Never the Good Girl

Into the Fire

"f**k. f**k. Fuck."

The word spills out of me before I can stop it. My face is burning so hot with shame that I actually want to die. I wish the floor would just open up and swallow me whole. What the hell was I thinking?

"I'm sorry," I blurt out, already sliding off the stool so fast I almost trip. "I'm so sorry. Forget I said anything. Please… just forget it."

I grab my bag so fast I almost tip my drink over. The whole bar feels like it’s spinning. The music is still loud, people are still laughing, and everything looks totally fine, except for me. I run for the door, my heart beating so hard it feels like it’s going to explode.

"Lady….. wait!"

I can hear him calling after me, but I don’t even look back. I just bolt through the door into the cold night air, gasping like I’ve been underwater. The parking lot is dim, with these long, creepy shadows stretching out under the streetlights. Where the f**k are my keys? I’m frantically digging through my bag, but my eyes are so blurred from crying that I can’t see a damn thing.

"Hey… hey, stop!"

A hand catches my wrist. I spin around, yanking my arm free.

"I'm sorry!" I choke out. I can't stop the tears. "I shouldn't have said it. I thought… I thought maybe I was still beautiful. But he was right. Everything Fred said is true. Oh God, I'm so useless I can't even get a stranger to want me…."

"Stop." His voice is firm, but it's not mean. He steps closer, holding his hands up like he's trying not to scare a stray cat. "You don't need to apologize. Are you okay? What's going on? I was just… I was shocked. That's all."

I shake my head, backing up until my spine hits my car door. "He's right. I'm undesirable. I'm boring. I'm—"

"Who the f**k told you that?" His voice gets sharp now, and I see a flash of real anger in his eyes. "You're a beautiful woman. If you didn't notice, I saw half the guys in that bar staring at you the second you walked in."

I stare at him through my wet lashes, my chest heaving. "Then why did you say no?"

"Say no?" He lets out a short, frustrated laugh. "Am I crazy? Who would say no to you? I just didn't want you making a choice you'd hate yourself for in the morning. I thought you were just drunk and hurting."

The way he says it feels like a hand on my cheek. It's the first kind thing a man has said to me in years.

"Believe me," I whisper, "I made the worst decision of my life five years ago. Nothing tonight could ever be worse than that."

I reach behind me, pull the handle, and slide into the backseat of my car. My heart is hammering so hard it actually hurts. I leave the door wide open. It's an invitation, but mostly, it's a plea. I don't want to be alone.

He stands there for a long time. I watch his face as he weighs everything up. He looks at the bar, then back at me, then exhales slowly.

"There's a hotel right behind the bar," he says quietly. "It's your call."

I nod once and get out of the car.

We walk the short distance in total silence. He doesn't grab me, but his hand is hovering right at the small of my back, like he's making sure I don't trip. He pays for the room in cash at the front desk. The lady behind the glass doesn't even look up.

The room is simple. Soft lamps, clean white sheets, and that faint smell of lavender cleaner. The door clicks shut, and suddenly, the silence feels huge.

He turns to me, his voice dropping low. "Are you sure about this?"

My hands are shaking, but I look him right in the eyes. "Yes."

He steps closer, moving slow. "We can stop whenever you want. You just have to say the word."

I nod again. I can't even find my voice.

He cups my face with both hands. His thumbs are so gentle as he brushes away the last of my tears. And then he kisses me.

It's nothing like Fred's kisses. Fred always kissed me like he was doing me a favor, or like he was bored. This man kisses me like he's tasting me for the first time and wants to memorize it. I melt into him, my fingers fisting in his shirt because my knees feel like they're about to give out.

He walks me backward until my legs hit the bed and I sit. He kneels between my thighs, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my neck, his lips trailing fire down to my collarbone. “Every inch of you.”

His hands slide under my hoodie, his warm palms skimming my ribs, lifting the fabric slowly. When my bra is exposed he pauses, his thumbs brushing the lace.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

He unhooks it with careful fingers and lets it fall. Then he looks at me like I’m something precious. “God, look at you.”

He lowers his mouth to one breast, his tongue circling the n****e before drawing it in. His hand cups the other, his thumb rolling the peak until I’m gasping. He switches sides, taking his time, murmuring praise against my skin.

“So beautiful… so perfect…”

His free hand drifts lower, fingers tracing the waistband of my leggings. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not.”

He peels them down with my underwear in one slow motion. I’m bare before him, exposed, but he doesn’t rush. He kisses the inside of my thigh, then the other, working inward until his breath ghosts over my center.

When his tongue finally touches me, I cry out in surprised pleasure. He licks slow circles around my c**t, then dips lower, tasting me like I’m dessert. Two fingers slide inside, curling just right, stroking that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

“You taste incredible,” he groans. “So wet for me… let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

I come hard, my thighs clamping around his head and my fingers tangled in his hair.

He rises, kissing his way back up my body, shedding his shirt, pants, everything. He’s really hard and thick, but he doesn’t push. He rolls on a condom from his wallet, then settles between my legs, bracing his weight on his forearms.

He enters me slowly inch by inch watching my face the whole time. When he’s fully inside, he stills, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine.

“You feel so good,” he breathes. “So tight… so perfect.”

Then he starts to move, long, deep strokes that hit every sensitive place. His mouth finds mine again, kissing me through each thrust. One hand slips between us,his thumb circling my c**t in time with his hips.

“Come again for me,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you.”

I do, harder this time, clenching around him, my nails digging into his shoulders. He follows moments later, burying his face in my neck with a low, broken groan.

We stay like that for a long minute, all sweaty, tangled and breathing hard.

He kisses my temple, my cheek, my lips. Soft. Sweet.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

He pulls out gently, and disposes the condom, then comes back to bed and pulls me against his chest. His fingers stroke my hair in slow, soothing circles.

For the first time in years, I don’t feel invisible.

I wait for the shame but it doesn't come.