Show Me by Ava Colt

one

Alexandra knew Henry would keep his promise. That was why she drove to his house on a Friday night for a party that she didn’t want to attend, wearing her comfiest sweatshirt and her favorite jeans that had a hole in the knee, with her hair caught up in a hastily arranged ponytail.

Originally, she had planned a quiet night at home with ice cream and a TV marathon, but Henry wouldn’t let her get away with it—not telling him why she was so upset. She hadn’t planned to be upset, but the memories of last weekend had washed over her, and she couldn’t quite let it go. She couldn’t quite ignore the deep-seated annoyance.

She parked down the street from the old Victorian home in the West Hills that Henry shared with his teammates, Finn and Max. She slowed her breathing. Certainly, her red face and swollen eyes had calmed down during the drive from her apartment.

“What happened?” Finn asked as she walked up the steep front steps. “Are you okay?”

Well, her plan was working out great.

“I’m fine.” She waved hello to Finn’s friend, Emily.

The two must’ve come back from a nice dinner. Finn wore a navy suit and tie, while Emily wore a black midi dress with spaghetti straps and black heels with ribbons that looked like they required a Girl Scout badge to untie.

“Henry’s inside.” Emily gave Alex a searching look. “He’s been looking for you.”

“I love your dress,” Alex said, pretending her face didn’t show the evidence of tears.

Emily’s eyes lit up. “Thanks! It has pockets.”

“Nice.”

“What is the fascination with women and pockets?” Finn murmured.

Alex walked inside the crowded front room. Most of Henry’s soccer team had come to the house after practice. Usually, Alex looked forward to Thursday nights. The players had an easy camaraderie, and she enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere.

“Finally.” Henry moved between two other partygoers to get to her. He pushed his chestnut-brown hair out of his eyes.

He needed a haircut, but she liked the soft curls. It wasn’t fair how beautiful he was—high cheekbones, a jaw that looked like it could cut her, and long, dark eyelashes. Alexandra spent so much money on mascara trying to get what he had naturally. He wore sweats and the T-shirt he’d gotten for completing a marathon last spring. She had cheered him on from the finish line, bought him a beer afterward, and laughed when he’d asked her to do it with him next time.

“Running really makes you feel good,” Henry had said, arm resting on the back of her chair.

“So, you keep saying, but I’m suspicious.”

“Just do one 5K with me. If you don’t like it, I won’t ask you again.”

She believed him. He’d come to her graduation when she finished a semester early, even though he’d already left school. He’d given her a ride home when her grandmother was sick, brought her those maple-and-bacon donuts from across town when she got a promotion. Maybe other people were used to men who kept their word, but Alexandra definitely wasn’t. Henry was the exception.

“Tell me what happened.” He took her hand, pulling her to a darkened corner of the deserted back porch.

“It’s really okay,” she said. “I’m not hurt. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he said. “You’ve been acting sad all week.”

She tried to calm herself, but the memories rushed over her without warning. She could still hear that asshole laughing. Usually, she kept it hidden, but she’d been too tired to remember to lie. She had blurred out the sad truth.

“Well, I hooked up with this guy last weekend.”

“Did he do something?” Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Do I need to talk to him?”

“No, it isn’t anything like that.” Deep breath. “He, uh, laughed at me.”

Henry cocked his head. “What kind of an asshole laughs at you?”

“The kind of asshole who I told… that, uh, I’ve never had an orgasm before.”

It was finally out. There. She had told her best friend the most embarrassing secret of her life.

“Wait a minute, the guy in the fisherman’s sweater? From the party?”

“Yeah.”

The one-pump-and-done fucker had laughed so hard that he’d gotten his head caught in that goddamn sweater. He’d left, and she had never felt so terrible. She had been relieved to sleep alone and cuddle in her blankets, trying not to cry. She’d thought she would just forget and move on—she had dealt with assholes before—but the sound of his laugher had stayed with her all week.

“Wait a minute, rewind.” He shook his head. “You’ve never had an orgasm? Like ever?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Henry considered her with a mix of pity and horror. “Seriously?”

“Yup. So, this was a fun night. Really glad we had a chance to catch up. I’m gonna go now.”

“No, don’t go. Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s embarrassing.”

“It seems like maybe you should talk about it. Or maybe not talk about it, you know.”

“I don’t know.” She raised her voice. “That’s the whole problem.”

“Oh, man.” He put his hands on his hips.

He appeared to approach the situation with the same determination he’d showed when he’d tried to get her to understand the offsides rule during undergrad. “It’s very important to the game, Alex!”

“Just to be clear, like not one, not ever?”

She shook her head. She’d had flickers, moments when she’d known she’d been close, but never the real deal. And she was in her early twenties. “I’ve never had a partner I trusted enough to experiment with, and being on my own, I just started, you know, getting anxious and thinking about my thesis and stuff. I need to reformat the footnotes.”

“Your footnotes will be the best.”

“Thanks, but seriously, I should go.” Her face felt so warm she couldn’t imagine how red her cheeks must be.

“Nope.” He clapped his hands together. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“Now?”

“Uh, yes, it’s something you should fix. Not that there’s anything wrong with you, but it’s, uh… really nice.”

It sounded nice. Not that she hadn’t tried, but she always got into her head too much. She couldn’t relax, whether by herself or with a male partner. It probably wouldn’t have been a problem if she were bi. She couldn’t imagine a female partner being as closed off as the men she had been with, but she was depressingly heterosexual. Male partners just assumed she came, or they assumed she had already learned what she liked. But she wasn’t fully formed like Venus from the half shell.

Her dating life had been comprised of a series of mistakes with occasional good times but never anyone who had taken the time to help her discover what she liked. She hadn’t even bought a vibrator. Her predicament had taken on a life of its own, and she didn’t know where to start. No partner to help her. No confidence to try it on her own. What the hell am I waiting for?

“It sounds nice.”

“Oh, honey, oh shit. We gotta figure this out.” Henry started for the stairs. “Come with me.”

Alex hesitated. What did he have in mind? Just how would this change things? But her body betrayed her as a frisson of excitement moved through her. She would be lying if she said she’d never thought about Henry that way.

“You trust me?” He turned to face her.

They’d been friends a long time—since that night fall semester of freshman year. They’d shared a couch in the dorm common room. Sexiled from their respective bedrooms on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday night in November, they’d stayed up late watching terrible local television on the ancient TV. It turned out they were in the same art history class, and the next class, he grabbed the chair next to her. She helped him study for the final exam because he kept falling asleep during the lectures in the darkened classroom.

“It’s after my morning practice. You can’t expect me to stay awake after that.”

That was when she learned he was on the soccer team and liked to start his day with a run and a spinach smoothie. She liked to start her day with a coffee the size of her head and whatever day-old scone was on sale at the bakery where she worked.

They studied together a lot after that—they had a table in the library where they would meet. Henry provided a comfortable rhythm for that first year. A year that otherwise would’ve been a mess for Alexandra. She had a lot of firsts that year. First time she took a drink—rum and coke—first time she got drunk—tequila—first time she had sex—Charlie O’Brien, fellow freshman and hacky sack enthusiast. He’d eaten tofu scrambles for breakfast and talked about her aura. It had lasted a few weeks.

“He wasn’t right for you,” Henry said.

“Why?” Alexandra nursed a hangover with whatever green concoction Henry had made for her in his blender. It looked like it came from space. “The hair?”

“Two words. Drum. Circle.”

Henry had hooked up with many different girls that year, but he would still show up in the library, still seek her out at parties before heading upstairs with someone. He found her on the quad when the sun came out that spring. She didn’t know if it was weirder that they became friends or that no one commented on it.

College hadn’t turned her into a new person, as she had hoped. She still wore clothes that were slightly too large and snorted when she laughed, but she made friends, learned how to stop drinking before having too much, and didn’t go home that first summer break. Instead, she had found a low-paying job at the campus museum, and she and Henry had celebrated with cheap champagne and expensive cheese.

She searched his face, and he looked as sincere as he always had. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Just.” He turned around so abruptly that she had to grip the railing to steady herself. “We can’t actually be together.”

“Of course, I never thought—”

“We can’t—I can’t touch you.” Henry’s face looked pained.

As much as it hurt to know the thought of touching her filled him with revulsion, she would follow his rules. “Whatever you say.” Alex paused, trying to wrap her head around the whole situation. “You don’t need to help. That’s not why I told you.”

“I know.” He smiled. “But honestly, we can get this sorted.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. He was already showing more kindness and patience than the partners she’d been with.

“Well, let’s get a move on.” She ushered him upstairs. “This problem isn’t going to solve itself.”

“Not if it hasn’t already.”

“Hey!”

#

A few minutes later, Alexandra knelt on Henry’s four-poster bed, legs spread, dressed in nothing but her panties, bra, and a faded red sweatshirt. If she had known the night would go like that, she would’ve worn a matching set. Instead, she wore white cotton panties and a mesh black bra.

Henry seemed like a matching-set kind of guy. Soccer players probably saw a lot of matching sets. What else does he like?

At a loss for what to do next, she let herself get distracted by his plush comforter. It felt like heaven on her thighs.

“How much did this thing cost?” she asked.

“Maybe you should focus on what feels good,” he said. “Rather than worrying about home decoration.”

“I don’t worry about it at my place.” She glanced around the bedroom. “None of my stuff is this nice.”

Henry’s bedroom looked like an adult’s. They were both adults, but he was better at it than she was. Her bedroom looked like most of the items had been bought from a secondhand shop, which they had. His bedroom furniture matched, and he hadn’t even had to assemble it.

Her best friend crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his dresser. He held his body tense, as if trying to get as far from her as possible. “Well, get on with it.”

“Really helping the mood, my dude.”

“Alexandra.”

“Henry.”

“I’m here to help.” He gave her a tight smile, completely unlike his usual carefree grin. “But there are limits, even for you, my occasional nemesis and best friend.”

Her heart hammered at the admission. He’s her best friend, but she didn’t know she was his. She always worried she might be replaceable in his life. It was how she had convinced herself it was okay to tell him what had happened. If he’d thought something was really wrong with her, then he would’ve politely changed the topic and never mentioned it again. He didn’t like to make her feel uncomfortable.

Henry chewed his bottom lip.

Muted, thumping bass from the party downstairs occasionally reverberated around the room. It felt a bit like they were alone on a spaceship about to tip into the event horizon and fracture into a black hole. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him when he sighed audibly.

“You really don’t deserve this,” she said.

“I know.” He finally met her gaze. “But I’m not going to, you know, leave you hanging.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“This is a really touching moment.” He rolled his eyes. “But I think you’ve gone long enough without having an orgasm, and we’re both gonna need a drink after this is over.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“What do you normally do?” His gaze softened.

“Look, this is dumb. I’m going—”

“No way, no man left behind, or whatever.” With a look of concentration, Henry took a step toward the bed.

Alex sat up straighter and scooted back.

The thing was, when Henry set his mind on something, he wasn’t easily deterred. Alexandra had just never expected her sexual awakening to be the thing he focused on.

“Lie back. Get comfortable.”

“That shouldn’t be hard with all these pillows. How many do you have?”

“I like pillows.”

“This isn’t normal. There’s like eight—”

“You can’t distract me with home décor anymore.”

“Come onnnnn.”

Henry laughed. “Lie down, Alex.”

She did, but held her body stiff, like a mannequin dropped on the ground.

“Close your eyes,” Henry admonished gently.

“No.”

“It will help you relax.”

“What if I can’t see someone coming in?”

“What do you think of me?” He raised his voice. “The door’s locked, and I wouldn’t let anyone in here.”

“Of course not, I’m sorry.” She sighed and shifted on the bed. “I’m just wound up and frustrated and sweating and hot.”

“Take off your sweatshirt.”

Her eyes went wide. “But I’m only wearing a bra.”

Henry raised his eyes to the ceiling. He wasn’t a religious person, but he was definitely calling on a higher power. “Alex. Andra.”

Henry had seen her in a bra before. That wasn’t strange. The strange thing was that she’d never been in his bed. Okay, she had been in his bed before. It was perfect for napping, but not like that. The bed and the bra together were unusual.

Henry made a get-on-with-it motion. Once he sets his mind on something, he got impatient, like he couldn’t wait to get down the field and score that goal. The world was a series of accomplishments for him, while Alex got so wrapped up in her thoughts, it was a wonder she ever got out of bed in the morning. He moved to his desk. The hulking thing looked like it belonged on a pirate ship.

She pulled her old college sweatshirt over her head and took a deep breath. Her bra was a little frayed. She didn’t even own a matching set. She tended toward the practical.

Henry exhaled, and her nipples tightened in response.

Can he see? Does he care? Is this just another Friday night, a girl taking off her top on his bed?It probably happened a hell of a lot. She had to try at least. He was doing it to help her. He was the kindest person she had ever met.

“Will you close your eyes?” she asked.

“Seriously?”

She shivered from her body being exposed to the cool air. Leaning back against the incredibly comfortable pillows covered in the same dark-rust-colored richness as the comforter, the soft enclosure felt like an embrace.

“I think it will be easier if you don’t watch me.”

Henry slumped a little. “Okay, I’ll close my eyes.”

He perched on the desk, hands gripping the edge, eyes squeezed shut like a kid waiting for a present. His shorts had ridden up, and she was embarrassed by how much she thought about his thighs. They were mouthwatering. Nothing compared to soccer players and their thighs. It wasn’t fair. She would happily be crushed by or under them. She shook her head, trying to focus. Henry was helping her, and they needed to stay friends after this. She couldn’t go down that particular mental path.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

He exhaled slowly, and she matched his pace. She took a deep, slow breath, sinking even farther into the warmth. His bed smelled citrusy and clean, and she wondered what kind of soap he used. She was on the verge of asking him but remembered she couldn’t talk about home décor anymore. She wanted to, though, wanted to distract herself from how relaxed she felt. How untethered. Whatever was tightly wound around her during normal life had been suspended. He’d given her a reprieve.

“So, what do you normally think about?” Henry asked, voice low and calm.

Clearly, he’d done this before. How many times has he helped a partner find out what she liked? Just how terrible were the men I’ve been with?

“Alexandra?” he asked, as if worried she might leave.

She had melded with the bed, enjoying the thrum settling low in her belly. Her nipples were painfully tight. She squirmed. “I think about stuff.”

Henry laughed. His actual laugh. He sounded like a dying lawnmower, and he normally tried to prevent it from happening. He must be nervous. “Come on. I can’t touch you. I can’t look at you, and I don’t know what you like, so you have to give me something.”

“Okay, okay.” She could start with something easy. “I like kissing.”

She had never kissed Henry. He had kissed her on the cheek, like she was something precious, but sometimes, she wondered if he thought she would break. She wasn’t as fragile as he thought. She had made some bad choices, but she always learned from her mistakes.

Was not kissing Henry a mistake?She had thought about it, but the moment had never arrived, and she hadn’t forced it. There had been that night in sophomore year, when they’d wound up on the porch of her rental house, drinking from too large mugs and talking Henry down from his concerns about his grades.

And the night in junior year, when she had gone with him to a formal dance. She’d gotten knowing looks from his friends, but nothing had happened. No matter that he’d let his hand linger on her hip, like he had wanted to stay, and she’d looked in his eyes like she might find answers there. Something had held her back.

What happens if it doesn’t work? What if your best friend kisses you, and it turns out he doesn’t like it?She would rather not know. But there he was, taking one for the team and talking her through her first orgasm.

“Me too.” He tilted his head. “Me, everyone, probably.”

“Um, sorta sloppy and slow and panting. Is that weird?”

“No, uh.” He coughed. “Kissing is… good.” He swore quietly, taking a deep breath. “What else do you like?”

“I like hands too.”

“Like holding hands?”

“No, like sucking on a guy’s fingers like they’re his cock.”

“Fuck, Alex,” he gritted out. “You gotta warn me before saying stuff like that.”

“I’m gonna say more now.”

“Cool, okay.” He shook out his hands as if preparing to take a penalty kick. “I’m ready.”

“I like it ’cause then they get excited for you to suck their cock.” She had always been a good studier, and she had spent a lot of time on her technique to cover the areas where she lacked experienced.

“Of course, they do. Who wouldn’t? It sounds fucking amazing.” Henry paused. “Wait a minute, you’ve sucked a guy’s cock, and they didn’t make sure you came too?”

“Can we not talk about my experiences?” She sighed. “It’s sort of depressing.”

“Shit, sorry,” he said. “I forget some guys are like that.”

She wanted to ask, What are you like? But that wasn’t fair, and she didn’t have to ask, anyway. He just came out with it.

“Getting your cock sucked is great, but licking a girl’s pussy till she comes on your tongue is great too. It’s the fucking best, really.”

Fuck, he must be so good. He was the kind of guy who didn’t give up easily. She could imagine him, again and again, perfecting his technique until he got it right. He knew how to listen, and she got excited just thinking about it.

“Yeah?”

Checking to make sure Henry’s eyes were still closed—of course they were—she slipped one hand down her cotton panties. As she focused on it, her pussy throbbed. She couldn’t ignore the feeling any longer, and she realized, with a bolt of awareness, that she didn’t have to ignore it. She didn’t have to worry about a partner getting it wrong or not listening when she told him what she liked.

“Oh man, when she’s all messy and grabbing your hair and shit, that’s the fucking best.” He licked his lips.

Alex was about to expire from that action alone. She really belonged in the nineteenth century. What would he look like, mouth slick, determination in place, and completely unabashed?

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, honey, oh shit.” He sounded anguished. “Has no one ever? What the fuck is wrong with people?”

“I don’t think this is work—” Hand in her panties, she moved her fingers lower, exploring her slick lips, and she felt messy. She was wetter than she’d ever been, and it felt heavenly. “Oohhhh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” He sounded anxious. He stood and walked toward the bed, His eyes still closed. He was so sweet.

“Uh, I slipped my hand under my panties, and I think you should keep talking.”

“You like that?” He sounded relieved.

“Y-yes.” She tried but failed to keep the tremor out of her voice. Unabashed, she spread her legs wider and pushed down her panties just a little, just enough to get a better angle. She took a deep breath, relaxing into the pillows. Her breasts felt full and heavy and ached to be touched, squeezed, and lavished with attention. Her nipples were harder than they’d ever been. “Please.”

“Sure, okay.” He licked his lips again. “I can do this.”

He sounded like he was psyching himself up for a midterm or something. Eyes still closed, he groped his way to the post at the end of the bed and held on to it. She felt like they were on a ship, pitching in a storm.

“What do you think about, Alex?” He cleared his throat. “Tell me.”

She wanted to make a joke, talk about anything else, but he was so serious right then, so focused on her. Stalling was not an option, not with how she felt. It was such a new sensation. She wondered if that was how it felt for everyone else.

“I like, well… I wanna be told what to do.”

“Ohhhhh, wow, that’s…” He swallowed audibly.

“Weird?”

“Put yourself down again, and I won’t buy you coffee for a week.”

“Okay, jeez, settle down.”

“Touch yourself,” he said in his mean voice.

Alex shivered. He didn’t use it often, but it was… effective.

“And tell me what you want.”

She exhaled as she ran a finger over her slick cunt, rubbing her swollen clit. “I want y—I want to be called something bad, you know, and be held down, and… unnngh, I don’t know…”

“You do know. Tell me, or I’m gonna be angry.”

She moaned at his tone. Why does he have to be so good at everything? “And… you know, fucked, like… like you’re not gonna stop until I’m coming on your fat cock.”

“Fuck, Alex,” he murmured. He gave his head a little shake.

“Like you wanna make sure, after you fuck me, I won’t wanna be with anyone else.” She arched off the bed, fingers not enough and wishing for something that would fill her. “But you gotta mean it.”

“I would mean it,” he said, his voice low and rough.

“I want you to call me your dirty little slut.”

“Oh, Alex,” he breathed.

Her breasts ached, and even the thin mesh fabric created too much friction. She reluctantly removed her hand from her pussy and unlatched her bra, throwing it to the floor.

“What was that?” Henry still clutched the bed post with his eyes closed.

She cared for him so much in that moment, she wasn’t sure she could express it. “My bra.”

“Fuck me,” he said. “That’s something.”

What if he watched me?God, she couldn’t imagine anything hotter than him wanting her but not touching her. He’d always been good at self-denial. If he set a rule for himself, he didn’t break it.

She trembled. If she weren’t burning up, she would shiver in the cold. She was too warm and too cold, too tense and too relaxed. So many contradictions, she couldn’t keep them straight. She rubbed her clit in a steady rhythm, dipping down to slip a finger between her tight folds.

“You must be so wet,” he said, his voice rough. It caressed her skin like the feel of his calloused fingers might.

She nodded as if he could see her, unable to form words. So much emotion burst just below the surface. Her face was warm. Her cheeks must be bright red along with her chest and throat. She wasn’t the only one. Henry looked red-faced too. Every part of him she could see looked flushed.

“You’re probably making a mess on my bed. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

She moaned, and she couldn’t stop herself, not even if she wanted to. There was no holding back. They were about to tip over into that event horizon, and she knew that he wouldn’t leave her behind. The worst part was that she was making a mess. She’d never felt so slick and slippery before. Her fingers were coated, and she was tempted to take a taste.

She brought up her hand and put just one finger between her lips. She sucked deep, wishing she had a hard to cock to lavish attention on. Her finger was second best, but she gave it her all, licking and sucking and moaning. “I like the way I taste.”

“Oh, my fucking god, Alex. You can’t just—you were supposed to warn me.”

She couldn’t stop staring at him and wondering what he liked. He seemed to like not watching her, if his hard cock was anything to go by. She could make out the curving shape beneath his shorts. Completely unselfconsciously, he palmed himself. If anything, it made the situation worse. He looked anguished.

“Alexandra.”

She inhaled sharply from his tone, arching off the bed as if tethered to his voice. She rubbed her clit, and it felt so, so good. She wouldn’t be able to stop for anything. It felt like she’d always been there, on his bed, dressed in nothing but her panties, denying herself the release she so desperately craved, but it was good too—just being on the edge was so much better than what she’d felt before. Tentatively, she pushed past her labia. It was so slippery and felt so good. Another moan escaped her lips. She was so close. She was ready to burst. Almost as if she were waiting for—

“You gonna come, Alex? You gonna come all over my bed?” It was too much, but then he didn’t stop. He just kept going, murmuring to himself. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Wanna hear you. Bet you look so beautiful. Be a good little slut. Come for me.”

And, oh fuck, apparently that was what she’d been missing all that time. Henry’s gentle urging, his unrelenting litany of filth. All it took was a circle of her clit. She groaned and arched off the bed, exploding in white-hot pleasure that coursed through her body. She lost all control, and for a glorious moment, she was nothing but joy, nothing but pure sensation. She had no idea it could feel like that. It was absolutely the best thing that had ever happened to her, and of course, he was here for it. Of course, it was because of him.

“Henry,” she whispered, wanting him to say something, wanting him to look at her and acknowledge the whole crazy situation.

But as if caught doing something he shouldn’t, he immediately stood rigidly away from the bed. Without a word, he sprinted to the door.

“Wait, Henry,” she called, trying to stand, but her legs wobbled.

The door slammed behind him. The room was quiet. Alexandra was alone in his bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest.