pack. My throat ran dry just looking at him, and for a moment, I wondered if I was in a movie. Because only in movies and books do weird girls get lucky with boys like Richie Moscow.
It was my turn to say: Wow.
But I didn't say it.
He hooked his fingers under the waist of my panties, and I breathed through my mouth. Blushing like a tomato, I gripped his hands and wiggled.
"Your parents..."
"Trust me, they won't come to my room. This house is big, they won't hear us. And if even if they do...who cares?"
I did. It'd be so embarrassing.
I released him and allowed him to peel my panties off my thighs. My heart was hitting against my ribcage. He put it somewhere and held my knees, spreading my legs.
My hands went up to cover my eyes.
"Jesus, Becca..." I heard him say, and then the bed moved underneath me.
I felt something wet against me and gasped, dropping my head to see Richie's head of hair between my legs.
"Richie..."
I didn't need to look to know what he was doing. He was kissing me there, and though it made me self-conscious, I couldn't fight the feeling it gave me. Warmth built in my tummy, and I gripped the sheets, shivering. "Oh my God..."
I couldn't believe it. He didn't do it for too long, though. As soon as I started to shake uncontrollably, he quickly sat up and fumbled with his pants. He dragged out his bedside drawer and ripped a shiny foil packet with his teeth. I was in the clouds, unable to think straight. But I saw how erected he was when he pulled down his pants. Not all the way off, just to wear his butt was. I had never seen anything like that in all my life. He rolled the rubber on impatiently, and his belt buckle jingled as he lowered himself between my legs.
He latched his lips on mine, and then he rammed the head of himself against my opening. I cried out into his shirtless chest, my body shaking from pain. "Richie, stop!" I almost screamed.
He tried to push harder, and I thumped his chest. "I said stop!"
He stilled, breathing hard as he propped himself up on his hands. He looked down at me, his lips wet and parted, his brows furrowed.
Tears wet my cheeks.
"Becca? Are you okay?"
"It hurts," I said, my hands shaking.
"I'm sorry..." He kissed my forehead. "I know you're a virgin. I should have been gentler."
I swallowed the burn in my throat, sniffling.
"I'm so sorry, baby. Try again?"
I nodded. "Be gentle..."
"I know..." He peppered open-mouthed kisses on my trembling lips as he pressed himself farther inside of me. I gasped. He started moving in and out, at a gentler pace. It burned like crazy, but it slowly started to soothe the more he went back and forth.
Soon, it started feeling kind of good.
Richie and I kissed while he moved above me, gradually going faster each time. He stopped to take his pants all the way off, his manhood bobbing against his stomach as he did. It was wet and shiny and swollen. He planted his mouth on mine again and re-entered me. I whimpered slightly at the pain, and he hushed me by kissing my lips.
"Oh, God. This is perfect, Becca..." he said, and I agreed, wrapping my sweaty arms around his waist. "So good, Becca. So good..."
The bed screeched as he moved, and none of us cared about his parents anymore. He reached a hand between us and started stroking that bundle of nerves. It soothed the pain from his hard motions, and my toes curled. A pleasurable sensation grew in my pelvis, spreading all over my body. I groaned and moaned as my body shook violently underneath him.
"Oh, Becks..." His brows furrowed, and then his lips fell apart. Something warm filled the rubber and the muscles in his arms stood up. He groaned as his head lolled forward, and I realized. He had just orgasmed. After a time, he rolled over onto his back, sweating.
And I stared up at the ceiling, unable to believe what just happened, shock settling in. Did I just give him my virginity? I didn't regret it, but the blood on the sheets was almost traumatic.
"Did you like it?" He asked after a second.
I chuckled, because aside from the burn and the blood on my thighs: "I did..."
••
"Thanks for taking me home..." I said, suddenly feeling immensely shy around Richie. After what we did at his house, twice in his room, it was hard not to flush whenever I tried to talk to him.
He could tell. He chuckled and gripped my hand as I was about to exit the car. "Where are you going, mm?"
"Inside?" I asked, confused.
He grinned, salivating his lips. "Inside with my kiss?" He mused, and I grew anxious as he leaned in and pressed his lips on mine. He brushed my hair back and tilted my head so he could slip his tongue inside my mouth. When he moved away, my eyes fluttered open as I sighed through my lips.
"Sleep tight, Becs. Have really sweet dreams about me..." That had to be his favorite thing to say. And it had to be my favorite thing to hear.
I smiled. "Good night." I climbed out of his car and closed the door. Richie waited until I was on my porch step before he drove away down the street, past the unlit community park, and through the narrow thoroughfare that led to the main road. I liked watching until he got there.
When I opened the door to my house, my parents were on the couch watching a movie and laughing.
"Oh, you're back?! How was the dinner?!" Mom called out, but I was already climbing the stairs two at a time, unable to answer her question. I chased into my room at the speed of light, shut the door behind me, and leaned my back against it. His kiss was still on my lips, his touch was still all over my body. I didn't want to shower to rub him off, but I was aching between the legs.
So, I ran the bath and sat in the tub. The water soothed the pain, and I smiled up at the ceiling. Feeling as though I was at my peak of happiness.
I didn't really like the sex, to be frank, but I did like him.