Free Undertow by Elizabeth O'Roark

if it could be crushed under the pressure of his if he wasn’t diligent. We sat with everyone but his fingers constantly returned to me, entwining with mine, running along my cheekbone, combing through my hair.
    After an hour of sitting next to him, feeling his thigh brushing against mine, sharing a bottle of beer, touching his hand every time we passed it back and forth, my desire for him was overwhelming me. Just the memory of watching him come made me weak.
    “Can we leave?” I whispered in his ear. He silently took my hand and pulled me behind him. The second we found darkness I grabbed him, tugging at him with a desperation even I didn’t understand.
    “I don’t want to hurt you again,” he said, his voiced strained and thin.
    “Please, Nate,” I breathed, placing my palms on either side of his face and kissing him. “Please.”
    “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
    “I need this,” I said.
    As soon as the words were out of my mouth, his hands went to my hair and he was pulling me into him. He laid me down in the sand and pulled my dress around my waist, unable to move quickly enough.
    I braced as he slid inside of me, and was amazed to discover it didn’t hurt. I gasped when he was all the way in.
    “Am I hurting you?” he asked anxiously.
    “No,” I moaned.
    He hovered over me, moving slowly. I felt desperate and greedy for more, arching against him, without entirely knowing what I wanted more of.
    He was saying my name, fervently, like a prayer, against my ear. The ache grew unbearable, and my hips rose to meet his. I wrapped my legs tight around him, like a vise, wanting more.
    “Maura,” he gasped, a warning in his voice, and I didn’t listen, I couldn’t listen, just pushed harder and harder until finally I was shattering in a million pieces, crying out, and not a moment too soon. There was one long, guttural noise from his throat and then he clutched me to him, moaning, exploding inside of me.
    When he finally pulled his head off of my shoulder he smiled. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked.
    “Not half as much as I love you,” I answered with a smile.
    He grinned, brushing my mouth with his. “That’s impossible.”
    For as close as we’d always been, we’d never been as close as we were right then.
    “You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he warned, kissing the top of my head.
    I paused, wanting to ignore the unnerving thought that was dancing at the edge of my mind, wanting to return to the satisfaction I’d felt only seconds before. Finally, I pushed away from him. “How do you know?” I asked.
    “How do I know what?” he said, still trying to catch his breath.
    “How do you so much about it? How do you know I’ll be sore?” I said, sitting up, my voice rising. “And why did you have condoms? Have you done it before?!”
    I waited for him to deny it, my heart constricting.
    “I’m sorry, Maura.” He reached out to me and I pushed him off, curling up into myself in shock, struggling to come to terms with something I should have known long before — that while I had been saving myself for him, while I hadn’t gone on a single date in two years, he’d gone on as if I’d never been there at all. I couldn’t believe my own stupidity. I covered my face with my hands as I began to cry.
    I felt him surrounding me, felt him trying to pull my hands away. “I’m 19,” he pled. “You couldn’t expect me stay a virgin all through college?”
    I cried harder, refusing to look at him.
    “I’m so sorry, baby,” he went on. “With what your grandfather said I just thought … ”
    “Thought what, Nate?” I cried, finally looking at him. “You thought you might have to wait a little while? Was it that hard to do?”
    He shook his head frantically, “No, I just thought it might be a long time, maybe not until we were married, and I … ”
    “So you thought it was okay for you, but not for me? It was okay for you to do whatever you want, while I