Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Then much lower.
Suffice it to say, the need I was feeling was sated. Twice.
Chapter 2
Five Months Later
“Well,” I said, closing the door to Cody’s room. “You’re officially no longer shackled to the institution known as high school.”
There was a low thump coming from the living room, we’d left the music on. Everyone had left the graduation party that Cody’s mom, Olive, had given permission for him to throw as long as they stuck to beer and everyone was out by midnight.
My mother would never leave me alone in a house to have a party; she’d never trust a bunch of teenagers to abide by such rules. But Cody adored and respected Olive, so it was five after midnight and we were the only ones here.
My mother was out of town, and I’d told my father I was sleeping over at Willow’s. He was far too smart and observant to believe me, but he also trusted me.
So he’d told me to, “be careful” and kissed me on the head.
This wasn’t the first night I’d be sleeping curled up with my boyfriend. We didn’t get many of these since there were only so many sleepovers my mother would believe I was having, and Olive rotated night shifts. Although she never said anything when I was sitting at her breakfast table when she came home from work. She’d just smile, kiss me on the cheek and sit with me and Cody while we ate.
She was the mother I wished I had. I knew it was a nasty and a cruel thing for me to think considering my mother didn’t beat me or verbally abuse me and bought me whatever clothes I’d decided fit my vision at the time. I was into more rock chick, Bridget Bardot these days, growing my hair longer, wearing winged eyeliner, tight black jeans and band tees. My mother hated it, but she still bought me the clothes.
She was a good mother.
But she didn’t kiss my cheek in the morning. Didn’t sit at the table with me and just talk about life. Her version of talking was gossiping, pressuring me about college, grades, the future. Lecturing my dad about whatever he’d done wrong that week.
Olive asked me what my dreams were. What was my favorite book? Movie. Who inspired me? What countries I wanted to visit.
She’d taken me in as the daughter she’d never had, and it made me feel warm and accepted.
My mother didn’t have that in her.
Which was fine, because I had Olive. I had her for as long as I had Cody in my life, and I planned on having him in my life forever. I knew it was a stupid, naïve thought to have about my very first boyfriend—my very first everything—especially when he had just graduated high school and I had another year.
But it didn’t matter.
We were different.
Cody was different.
He loved me.
Beyond that, he didn’t have big dreams of leaving Amber, going to fancy colleges. He’d told me what he wanted to the night I gave him my virginity.
Prom night…
“It’s cliché, but I wanted to give you that.”
We had rented a hotel room the next town over. Mom thought we were all staying together for a girl’s sleepover, and each of us had carefully coordinated this ‘sleepover’ since out of the three of us involved, we all had boyfriends who booked hotel rooms.
I was afraid.
Tipsy, because I’d wanted to loosen up and not act like some virgin. I was only a virgin in the most technical of terms. Cody and I had done everything but. And sure, I might’ve been nervous or awkward at first, but my need, my desire had always clouded such feelings. Everything thus far had been awesome. Had made me feel different. Like a woman. More loved. Worshipped. Confident.
So sex was going to be good. After the first painful part.
And it was painful. Despite the nice hotel room that Cody had put overtime in to pay for. The candles, the lingerie that I’d bought on a shopping trip with Willow and had hidden in the back of my closet.
He’d been gentle, reverent and loving, but it didn’t make a difference. It hurt like a bitch. Unlike every heroine in the romance books I read, I didn’t enjoy it. I gritted my teeth through it and counted it as a victory that I didn’t cry.
Cody felt bad.
Terrible. Tortured even. It was written all over his face, hatred for himself because he’d caused me pain. He’d taken me to the shower and cleaned me meticulously, with such tenderness that I fell even more in love with him in that moment.
He’d then taken me to bed, taking his time to cover every inch of my body with his mouth, then moved to the important and tender parts, coaxing me back to the edge.
Suffice it to say, the second time was much better.