All for one. One for all.

Wait for the fireworks; the accusations.

He soon became aware that her eyes were open, that she was watching him and what he was doing for her.

He lay the towel over that hair above her vulva to cover her and to try and catch the rest of him, leaking from her again, hoping she would not detect that; draping his sweatshirt; damp but warm, over her breasts to provide her some additional measure of modest protection if she needed it, and looked into her eyes. She seemed so relaxed, but only for a few moments and then the look changed to one of confusion.

How much had she been conscious of? He was not sure what he saw reflected in those large, innocent eyes that drew him into her body in a different way than he just had been. This was even more personal for him if that were possible.

Her face was flushed, and she was unable to speak, but words were not necessary.

What he’d done to her, twice now, had been heaven enough for any man, but this, looking deep into her eyes and seeing her unguarded inner-self revealed to him, was much more emotionally stimulating. His neck and his ears were on fire and he felt as though he would devolve into nothing more than a gibbering i***t if he looked any deeper with what he could see there, but he could not tear his eyes away from hers.

She would soon know, feel, what he had done to her. He waited for the outburst, or the heart-rending tears with her feeling, knowing exactly what he’d done to her, making him ashamed to think of it as he tried to explain it, but she said nothing.

The silence dragged on for too long.

He wanted to apologize, to prostrate himself, to grovel as he looked up at her and tried to smile, while expecting a flood of vitriol and even violence as he tried to explain; as much as he dared tell her while saying nothing of his having r***d her, except it hadn‘t been that, although technically it had been. She’d not given her permission, and he had not asked. How could he?

If she said it was r**e, or felt that it was, then it was r**e.

Instead of complaints and accusations, she reached out to him, her hand touching his as he wiped that warm cloth over her body, but not to stop him, to direct him to where she got comfort and relief from what he was doing for her. Was she forgiving him for his weakness? Impossible. He paused.

“What…?” She seemed to be asking for some kind of explanation. But of what? Was she asking about the collision, and them falling; or him going into her even unintentionally if she recollected any of it or had been conscious of it?

He would tell her the less difficult part of it first, and sidetrack her with that, as his sperm continued to dribble from her. He was still breathless, and his face was flushed. How would she not know all of it?

He began. “We collided as I came out of the bathroom and we fell together as we bumped heads.” He’d better not tell her any more, about what other parts had collided too, but would wait for her more pointed questions as she analyzed what she was feeling down there; her accusations; her swearing at him as she dissolved into tears making him feel like a complete heel for having violated her once she detected what he’d done.

“I am sorry for hurting you as I did, but it was unavoidable when we fell together. We caught each other off-guard.”

He remembered what he was still doing, wiping over her with that cloth.

“What I am doing now, is tending to the contusions on your body (and struggling with his damned conscience). You are injured in some way. You must have done that before you came here.”

She still didn’t seem to know where she was, or what he’d done to her. She would certainly be able to feel what he’d done to her when she gave it enough thought. A woman did not entertain that insistent and obvious weapon on a man for the first time and not know about it.

She blushed, but she was unable to look away from him, seeing for almost the first time that not only was he almost totally naked and still breathing in a labored way, but that he was still aroused behind that material of his shorts and that, kneeling as he was between her legs, he was too close to her there; poised, threatening. But for his shorts…?

“You were naked…before, when I first saw you, and as you bumped into me!”

That was all she said, looking at him as though she could not reconcile that first image of him with this one, now that he was covered. There was an interval of time she could not account for, and why did she hurt so much down there?

She may never have seen a naked man before, and that was the image of him that had stayed with her. She was blushing, and uncomfortable with what she’d first seen, but she did not retreat deeper onto the settee, and curl up defensively to keep him away, and out of her. Her eyes; the way she looked at him, her entire demeanor told him that his earlier assumption about her had been wrong.

He tried to explain, wondering why he felt the sudden need to explain anything. “I was getting ready to shower when I came out of the bathroom and bumped into you. I’d been out for my evening run and had just returned, and I was as wet as you were.”

That made sense to her. He’d been running through the woods after dark with his flashlight, but he couldn’t run in daylight when there were girls everywhere on those trails, either running, or on their bikes, and dreaming of being waylaid by a man, even him, or to do the waylaying themselves.

She’d overheard them. They talked about it enough. They had known that a man ran those trails late in the evening. They had even glimpsed him, tried to catch up to him, but couldn’t. They were in love with him, or so they thought, and wanted him to see them and pay them attention, make love to them, but they were never so polite in their expression of what they wanted from him other than to lose their virginity again and again; the first few times not counting. They didn’t have a clue about love, any more than she did. Until now.

She closed her eyes as though to blot out what she was sensing, and her hand dropped unconsciously to her body where the towel was, as she tucked it closer into herself, possibly because of the tickling sensation of him leaking down over her cheeks, or because of tenderness after what he’d done. He hoped she did not touch herself more intimately and notice that she had been changed, or discover any blood, or just how wet she was, and with what. If she did, she would know…. Though her not doing that in her discomfort, would be too much to expect.

If he pushed that towel closer, it would soak up enough, that she might not detect him leaking from her if she did check.

“Are you alright?” He was suddenly very concerned for her.

Apart from her heaving chest, he could not sense any emotion until she opened her eyes again or responded in some way he could understand.

She did not respond. She was undoubtedly still analyzing her feelings and what she knew had happened to her.

He leaned closer and caressed her face, using both hands to touch her as delicately as he would hold a baby bird that had fallen from its nest.

“I am truly sorry for hurting you.”

She still did not respond, so he leaned in closer and kissed her on her lips again—he couldn’t help himself, trying to elicit some other response from her—revealing too much of his own sudden feelings for her.

Her eyes widened in shock at the suddenness of what he had just done; that kiss.

He should have stayed in her body as he’d wanted to, let her detect for herself what they were still sharing, and let her rip into him then, as he tried to explain what had happened and why, and why it was still happening and why he didn’t want it ever to stop.