Sophie's Secrets Pt. 01

I have a problem. Sometimes, I can't talk.

It's extremely inconvenient. It's a form of dissociation; at least, that's what my therapist says. She said it's called "Disembodiment dissociation," or something like that. I feel like my lips are just gone, like that scary episode of Doctor Who where the people's faces disappeared and all that was there was skin? Yeah, it's like that. I find myself reaching up and touching my lips to reassure myself that they're there.

And I feel like my mouth is full of sand. And marshmallows. Marshmallow sand. It's nasty. And I can't talk with nasty sand in my mouth.

It's like the words are right there but I can't get them out. They get stuck.

So I write.

It became a coping mechanism a long time ago, and I've gotten better about it... way better! I'm super proud of myself. So is Mark. And I love it when Mark is proud of me.

But I still sometimes find myself mute.

Such was the case when Mark sat me down and told me we needed to talk about our wedding night.

Immediately, I was stressed. I try not to be, because I trust him, and I love him so much, and he's everything I've ever wanted, and I know he'll take care of me... but I'm still not very good at talking about anything related to sex.

I can write about it just fine. I'm editing my third werewolf romance novel right now. The first two sold like crazy, and they're filthy. Mark has read them, and he loves them. He was also a little shocked, because apparently I look too sweet and innocent for stuff like that, but he was thrilled that we both like the same things.

And I can think about it just fine, too. In my journal, I'd confessed to masturbating to thoughts of Mark touching me for years. Which was embarrassing, because he read my journal and found out. Oops.

But talking about it? Oh, no.

"Baby, I need to know what you're expecting. I need to know what you want," Mark was saying.

We were sitting across from each other, me in my desk chair and him on the trunk at the foot of my bed. Our knees were touching, but barely. His jeans were a light blue, worn thin in some places, with holes in the knees. They were buttery-soft from being washed too many times. He was wearing a thin t-shirt that showed off his gorgeous muscled arms and the tattoos he had almost completely covering his right arm. I let my eyes drift over the skull with the rose in the eye that he'd just added a few weeks ago. He was going to start the left arm soon.

I looked up at his face. His dirty blond hair was growing out, but he kept his beard trimmed and close cut. His light blue eyes were full of something intense that made me shiver. God, he was so sexy, with his perfect lips and his scruffy face and his tattoos inching up towards his neck.

"I don't want to hurt you, Soph."

Soph. That was his nickname for me. He'd been calling me that since freshman year, and I'd been in denial for so long that someone as awesome and sexy and sweet and perfect could ever want a girl like me. I'd convinced myself we were just friends. But every time he'd call me Soph, that little bit of hope would bleed back in.

"I don't want to scare you."

That jerked me back to myself and I found myself speaking, just a little. More like mouthing the words around my fingers.

"You don't scare me," I whispered. I felt my eyes burn at the thought, and they watered. "You could never... you won't hurt me."

"Sophie... I might. You haven't really told me everything that went on, you know? Which is fine, that's okay... I just..."

He's talking about Mr. Dunley. The man who ran the foster home I lived in for a while, after my parents died. I shiver at the thought.

"See, I know there's more to that story than you're telling me."

There's plenty I'm not telling you, Mark, because I can't talk.

I can't tell you about the way he pulled my hair, and pushed me onto the bed with my face in the mattress, and pulled my dress up over my head, pinning it down over me. I can't tell you about how I felt trapped, suffocated, and almost passed out, and that's why I won't let you put the hood of your sweatshirts on my head, even though they smell like you and I like them. I can't tell you about how he pulled me open and shoved himself inside the one place I should never have been touched, the one place I haven't even touched myself.

I fingered my lips again, and bit my nail.

"I don't want you to think about that, when we're together. I don't want to remind you of that if I get too rough."

Mark sighed, and I felt even worse, because I'd promised him I would try, and I really was trying, but I just... couldn't. I felt my eyes well up again and I shook a little as the tears spilled over.

I hated crying, especially in front of him.

Mark dropped to his knees in front of me and put his hands on either side of my face, thumbing away the tears. He pulled off my glasses and set them on the desk behind me, and whispered and cooed at me, kissing my cheeks and my nose and my mouth until I couldn't cry anymore. "Oh, baby, Sophie, sweetheart, don't cry baby. Come on. I love you. I'm not mad at you, I promise. Poor sweet, pretty baby." He stood up and pulled me against him, and I felt myself melt into his stomach. I felt so useless and small, but I felt safe there, with his arms around me.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

I didn't deserve him. I knew I didn't. I knew I was a pain in the ass, with my issues, and my trauma, and me getting all small and needy half the time.

"Look at me, Soph."

I shook my head against him.

He stepped back and took my chin in his hand, roughly pulling it up so I was looking at him. He squeezed my chin tight. It didn't hurt, but it felt firm. Secure. Strong.

I loved it when he was rough with me. When he didn't hold back. It felt like he trusted me enough to be himself with me. Besides, I knew he'd never actually hurt me.

His grip was rough but his voice was soft and sweet. "I said look at me. Don't say no to me, baby." He leaned down and kissed me on the lips, just a featherlight brush that left me craving more. He pulled back just enough that I could almost feel his mouth on mine. "Now you be a good girl and listen carefully. I want you to really think about this, Soph. I want you to think about whether you want me to make love to you, or if you want me to fuck you. I'll be happy either way, baby." He stole another kiss. "But I want you to be happy too. I want you to tell me what you're afraid of and what you don't want, and what you really, really want. And I want you to start getting comfortable talking about this stuff, okay? Because we have to talk about it. We're not going to play our games if we can't talk about it."

His tongue flicked out and tickled my lips, and I opened my mouth for him but he pulled away. He kissed my jaw, and then down my neck. I whimpered, knowing what was coming. I felt myself growing hot.

His hands ran through my hair, and then down my back. He was back on his knees now, and he kissed and nibbled my neck down to my collar bone, and pulled the collar of my dress away just a little, so he could reach. His low growl made my stomach clench, and I gasped when I felt his teeth sink into my flesh. He pulled me closer as he sucked on the spot he'd bit, and then licked it, and licked back up my neck.

"Can you do that for me, baby?" he said, his hands coming back up and forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"Huh?" I asked.

"I want you to think about it. I want you to think about exactly what you want, and what you don't want. I need to know."

I swallowed hard, and nodded. Oh, I could think about it, alright. I'd been thinking about it. For like, almost four years.

"I want you to write it down, okay? Write it down like those naughty stories you write. Nobody will read them. Just you. It'll help you figure it out, okay? I know writing helps you figure things out. Can you do that?"

I nodded again, and then said, "Yes."

"That's my good girl." He kissed me on both cheeks, and then on the nose, then licked my lips again, and finally opened his mouth and really kissed me. Soon, we were lost, and my earlier stress was forgotten.

Our wedding was four weeks away.

I'd wanted Sophie since the day I met her. One of my best friends had met her first, and had dragged her shy, introverted ass over to meet me. She'd looked up at me with those big blue eyes and long lashes, her coffee-colored skin glowing in the sunlight. She'd smiled a sweet, cautious smile, and her teeth sunk into her perfect plump bottom lip.

That was it, I was toast.

Then I found out she could cook. And not just cook but... Jesus. The woman gave me a food-gasm every time she pulled one of those casserole pans of hers out of the oven. And her steak...

Why she loved me so much I still couldn't figure out. I was a half-deaf redneck mechanic who grew up in a moldy trailer, smoked too much weed, and barely passed my college classes with a C in almost every class... and she was God's gift to mankind in an apron and heels with beauty, brains, tallent, and a scholarship. She'd just graduated college a year early with all A's and a single B.

She was so far out of my league, it was laughable.

Sophie Cormon was the picture of sweet and innocent; plump apple cheeks and those sweet lips, a shy smile, dark-rimmed glasses that made her strange blue eyes look even bluer, and a figure that both God and Lucifer must have collaborated on. She had perfect medium-sized perky tits, the tiniest bit of belly, and hips and an ass that was absolutely going to kill me if I couldn't get my teeth into it again soon.

But what always got me were those cute little dresses she insisted on wearing. They were mostly knee-length A-lines, and it was just too easy to slide my fingers up the inside of her thigh. And she got the cutest wide-eyed expression when I did. Her mouth would open up into an "O" and her pupils dilated, and then she'd squirm and whimper like a little girl.

It was so fucking cute.

The one time I'd seen her wear shorts almost gave me a heart attack, so I guess I couldn't complain about the dresses.

We were trying really hard not to fuck before we got married, since we both lived at and worked for our local church, but damn if we hadn't had some close calls. And she definitely had a few hickeys to prove it.

When I met Sophie, I knew she was too adorable and innocent and good for a guy like me. But after finding and reading her journal (no regrets) I found out she was a lot less innocent than she looked. The girl wrote primal werewolf smut and sadistic kidnapping-and-torture erotica, and sold it on Amazon under a penname.

I knew her dangerously dark fantasies, and desperately wanted to make them come true. So forcing her to be honest with me about what she really wanted was a necessity, because Sophie couldn't talk sometimes. Sometimes it was because she'd dissociate, and other times she got little and she just made cute sounds instead --which I loved-- but they weren't very helpful. I'd taught her to tap me if she was uncomfortable, and had made her do it a few times so I knew she'd use it if she needed to, but I was still petrified I'd just add to her trauma the first time we fucked.

There was one thing I knew for sure that was out of the question. Belts.

There had been one day when we'd been laying in bed making out like animals, and I'd reached down to unbuckle my belt, just for a little bit of relief on my poor straining cock. The sound alone made her stop, tap out, and push me away. It took several hours of aftercare and a Disney movie before she could verbally explain to me that her step-brother had beat her with belts, and I'd promptly gotten up and thrown out every single one I owned. Fuck belts. Who needs them?

But that was the shit I was afraid of. Doing one little thing that would ruin her night or upset her. What if I bent her over and took her from behind and she had a panic attack and I didn't know? What if I held her head while she sucked me, and she dissociated? I couldn't do that to her.

I could be patient if I needed to be. I was willing to give her whatever she needed. I'd fucked plently of girls before I'd gotten my life back on the straight and narrow, and knew how to control myself, and how to take care of my girl. But Sophie and I were trying to do this right, and I was pretty sure she'd never done anything more than kiss her boyfriends, excluding the several cases of sexual assault she'd experienced that she wouldn't talk about.

Still, I was hoping for the best. She hadn't had any other negative responses after I threw out all my belts. She was a responsive little thing, and I'd managed to make her cum once just by biting her neck and gently stroking her clit through her panties. And although I'd managed to hold off so far, I was getting close to the end of my self control.

Fuck. I was aching for her.

I had just taken a cold shower, trying to relieve myself from the pressure in my balls before I took her out to dinner tonight. We were so close to the wedding, and I was determined to do right by her, and make an honest wife out of her.

Also because I knew if Jake or our other mutual friends found out I was fucking her before our wedding, they would literally cut me into pieces and feed me to the wolfpack that lived in the woods behind the house.

I'd already jerked off twice today, and I was having zero luck with relieving myself. I needed to be inside her, anywhere, for this ache to go away. I gave up drip-drying in the cold air and toweled off quickly, wrapping the towel around my waist before stepping out of the bathroom and into my room.

Sophie was sitting on my bed, holding her journal.

I groaned. She was wearing one of my favorite dresses on her; it was a dark navy blue with lace at the bottom, and it was short enough that if she bent over just enough, I could see her panties.

And she always wore the sexiest panties. I made sure of that.

Sophie had dark brown skin, so she didn't blush often, but when she looked up and saw me in just a towel, her eyes got wide and her cheeks went pink. Instantly, I was rock hard again.

I saw her eyes dart down to where I was clearly tenting the towel. She looked away and bit her lip.

"Sophie... What are you doing in my room, baby?"

"I... I didn't... I thought..."

"What did you think?" I asked, taking a step closer to her. Her eyes darted around, trying to look anywhere but at me. I saw her shoulders rise and fall a few times as she breathed hard.

God I loved messing with her. She was so adorable when she got flustered.

"Don't you... don't you have a bathrobe?" she stammered.

"No, I have my own room with a door that I lock. Why would I need a bathrobe?"

"You gave me a key," she mumbled.

"I sure did. You don't... you don't like what you see?" I feigned hurt.

Her eyes flew back to me. "Yes, of course I do. I love you, and I love your tattoos, and... you're so strong, and... and everything else, and... Mark you... you're messing with me," she trailed off.

"I can't help it, baby. You're cute," I laughed, and leaned in to kiss her on the nose. It was one of my favorite things to do, because every time I did it, she wrinkled her nose and forehead and squinted her eyes closed, and giggled.

I went to the dresser in the corner of the room and grabbed a pair of boxers and some jeans, and went back into the bathroom to change. It was difficult, but imagining Jake tying me to a tree and letting Scott, Brian, Reuben, and the other guys take turns punching me until I was a bloodied mess helped bring my raging hard-on down. I wasn't the only one who adored Sophie; every man, woman, and child in the church would literally do anything for her. She was just one of those people. And the guys in our friend group? They were protective as hell over her. I'd gotten six death threats when people found out we were dating, and Reuben checked in on me weekly to make sure I was taking care of her properly (which was actually helpful, considering the fact that I'd never had a girlfriend who regressed to a seven-year-old before).

I skipped a shirt, because I wanted to watch her squirm a little more before we went out. If I couldn't have her, I could at least watch her want me, right?

I came back into my room and sat on the bed beside her, and pulled her legs up over my lap. She was biting her lip again. Those lips were going to kill me.

"Soph... we've talked about the lip biting," I said.

She pulled her lips into her mouth, like she was hiding them from me.

"What is this about?" I asked.

She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them as she exhaled in a big whoosh. Then she handed me her journal.

It was the one she'd bought when her other one had gotten lost. I'd found the old one and read it, and returned it later, but in the meantime, she'd gotten this one. It was purple, with a fuzzy alpaca on the front.

"What's this?"

"My journal," she mumbled.

"...Why?" I asked cautiously.

She chewed on her lips a little more, but eventually said, "so you can read it."

"You want me to read your journal."

She nodded, then hesitated, and said, "I did what you said." She was looking down at her hands, wringing them together.

She'd written what she wanted, and now she wanted me to read it.

"Some of it, near the beginning is... well, don't read those parts, it's kind of sad, because, you know... I thought you didn't like me... But I wrote a lot of things down recently, about... you know... what I want, and what I'm afraid of. If you want to read it," she shrugged, not looking at me.

If I want to? Hell yes I wanted to. I'd fallen in love with Sophie by reading her first journal. I'd liked her plenty before, but when I'd finally gotten inside her head and really got to know her, she'd become my everything. I wanted to know everything that went on inside that pretty, precious head of hers.

I hadn't ever asked her for the second journal, since I'd read the first one without her permission (I was an asshole like that). But I'd certainly wanted to.

"Can I read all of it?"

"If you want... but it's embarrassing," she said, her voice rising just a little. She covered her face with her hands.

I set the purple alpaca journal aside, and climbed over her, straddling her. One by one, I kissed the tips of her fingers and pulled them away from her face.

"God I love seeing you like this," I murmured, leaning over her. "All hot and messed up and needy for me. You drive me crazy, Soph, you know that?"

She fidgeted under me, her hips rocking against my straining pants. I bit back a moan and got off of her. The last thing I needed was for people to hear us.

"Okay, Soph, I'll read this when we get home, okay?" I said, rolling up off the bed and forcing myself away from her. "I have a feeling if I start reading it now, we're never going to make it to dinner."

She sighed and remained laying on her back on my bed. I loved looking at her there, her dress rumpled, her hair just a little messed up, staring up at the ceiling. She had a serious expression on her face, and a thousand-yard stare.

"There's a new bookstore that opened up downtown," I said, trying to drag her mind off whatever she was thinking about.

That did the trick. She pushed herself up on her elbows and smiled shyly. "Really?"

"Yes ma'am."

She stood up and straightened her dress, and flattened her hair back down. "Can... can we go?" she cocked her head slightly and looked up at me with puppy dog eyes.

Like I could say "no" to that.