“I’m fine,” I say. Logan, Emily, and Paul leave the area and close the curtain. I turn my back so Pete can see my new tattoo. “See what I got?” I ask. I pull my ponytail to the side so his view is unobstructed.

“Woah,” he says. “That’s f**king fantastic,” he says. His fingertips tickle across my skin, very lightly outlining the area where Maggie has been immortalized. “Logan drew her, didn’t he?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I did the shading, and Paul drew the flower and stuff.”

“I can tell his work from a mile away,” Pete says.

Suddenly, there’s a movement down by my belly. I look down. Pete’s lap is moving? “Seriously, Pete,” I say. “This is not the place.” He chuckles and drops onto a sofa. The hand warmer of his hoodie is wiggling, moving up and down.

“Why don’t you come and see what I got for you?” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

A laugh escapes my throat, even though I say, “That is so not funny.”

“Come on, little girl,” he taunts. “Come and see what’s in my pocket.”

His hoodie is definitely wiggling, and there’s something in there. I go sit beside him, and he arches his h*ps toward me when I reach out and press gently on the lump. “Keep going,” he says. His voice is suddenly hoarse.

I reach into the side of the pocket and feel a cold nose sniff my hand. I lift the edge and look down. “What’s that?” I ask, but I’m already smiling.

“That’s your present,” he says. He’s still smirking. “I just got back from the vet with her. She got deflead and dewormed and had her ears cleaned and got tested for kitty diseases. She’s healthy.” He pulls her out, and she’s so tiny she fits in the palm of his hand. “I got a litter box and some food and stuff, too,” he says. He’s watching me, almost like he’s waiting for me to shove it at him and start screaming.

She’s teeny weenie, and she has orange hair. “What’s her name?” I ask.

He shrugs. “That’s up to you.”

“Ginger,” I say. “She’s a Ginger.” I lift her to my cheek, and she nuzzles me. “Is she really mine?”

“Well,” he says, grinning, “If I wanted some pu**y of my own, I would just ask for some.”

I startle. But then I realize what he said is so freaking ludicrous that I start to laugh. It’s a deep belly laugh, and I can barely catch my breath. I lean over and kiss him. “You want some, all you have to do is ask,” I say.

He growls low in his throat and pulls me in so he can kiss me.

I pull back when I’m breathless. “Later?” I ask.

His brow arches. He nods, but he avoids my gaze. What is that about?

Pete

Reagan likes the kitten, I can tell. She likes her a lot. She hasn’t stopped cooing to her since we came home. She left her with me long enough to take a shower, and now she’s lying in my bed, her hair damp and hanging over her shoulders, and she’s wrapped around that little no-account kitten. The thing only cost me ten dollars, but I would have paid a lot more than that just to see her smile.

I come out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my h*ps and close the door behind me. She looks up from my bed, and her eyelids drop as her eyes roam around my body. My dick gets hard immediately, and I turn away from her long enough to put on a pair of boxers and run the towel back and forth across my closely cropped hair.

“Thank you for the kitten,” she says quietly. Then I hear the bed squeak as she gets up and comes toward me. Her fingertips touch my back. “Do you think one of your brothers might babysit so we can spend some time together?” Her voice is soft and quiet, like her footsteps and the touch of her fingertips. Her voice quivers just like her hands do.

“I can wait,” I blurt out. I’m a pussy. I know it. I don’t want her to feel like she has to do anything. And in all honesty, I’m afraid it’ll change something between us. What if I can’t meet her needs? She needs to be loved calmly and carefully. What if I can’t do that? What if I get too caught up in the moment and forget about her needs? What if I do it wrong? What if I make her hate me? What if she loathes the idea of ha**g s*x with me again after this?

She scoops up the kitten and puts her in my arms. “I don’t want to wait,” she says. She pulls her shirt over her head, and she’s not wearing a bra. My breath leaves my body. All I can see is her perfect rack and her pert, pink nipples, which are tight and pushing toward me. Ginger struggles when I squeeze her too hard. I look down and force myself to unclench my hands.

Reagan hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her sleep shorts and pulls them down, along with her panties. Oh, dear God.

“Be right back,” I grunt. I turn and slide out the door, stopping to press my back against it once I’m outside, and take deep breaths until my junk realizes it’s not in the room with her anymore.

When I can finally catch my breath, I walk out into the living room and see Paul and Matt sitting there watching a movie. Matt came home about an hour ago, his eyes rimmed in red. He was quiet, but when I went to say something to him, Paul shook his head at me in warning. So, I let it be. I walk over and hit the “pause” button on the TV. They both look up, scowling. But I must look a fright, because they are suddenly concerned. “What’s wrong?” Paul asks.

“Nothing,” I gasp out. I drop onto the sofa and put Ginger in Matt’s lap. He smiles and lets the kitten burrow into his neck. He grins and nuzzles his face into her. I drop my face in my hands.

“She’s not ready, is she?” Paul asks. I f**king hate it when he does this. It’s like he’s psychic. He knows what we’re thinking before we even say anything and he always has. We couldn’t get away with shit, unless Sam and I worked together to pull off one prank or another. Or get arrested.

“She’s ready,” I gasp out. “But… But… But… But…” I shut up, because I can’t find the right words. I groan and flop back against the couch. “What if I f**k it all up?” I ask.

“How do you think you’d do that?” Matt asks. The kitten has nuzzled into the collar of his shirt and sits there, soaking up his heat. “It’s not like you’re a f**king virgin, dummy,” he says.

I don’t even know how to articulate what I’m feeling. Not at all. “I’ve never loved any of those other girls.”

Matt takes a sip of his beer and stares at me. “But you love this one.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. And it’s a fact.

“Yeah.”

“You need a lesson on the birds and the bees?” Paul asks. “You put tab A into slot B.” He makes a crude gesture with his fingers. “Or tab A into slot C.” He grins. “Or Tab A into slot D. But some girls don’t like that, so don’t start there. You might even save that for a birthday or special occasion. Yours. Not hers.”

I pick up a pillow and throw it at his head. He laughs and catches it.

Finally, he says softly. “Stop psyching yourself out.”

“She’s been through so much,” I say. I look toward the closed door.

“You haven’t had any problems being what she needs, Pete. She doesn’t need much. Just for you to love her. Let her lead this. Let her show you what she wants,” Paul says quietly

She’s na**d in my room. I already know what she wants. “Okay,” I say. I look at Matt’s, who’s rubbing noses with the kitten. “Can you cat sit?”

“I’ll keep Ginger Von Stinkybutt with me. No problem,” he says. He’s so quiet, and I know he had a hard day, but I don’t know what to say to him.

I squeeze his knee and walk toward my bedroom. Paul calls my name and jerks a thumb toward the drawer in the kitchen with all the condoms in it. I grin and go get a handful.

“Never could say that boy isn’t prepared,” Matt says playfully. He gives me a thumbs-up and a stupid grin.

I open the bedroom door, but Reagan has turned off the light. There’s a dim glow from the lamp beside my bed, but that’s all. Reagan lies on her belly her arms folded under the pillow. Her tattoo is shiny and a little puffy. I still can’t believe she got a tattoo. Her dad is going to kill me. And her. Her back is na**d, and I know she’s in her birthday suit beneath the sheets.

I walk to my side of the bed and lay the condoms on the corner of the bedside table. Then I slide between the sheets and lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling. She doesn’t move, and I think she might be asleep already. But when I roll toward her to pull her into my arms, she comes to me, all soft, na**d skin and wonderfully full girl parts. Her na**d br**sts press against my chest, and her ni**les jut against my skin. She nuzzles her face in my shoulder.

“Hey, Pete,” she says.

“Yeah,” I grunt. I can’t put two words together. Not right now.

“If you don’t want me because of what happened, you should tell me now.” She’s quiet, but her words are strong. The problem is that I don’t know what she’s referring to. Is she referring to Maggie? Or to the assault?

The only thing I can do is be honest. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” I say. “And I kind of feel like I might be.”

She chuckles against my chest. “I’d say that’s actually in reverse. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” She kisses my chest. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

I brush her hair back from her forehead and place a kiss there. “Okay,” I breathe. Thank God. Because I’m a chickenshit. A big, fat, old, worthless chickenshit.

She rolls to her back and stares up at the ceiling. I can see her profile in the dark. I grab her hand tightly in mine. I’m kind of sweating, so I don’t pull her back against me.

Her breathing evens out, and I can relax a little. I settle deeper into the pillow. But fifteen minutes later, I’m still lying there staring up into the darkness. Her na**d body is less than half an inch from mine.

Her hand moves, and she gently extracts her fingers from mine. I let her because I kind of want her to think I’m asleep.

I hear a tiny exhale from her mouth and cut my eyes toward her without moving my head. She pushes the covers down below her breasts, and I see her fingertips start to play around her chest. She traces circles around her nipples, and then she gently pinches them. I hear her intake of breath, and if I wasn’t hard enough from just having her lying next to me, I am now.

Her hand slides down her belly, and I imagine she’s reaching into her curls. She’s probably all slick and wet and hot and needy. Her knees lift, and she begins to rub herself. Her breath hitches again. I really should tell her I’m not asleep, but I can’t. I don’t want to mess this up for her.

“Oh, Pete,” she breathes.

I can’t take anymore. I just can’t. “Reagan,” I say. My voice sounds like a cannon-shot in the darkness.

She freezes. “Pete,” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her hand is still down between her legs. She stops moving it and brings it up to lie on her belly. “How embarrassing,” she whispers. And her voice cracks.

“Reagan, come here,” I say.

She leans up an elbow and says, “Where?”

“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to lie really still and you’re going to come over here with me.”

She hops up onto her knees and lays a hand on my chest. “Like this?” she says.

I take her hand in mine and lift it to my lips. “Reagan, I’m scared,” I admit.

“So am I,” she says.

“I want to be inside you so f**king bad it hurts,” I admit. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly.

Reagan’s fingertips hook in the waistband of my boxers, and I feel her lift them over my dick. I raise my h*ps so she can slide them down and off. Now I’m as na**d as she is. “Can I?” she asks. “Can I try some things?”

“You can try anything you want,” I say. I lift my arms up so my palms are behind my head. If I touch her, I’m going to have to roll her over and slide inside her. And I know this needs to be done at her pace.

Her fingers wrap around my dick, and she groans. “I’m not sure this can fit inside me,” she warns.

“It’ll fit,” I say.

Reagan reaches across me, and I realize she’s reaching for a condom. I’m not ready for that yet, so I catch her while she’s on top of me with my hands around her waist. I lift her so that her br**sts are in my face, and I kiss her left nipple until it’s tight and reaching for my mouth. She whimpers and lets me, and then I move to the other breast. I give it the same lavish attention, and she quivers in my arms.

“Pete,” Reagan cries.

I dip my hand between her legs to see how wet she is. I can’t help it. She’s f**king soaked. She’s nearly dripping. “God, Reagan,” I say. I trail my finger across her clit.

I hear a condom wrapper as she tears it, and then I feel it press against the head of my dick. She wants to put it on me. Fuck yeah! But I grab her hand. “Reagan,” I warn.

“What?” she breathes.

“I’m just a man.”

“What does that mean?” she whispers.

“It means that if you put that on my dick, the next thing that will go on it is you.” She freezes for a moment, and I hear her breaths stutter from her.

But she starts to roll the condom down my shaft and when she gets to the base, I tug it a little lower. She’s being way too gentle with me.