Wanderlust Read Online Free PDF

it.
    He trailed his hand down my arm,
wrapping his fingers around my wrist. Even though he only touched
me in one place, it felt intimate. Though he didn't squeeze, I felt
fragile. Breakable.
    Leading me to the bed, he pushed me
gently to sit. I tightened the towel around myself, and he let me.
I'd expected him to push me down, to tear the towel off and have
sex with me. But I always seemed to overestimate his penchant for
force. It was something about his presence, brute strength combined
with the cunning to use it well. He wasn't afraid of violence but
neither was he overly fond of it. Or maybe that was just wishful
thinking.
    He sat down beside me, his light
caresses still restricted to my arms, my shoulders. Safe places, as
if we were still getting acquainted. As if my comfort mattered at
all.
    "Tell me about your boyfriends," he
said.
    "What d-d-do you want to
know?"
    Oh no. I hadn’t stuttered since I was
a kid. My mother had tried to frighten it out of me, but that only
made it worse. Eventually I’d grown out of it…right around the time
I’d gotten my book on Niagara Falls. Now my dreams deserted me
along with my composure.
    He raised his eyebrow, a sign he had
heard my stutter, but he made no comment on it. Instead he asked,
"How many have you had? How far did you let them go with
you?"
    I thought the phrasing was odd, even
if it was technically accurate. How far I let them go, like he
recognized my dominion over my body. Maybe he considered this the
same thing; maybe it was. I was letting him do it to me. I was
letting this happen.
    Swallowing, I said, "My first
boyfriend was in eighth grade. We only dated for a few months and
never really saw each other outside school."
    "Did you fuck him?"
    The question was blunt, and I
flinched. "No. We d-didn't do that. We would meet sometimes,
outside the school during gym class."
    "You made out." He smirked.
    The arrogant action didn't subtract
from his attractiveness; it enhanced it. Up close, I realized he
was one of the most handsome men I'd ever met. I never would have
looked at him twice, mostly because of his age. He looked about ten
years older than me. I never would have expected him to look twice
at me either, but then I had always worn baggy clothes and hung at
the edges of a crowd with my mother before we made a quick
exit.
    "Did you let him touch your
tits?
    "Yes."
    "Under your shirt or just
over?"
    "Over at f-first. And then he
started—" I broke off as he touched my breasts through the towel,
just two fingers on the top slope, then around the
underside.
    "He started what?" he prompted, still
stroking, soft caresses on the rough fabric.
    I swallowed, willing myself not to
tremble. "Then he started reaching under my clothes."
    He tugged the towel down. I loosened
my hold, letting the cloth slide down my breasts. The hem of the
towel caught on my nipples, baring the slope of my breasts but no
more. It was almost more obscene this way than if I'd been naked,
but I couldn’t bring myself to pull the towel down.
    Instead I stared into the darkness at
the shadowy curtains that I hadn't drawn closed while the weight of
the wet towel tugged at the tender skin of my nipples. He drew his
finger over the tops of my breasts.
    I sucked in deep breaths, more
panicked now, everything more sensitive, so acute—like pain. He
touched me so lightly, and it hurt. How would it feel when he was
rough? Because surely he would be. There was only one reason I
could think of why a man who looked as good as he did would force a
woman—because he preferred it that way.
    "Why did you let him, your boyfriend?
Surely you worried about being caught? I bet he didn't even give
you an orgasm out back behind the school. Were you that desperate
for a skinny eighth-grader?"
    His words knocked the breath from me.
“No, I just... He wanted to, that's all. I figured it didn't hurt
anything just to let him.”
    "That's right," he said approvingly,
soothingly. "It doesn't hurt anything to just let