DON’T STOP

Stealing her innocence 12

Ryder

I couldn’t sleep.

The sheets felt too heavy, the room too hot, and my body too restless. I tossed onto my left side, then my right, then onto my back again. Every position made it worse. The ache between my legs hadn’t eased since dinner. Since the accidental brush of Lila’s leg under the table. Since her quiet “yes” upstairs. Since the way she walked out and left me standing there hard and wanting and confused as hell.

Delaney breathed slowly and evenly on her side of the bed. Asleep. Peaceful. Oblivious.

I sat up carefully, trying not to wake her. The mattress dipped under my weight. Moonlight slipped through the half-open curtains, painting pale stripes across the floor. I stared at the cupboard built into the headboard for a long moment. Then I reached over, opened the small door, and pulled out the bottle of lube we kept there for nights that never came.

I pushed my shorts down to my thighs, still sitting up, back against the headboard. My c**k sprang free, thick and painfully hard, veins standing out, tip already slick with pre-c*m. It throbbed in time with my heartbeat. Hurting. Not sharp pain, just a deep, insistent ache that had been building all day. Years of nothing, then one afternoon with Lila, and now this. Relentless. Unforgiving.

I flicked the cap open. Poured a generous amount into my palm, then drizzled some directly onto the head. The cold gel hit my heated skin, and I groaned low in my throat, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. Goosebumps raced up my arms.

I wrapped my hand around myself. I was slow and gentle at first. The lube made everything slick, smooth, and almost too good. I stroked upward, thumb brushing over the sensitive underside, then back down. Pleasure sparked sharp and bright, coiling low in my gut. I closed my eyes.

In my mind, it wasn’t my hand.

It was hers.

Lila’s small fingers wrapped around me, hesitant at first, then bolder. Her thumb swiping clumsily over the tip like she had in the truck. Her wide eyes were watching my face, learning every twitch, every groan. Her breath hitched when I bucked into her grip. Her lip caught between her teeth the way it did when she was nervous but determined.

“f**k,” I muttered under my breath, stroking a little faster now. The lube warmed quickly, turning slippery and hot. Pleasure built in waves—tight, heavy, spreading from the base of my spine outward. My hips rocked up into my fist without permission. I imagined her whispering my name, soft and surprised. I imagined her leaning in, lips brushing my ear, telling me she wanted to make me come. Imagined her hand tightening just right, rhythm steady, teaching me the way no one else ever had.

My breathing turned ragged. Quiet, but rough. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning louder. The pressure climbed higher, coiling tighter. Almost there. Almost—

“Ryder?”

Delaney’s voice cut through the dark like a blade.

I froze, my hand still wrapped around myself and slamming against my ribs.

I turned slowly. She was propped up on one elbow, eyes wide open, staring. Moonlight caught the shock on her face. Her gaze dropped to my lap—my hand, my c**k, the lube glistening—and she gasped.

“You’re… erect?” The words came out small, disbelieving. “How is this possible?”

She knew. She knew everything. Years of doctor visits, failed nights, me apologizing over and over, and her being mad upset me. She knew how long it had been since I could even get hard, let alone stay hard.

And now here I was, sitting in our bed at midnight, stroking myself like a desperate man.

I let go, slowly, and pulled my shorts back up over my hips, though it did nothing to hide how painfully obvious it still was. My face burned. Not shame exactly. Something worse. Guilt. Regret. The sudden, brutal reminder that this wasn’t just about me and Lila anymore.

Delaney sat up fully now, the sheet pooling around her waist. “Ryder… how?”

I stared at the wall. Jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“I don’t know,” I lied quietly. “It just… happened.”

She reached out, hand hovering near my arm, then dropping back to the sheet. “After all this time?”

I didn’t answer.

“Since when?” she asked.

“Now,” I sighed, feeling frustrated.

Delaney stared at me for a long second after her question. The shock on her face slowly softened into something else—curiosity, maybe hope. She sat up straighter, the sheet slipping down to her waist, her eyes still fixed on the obvious bulge under the covers.

“Ryder…” she whispered. “This is real?”

I didn’t answer. I just nodded once.

She swallowed visibly. Then, in the quietest voice I’d ever heard from her, she asked, “Can I help?”

I shrugged. One shoulder lift. No words. Because what could I say? Yes? No? I don’t know? The guilt was still there, sharp and ugly, but so was the ache. And right now, with Lila’s face still burned into my mind, I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Delaney reached over slowly. She grabbed the bottle of lube from where I’d left it on the nightstand. She poured a generous amount into her palm, then more directly onto me. The cold gel made me hiss through my teeth. She wrapped her hand around my c**k, slick and warm almost instantly.

She started stroking slowly and steadily. Familiar in a way that should have felt comforting, but tonight it felt… different. Her grip was confident, practiced from years together, but my body wasn’t responding the way it used to. Pleasure built, yes—hot, coiling, spreading—but it stayed distant. Like I was watching it happen instead of feeling it fully.

I closed my eyes. Tried to focus on her hand. On the slick slide. On the way, her thumb circled the head just right. It felt good. Really good. But every stroke brought Lila’s face back. Her hesitant fingers in the truck. Her wide eyes watching me. Her clumsy but determined rhythm.

Fuck.

Delaney must have felt me tense. She slowed. “Ryder?”

I opened my eyes. Met hers. “Keep going,” I muttered.

She did. Faster now. Firmer. Her other hand cupped my balls gently, rolling them the way she knew I liked. Pleasure sharpened, climbing higher. My hips rocked up into her fist without permission. Low groans slipped out. My breathing turned rough.

Then she shifted.

She moved down the bed, graceful and quiet. She went to her knees on the mattress between my spread legs. Looked up at me once—eyes searching, almost asking permission again—then leaned in.

Her tongue flicked out first. It was soft and wet. She licked a slow stripe from base to tip. I groaned louder than I meant to. She did it again, then swirled around the head, tasting the lube and pre-c*m mixed together. My hand fisted the sheet.

She took me into her mouth slowly and warmly, her lips stretching around me as she sank down inch by inch. The heat and tightness enveloped me completely. She moved gently at first, easing deeper until I pressed against the back of her throat.

I cursed under my breath. “Delaney…”