Paint Me Anew (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Anya's Firsts

She gave out a pitiful whine and hid her face into his shoulder. She almost said 'I don't want to,' but of course she wouldn't. She mouthed the words, though, just so she wouldn't start bawling right away, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Just one more second," she begged.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you have to move off– Anna."

It hurt. It hurts so much, she wanted to scream.

"Sorry, sorry," she started mumbling and sliding off his lap. "Of course, I'll– I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–"

She wasn't sure what to say. I shouldn't have kissed you? Touched you? Been an idiot and fallen in love with you?

"Anna, I can't– Not this way. We need to move. It just– hurts too much," he rasped out.

Her eyes flew up to his face. She was frozen, one leg still thrown over him. He wasn't stopping her! Nor was he pushing her away. He wanted her - just 'not this way.'

"Then how?" she asked greedily.

He stared back at her. His hair stood around his head, sticking out more on the left side. She was right-handed, and his copper waves had been driving her crazy since forever.

She moved off him completely and sat on her knees, listening intently.

"What–" he halted, and some sort of a nervous laugh burst out of him. "Are you asking about what I think you're asking about?"

"You said 'not this way,'" she answered and shifted a bit closer to him. "Then what way? How do you want it?"

"How do I want–" He once again cut himself off. "Anna, are you talking about–"

"Sex," she interrupted him.

"Heavens," he exhaled. Disbelief was written on his face. "But– What brought this on?!"

"What do you mean?" Anya asked, now, also feeling confused.

"I thought you didn't– You ran away earlier. Near the fortune teller." He gave her an apologetic grimace. "I just couldn't hold back, and it's been difficult– With you being here all the time, and sleeping with me."

"I didn't run– I just– I thought you didn't want it," she said. "But– I do!"

"Do what?" He shook his head joylessly. "Anna, I'm not sure what's happening, but you'll wake up tomorrow, and–"

She awkwardly pressed into him, and clawed at whatever she could reach, and her left one fisted over a handful of his jumper.

"I won't," she said. "I won't change my mind. And I won't regret it. And whatever it is you're saying, it won't happen." She rubbed her cheek to his shoulder. "Please... Please, let me stay."

"Anna, what are you even saying?" he mumbled in a lost voice. "It's me who should be asking. I just don't understand–"

"I don't know anything about sex," she said and met his eyes. "I don't even remember how it's done. And I never knew much anyway. Please, just tell me what to do."

He looked like he was still going to argue - and she half-rose and grabbed the hem of her top and jerked it off. She doubted her unappealing upper half was much of an argument, but he wouldn't send her away starkers. Would he?

"Anna, we can't." He cringed like from the worst possible toothache. "I can't move properly, and you can't be on top, because it would still jolt me too much."

She picked up his wrist and pulled his hand towards her chest. Don't men fancy breasts? Maybe he doesn't. Or he doesn't fancy hers, she suddenly panicked.