By: Sophie Stern

The reality is so much sweeter.

“I love you, Elliott,” she says, and then Sassy kisses me again. Her lips are soft and sweet against mine. She’s a delicate flower to my harsh exterior, but I love her, and the knowledge that she loves me in return just makes my heart soar.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say it.”

“Why did you wait?”

“Why did you?” I ask, pushing her. I shouldn’t. It’s not the time or the moment, but I have to know.

Was she as scared as me?

As worried as me?

Was she as nervous I would reject her as I was?

“You already know.”

“You were scared?”

“Weren’t you?”


“Maybe it was a waste of time,” she says. “Not telling each other sooner.”

“Maybe it just gave us a chance to grow up a little.”

“Maybe it means we’ll appreciate this moment even more.”

She starts kissing me again, slowly, softly. Sassy is treating this like we’ve got all the time in the world, and to be honest, she’s right. We’ve waited a lifetime to be together. We can wait a little bit more. We take this slowly.

There’s no reason we have to rush. Neither one of us has anywhere to be. We have no one to please, no one to impress. It’s just her and me now.

“You and me, baby.”


My hands are on her waist, but then they’re not. They’re tracing little lines on her waist and slowly moving up. Just like in my dreams, I’m going to take my time touching every inch of this woman.

I’m going to make it count.

I’m going to make it sweet.

I kiss her neck and her collarbone, and she groans as I do.

“That’s it. You keep making those noises.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You’re egging me on.”

“I think you love it.”

“I think you’re right.”

My hands inch up her body. I want to savor her, to take my time, but she moans in protest.

“Dude!” She says, finally, pushing me away.

“What?” Fuck. What did I do wrong?

“Stop fucking teasing me,” she says with a growl. “You want to fuck me? Fuck me. Don’t make me wait, Elliott. It’s been months, baby. It’s been years. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Chapter 7


I’m in uncharted territory here.

Yeah, I might run a pole dancing club and teach my students how to feel, look, and act sexy, but I’m rarely the sexual aggressor in my own personal relationships.

I’m rarely the one begging people to fuck me hard.

Yet I know that’s exactly what I’m going to get when Elliott growls and pulls my tank top up over my head. My breasts are suddenly on display, but I’m not nervous. How could I be? He’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, like I’m the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

Fuck, forget that.

He’s looking at me like he’s going to fucking devour me.

And damn, if that’s not the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.

Elliott leans his head down and takes one of my nipples between his lips. He licks, teasing me with his tongue, tracing little circles.

“You like that baby?”

“Hell yes.”

“You think I taste good?”

“Like heaven.”

“How’s the other one?”

“Time for me to find out.”

His mouth moves to my other breast and it’s my turn to growl when he begins sucking this one hard and fast, forgoing the easygoing tempo for something a little harder, something a little more exciting.

Something a little dirtier.

Then he moves lower. He kisses down my stomach. Over the years, I’ve danced away most of my problem areas, but one thing I’ve learned from teaching is that everyone has their own insecurities. Mine has always been my stomach. Despite the fact that I’m toned and fit now, I still have thin silver lines on my hips from growing too fast as a teenager. I was overweight for a few years, and while I’ve lost the excess belly fat, those stretch marks have remained.

I’m a little nervous to have Elliott see them so close.

If he notices them, though, he doesn’t seem to care. To be honest, most guys don’t, but every once in awhile, one of my partners will point out my imperfections, and that hurts.

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