One Little Question

This part of my journey to not hate my body could happen another time. One where I hadn't been eating cookies and drinking mimosas all day.

Just as I made the decision, the back door opened with a loud bang.

"Hey, princess!" Miguel called, like he always did, and I froze.

I fucking froze.

"Phoebe?" Miguel said a few moments later when I didn't respond to his greeting.

Fuck.

"Hi!" I said brightly.

"Where are you?" he asked.

His voice was getting closer. I whirled around, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My eyes were wide and startled, my lips parted—and still fucking covered in pink lipstick—and he was going to see me and...

Without thinking, I yanked my bathrobe off a hanger. It clattered to the floor of the closet, but I kicked it under the rack of Miguel's dress shirts and tugged my robe on, just barely managing to get it tied before Miguel's head poked into the bedroom and turned, staring at me standing in the walk-in closet.

"I'm in here," I said.

"I see that," he said, eyebrows creased with amusement. "Any particular reason?"

"Just getting dressed after my shower," I said, which was true. It was just that I'd gotten out of the shower an hour earlier and had been standing in front of the mirror, trying and failing to hype myself up to wear the lingerie for him.

"Hmm," Miguel said, and his eyes trailed down my covered body. "I wasn't fast enough, I guess."

My cheeks flared with warmth and I laughed awkwardly. "You can look later. You need dinner first."

Because he usually worked so late at Whiskey Sours, Miguel didn't eat dinner at the usual time. Most nights, he was home by eleven, but he was more of a night owl than I was. So he'd eat lunch during his break while at work, which would be around the time I'd eat dinner like a normal person. Then I'd pack up the leftovers of whatever I'd made and put them in the fridge for him to eat. If it was during the week, I'd sit with him and talk while he ate, then go to bed. He'd stay up playing video games or watching TV. In the morning before I left for work, he'd wake up to make me coffee and kiss me goodbye, even though he would've only slept for a few hours. Then he'd go back to bed while I went to my job at the library.

I wished our schedules aligned a little more, but we made it work.

"How did the cookie exchange go, princess?" Miguel asked as I followed him to the kitchen.

"Good," I said. "It was, um, fun to see so many people at once."

He burst out laughing. "Seeing people was fun?"

I bit back a smile. He knew how much of an introvert I was. "Well... it wasn't horrible."

"Not horrible is good. And then you came home and turned off your phone so you could recover?"

I smiled, going to the fridge and pulling out the leftover tacos I'd made for him. "Not quite. I went shopping with Candice and Trish."

"Oh yeah? What'd'ja buy?"

My throat tightened, but I tried to laugh. "Nothing."

That did not fool him, even a little bit.

"Nothing at all?" he repeated. "Or... oh."

"Oh, what?" I asked, trying not to sound alarmed at his knowing tone.

"Nothing you can tell me about, right?" He tapped the side of his adorable nose, grinning at me. "Helping out Santa and all that."

A less flustered person would have probably thought of that on their own, but there we were.

"Something like that," I said.

"So that's why you saw Olivia today?"

My shoulders tensed and I looked at him, eyes wide. "How'd you know that?"

"She came by for a drink after work. Said you'd stopped in."

Fuck. What if she'd told him about the lingerie?

"Um. Yeah. We popped into Lacy Pleasures to see Liv and say hello."

"Didn't buy anything?"

I released a breath that I was completely aware I'd been holding, relieved that my sister hadn't informed him of my reluctant impulse buy. "Candice bought some fancy panties and stuff."

"Liv didn't talk you into one of those full-body latex catsuits?"

"Of course not," I said, though my heart had started to pound. "Why? Would you like that?"

He glanced up, a wicked glimmer in his deep brown eyes. "Princess, I love you in—or out of—anything."

Another rush of heat moved up my cheeks. Tearing my eyes away from him, I started opening the containers on the counter.

"Um, so, what about you?" I asked. "How was work?"

He heaved a huge sigh as he grabbed a plate from the cupboard. "It was... weird, I guess?"

"How so?"

"That pre-Christmas weirdness," he said. "Busy but not busy at the same time. And I don't know what it was, but Gwen—you know, the blonde server with—"

"She's Liv's roommate," I said. "I know her."

He grinned one of those abashed, apologetic grins that made my heart melt. "Of course you do. Sorry. My brain's still in work mode."

"It's okay. What did Gwen do?"

"She didn't do anything. She was telling me she had this table who, I swear to God, spent the entire night talking about eating pussy."

I almost dropped the entire container of taco meat on the ground.

"R-Really?" I asked. "Just... just out there in public like that?"

"Uh-huh. I didn't believe Gwen at first, but then I glanced over and there's this redheaded dude ducking his head and like—" Miguel stuck his tongue out, then bobbed his head like a chicken, and I couldn't help but giggle. He stopped, grinning at me as he leaned in to steal a kiss. "And Gwen said they were talking about it each time she went up to ask if they needed more drinks."

"Did you know who they were?" My voice came out dry and I cleared my throat.

Miguel shrugged. "Construction guys or something. They come in now and then but I don't know any of them personally. But Liv went home with one of them."

That time, I did drop a container, but at least it was just lettuce.

"My sister?!" I said, eyes wide.

He burst out laughing. "Yeah. One of the guys came back later in the night and hit on her."

"But she... she—" I stared at him. "Was she okay? Did he seem—"

"She was fine." He put down the plate he'd taken from the cupboard, pulling me into his arms and pressing a kiss to my cheek before letting go so he could start cleaning up the lettuce covering the kitchen floor. "I checked in on her and she said she was good. They went back to her place and left his car at the bar. And I told Gwen if she got home after work and something was wrong to text me."

"Okay," I said. "Good. I... okay. Did he seem nice?"

Miguel shrugged. "I guess. He was the ringleader at the pussy-eating table, apparently. For Liv's sake, hopefully he wasn't just talking out of his ass. She deserves a good guy for once, you know?"

I nodded silently as he put the floor-lettuce into the garbage and took the container of meat to the microwave to heat it up. A table of tradesmen talking about eating pussy... they had to be from Candice's husband's crew. I mean, I guess it was possible that it was unrelated to the question Candice had asked, but what were the chances of that?

And I just...

Candice had guessed correctly when we were at the mall. Before Miguel, I'd been with people who didn't exactly find my body attractive. Part of me had always known that. Part of me had always felt uncomfortable when I was naked with them, even though I told myself that was normal, that everyone felt that way, that it was okay to settle people who were "not repulsed by" my body, rather than attracted to it.

It wasn't until I met Miguel that I even realized what good sex was. What it was like to be with someone who wanted you—really wanted you—and that I didn't have to feel uncomfortable when I was naked. That someone could feel the way he did about me. But even still, even knowing that Miguel loved every bit of my body and then some, I didn't want him to...

You know.

Lick me there.

He'd brought it up once, early on in our relationship and not too long after we actually started having sex. It was before we'd moved into this house, when he was still living in a rental with a couple of roommates.

And by "brought it up," I didn't mean like it was some big, serious conversation. No, we'd been fooling around in his bed, music playing to drown out the soft creaks of his bed frame as we made out.

I could picture that moment perfectly. Miguel was shirtless, though he still had his jeans on. They were undone and sitting low on his hips, the band of his boxers peeking out of the top. And I was almost naked, clad in just my bra and panties.

He was kneeling between my legs, kissing my neck, the warm skin on his stomach pressed against mine as he held himself over me. And I was running my fingertips along his upper back, sighing as he nibbled his way down to my breasts. Which was fine, because I liked it when he touched my breasts and sucked on my nipples and buried his face between them.

Especially when I could feel his reaction to being nestled against me.

But this time, he didn't pause at my breasts like he normally did. He kissed along my cleavage, then caressed one breast before letting his lips move lower... then lower... then...

"Um," I said when his lips were firmly out of breast territory and closer to belly button territory.

"Hmm?" he said, glancing up as he kissed my belly.

"What... what are you doing?" I asked, my voice squeaky.

A devilish look crossed his eyes, something that in almost any other situation, I would've found irresistible.

"I'm going down on you, princess," he said.

It felt like every muscle in my body tensed at once. "Oh. You don't, um, have to do that."

"Have to?" he repeated. "I want to. I wanna taste you and lick you and make you come on my tongue. Don't you want me to spoil you, princess?"

He made it sound so enticing. And I wanted to do anything I could to make him happy, because back then I still had this idea in my head that I needed to give and give and give and never ever take, because before Miguel, my boyfriends had only ever wanted to take from me. So I nodded, even though my spine was so tight it felt like it was going to snap and the thought of what he was about had nearly extinguished the sparking arousal I'd been feeling.

And he believed me, because why wouldn't he?

It wasn't until he'd kissed his way down the rest of my stomach, peeled my panties down, and started exploring me with his tongue that he'd glanced up and realized I had my eyes screwed shut and was clenching his bedsheets in my hand.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice urgent with concern as he sat up. "What's wrong, Phoebe?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. "It's okay. K-Keep going."

"Do you think I'm the kind of monster that would keep going when you're clearly upset?" he asked.

"Of course not," I said, my voice catching. "It's nothing you did wrong, I j-just... I..."

I don't know which of us was more horrified when I started crying. Miguel said he wasn't horrified, but I couldn't see how that was true. No one wants the person they're with to start sobbing in the middle of sex, which is what I did. He'd pulled himself up beside me, wrapping his arms around me tight and rubbing my back as he kissed my hair, murmuring quiet apologies that I kept telling him weren't necessary as I tried to explain why I felt so self-conscious.

"I'm sorry," I sniffled as I buried my head against his shoulder.

"You have nothing to be self-conscious about," he said as he held me against his chest. "Phoebe, I promise you, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life and I'm okay with having to tell you that until you believe it, too. I adore every inch of you. But I'm not going to pressure you to do something you don't like just because I like it."

"But if you like it..."

"This is not a deal breaker for me, okay?" He untangled one of his arms, bringing it to my chin so he could tilt my head up and meet my eyes with his sincere gaze. "Do I like it? Yes, absolutely. Do I like you more? Infinitely more. You doing something that makes you uncomfortable for my sake doesn't make me happy, alright? And one day, if you decide it's something you're ready to try again, then we'll try it then."

But even as much as I'd tried to improve how I felt about myself, that day hadn't come.

I couldn't bring myself to relax enough to let him do it. Even thinking about it that first time, all I could imagine was the view he'd have when he glanced up. A belly and at least three times the amount of chins I usually had, my breasts sagging to the side while he was face-to-pussy with a part of me that I couldn't see. A part of me that was blocked by breasts and stomach, that no one aside from medical professionals holding scary-looking metal instruments had seen up close like that.

But that was a long time ago. Years ago. Things had changed so much, and now...

I was kind of curious.

A little.

I mean, all the women today had raved about it. Except Nadia. She'd been on my side, but did my side really qualify as a side if I'd never tried it?

And then there was what Candice said about sitting on a guy's face...

The thought of it made heat rise not just up my cheeks, but deep in my core, something curious and fearful that sparked itself awake. There was a big difference between lying on my back, feeling vulnerable and awkward and like I was being viewed from the worst possible angle, and being on top of someone.

I pictured myself perched on Miguel's face, knees on either side of his head as he stared up at me. In my imagination, it felt sensual. Erotic. Powerful.

In my imagination, I loved how I looked sitting on him like that.

Except I was standing in the kitchen in my bathrobe, so nervous and self-conscious that I couldn't even show him the fucking lingerie I was wearing. How was I supposed to get on top of him, putting my pussy right on his tongue and—

"Princess," Miguel said gently.

I looked up at him, startled. "Sorry, what?"

His forehead creased, concern in his eyes as he studied my face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just—"

"You were a thousand miles away from me," he said. "Was it something I said?"

"N-No, of course not. You didn't say anything that... I was thinking."

"About Liv?" he asked. "She's fine, princess. I promise. I wouldn't have let her leave with that guy if I thought—"

"No, not that. It was..."

My mouth felt dry. I tried to think back to what Candice had said when we were at the mall. When she'd looked at me after I'd inadvertently insulted her by insulting myself, and her patient face and blunt logic as she made me admit the truth: that she did look phenomenal in the lingerie, and if she did, logic would dictate that I did, too. I pictured her, how confident and joyful and sensual she was, and how... well, how I was almost jealous of her.

If I wanted to be like her, I needed to take a step.

"Talk to me, princess," Miguel pleaded. "Is something bothering you?"

My jaw trembled and I licked my lips, then took a shallow breath.

"If I wanted to... I mean, what would... There's this—" I stopped and cleared my throat, looking at a particularly fascinating spot on the cabinets over Miguel's left shoulder. "How would you feel if I wanted to, um, like... sionyoface."

He frowned. "What?"

I bit my lip, trying to stop the trembles rushing through my body. "What would you say if I wanted to, um, sit? On your... face?"

My voice may have been quiet and squeaky, but Miguel had heard me loud and clear.

I mean, he didn't ask me to repeat myself and from the corner of my eye, I could see him looking in my direction. But he didn't respond. When the silence dragged on to a point where I couldn't stand it, I forced my eyes away from the super interesting spot on the cabinet.

His face was almost neutral. Almost blank. His eyes were wide and his mouth set in a straight line. As I met his gaze, he blinked twice, but still said nothing. Aside from the sound of my heart thumping in my ears, hard enough that I was sure that he could see my pulse throbbing at the base of my neck, the kitchen was completely silent.

Then the microwave dinged to let us know the taco meat was ready.

"Or not," I said, trying to make my voice sound casual and conversational as I reached towards the microwave. "It was just a—"

Before I'd even opened the door an inch, Miguel's arm shot out between me and the microwave, firmly slamming it closed. Then, without a word, he grabbed my still-extended hand and led me to the living room. I frowned in confusion as he let go of me and, with a purposeful look, lowered himself to the floor next to the Christmas tree and lay down on his back with his head almost touching some of the presents sitting under the tree.

"Come here, princess," he said.

"What... what are you doing?" I asked, not sure if I was trying not to laugh or cry.

"Getting under the tree."

"Why?"

He turned his head so he could look at me. "Because this is where all the gifts are, and you are giving me a fucking present, Phoebe."

I pressed my lips together, but it wasn't enough to stifle the nervous laugh that bubbled out of my chest. "So... so you would say yes?"

"Is that what you want to hear?" he asked. "Yes. Sim. Please. Por favor. S'il... how do you say it in French? S'il vous plaît. Come here and sit on my face. Please."

"You're not scared I'm going to... I don't know. Smother you or something?"

Miguel raised his eyebrows, then propped himself up on his elbows so I could see just how serious he was.

"Listen to me," he said. "If they put me in jail tomorrow and told me I had to pick a way to get executed, you sitting on my face and smothering me would be the top choice. But do you really think you could do that? You think I'm not strong enough to make you move exactly where I want you to be?"

That warm place in my core began to tingle. "I... I just thought—"

"You thought wrong," he said bluntly. "Now take off that ridiculous bathrobe and sit on my goddamn face, Phoebe."

"What about dinner?" I asked. "You haven't eaten yet."

A slow smirk spread across his face. "I'm about to, my dear."

In spite of myself, I laughed. "I meant the tacos."

"You're right." He beckoned me towards him. "I'll take your taco delivered directly to my face please, princess."

I couldn't help but giggle, which made him grin. "I walked into that, didn't I?"

"You did." He licked his lips. "And after all that walking, I think you deserve to take a seat, don't you?"

Oh, God.

Was I really doing this?

I was, I told myself. If I wanted to stop, Miguel would stop. I mean, he wouldn't even have to stop; I would just... just stand up.

And it would be fine. So would the lingerie. He'd like that and I looked fine and there was nothing for me to worry about at all, even though my entire brain was screaming at me to worry and—

"Please, Phoebe," Miguel said softly, the playful demands gone from his voice as it took on a pleading, desperate tone. "I want you like this so badly."

And just...

I was doing this.

My fingers trembled as I brought them to the belt of my robe and worked the knot loose. I could feel him watching, the sensation of his gaze almost palpable. Then, once my robe was undone and the only thing holding it together was my own hands, I took a breath to steady myself—in through my nose, out through my mouth—and let it fall open, shrugging it off my shoulders in one fluid movement.

There was a beat of silence where I couldn't bring myself to look up. Then:

"Holy fuck," Miguel said.

I glanced up. He was still resting on his elbows, but his eyes were as round as the ornaments on the tree and his lips were parted as he stared. Licking my lips, I watched as his eyes trailed down my body, part of me itching to hunch forward and cover myself up.

But a bigger part of me—a part that had a voice that suspiciously and slightly alarmingly sounded like Candice's—told me to let him eat his heart out because he wasn't looking at me like I was his princess.