ASHLEY: 

      My brain is buzzing as I try to process what I've just heard: Steph admitting that she's been keeping something from me. Something that she thinks might push me to end our relationship. From the shocked, slightly disgusted look that crossed her face when I asked if there was another guy, and her emphatic denial, I'm sure that's not the issue, but I can't even imagine what else might cause her so much concern.

      I finally find my voice, and manage to say, "Okay. Whatever it is, just tell me. I'm listening."

      She opens her mouth and closes it several times, as if she can't decide where to start, before she abruptly turns and walks toward her closet. "If you'll give me a minute, I think it might be easier if I show you instead," she informs me as she opens the door and starts looking through boxes on the upper shelf. After a minute or so, she pulls something from one of the boxes and comes back to stand beside me, holding out a small cardboard cylinder, the kind I have all over my office to hold my sketches. 

      "Here," she says. "When you look at this, you'll understand." I wait to see if she's going to elaborate any further, but she simply sits down on the edge of the bed staring at the window and blatantly refusing to look at me, which finally drives home how serious she feels that this is. This causes my anxiety levels to spike, and my hands are actually shaking a bit as I pry the cap off of the tube. I stick my fingers inside and pull out a single sheet of drawing paper, which is starting to yellow a bit at the edges, so I know that it's been in here for quite some time, and isn't something new.

      As I unroll it, I realize that it's some sort of drawing, and I become even more confused, because I see my own initials on one corner of the paper. How the fuck did she get one of my sketches, especially one that seems to have been done years ago? And what does this have to do with whatever is bothering her so much?

      I lay it on top of the dresser to get a better look, and realize that it's a drawing of my old band, Stolen Hearts, playing to a crowded room, which I recognize after a few seconds as a club we used to play at regularly, the one that bitch Cyndee got us fired from. It's not one of my better efforts, and I was obviously in some sort of a rush when I did it, but the detail is good enough that I recognize Midori in the forefront of the drawing. Then I look at the person standing next to her, and the bottom drops out of my stomach, because it's someone I remember quite vividly. 

      Billy McCracken. Cyndee's kid sister. The person I did my absolute damnedest to tear down when she tried to help me avoid the trouble that Cyndee eventually caused me. The one whose stunned expression and wounded eyes still pay me an occasional visit in my dreams...

      This thought is what finally makes it click. Those eyes were Billy's best feature; bright golden-brown, with darker, almost russet-colored streaks radiating out from the pupil like a sunburst. Like light shining through a glass of expensive cognac. Just like the ones that were staring into mine not five minutes ago. 

      How the hell did I not see this before? Looking at this drawing it's so fucking obvious: Slim the cheeks a bit, add a few years of maturity, and replace the wary, unsure expression with an incandescent smile, and it becomes the face that I look forward to seeing every day; the one that never fails to make me smile.

      Stephanie was Billy.

      Billy is Stephanie.

      Holy shit!

      I turn to look at her again, and see that she's still staring straight ahead, with her head tucked down slightly between her shoulders, as if she's bracing herself to be yelled at or something. This makes my stomach lurch again, so I walk over to kneel on the floor in front of her, and simply say exactly what I'm thinking: 

      "Do you want to know what I'm having trouble understanding?" I ask her. She glances up at me for just a second, without an actual response, but I decide to go on anyway. "I can't understand why you'd be worried about me walking away from what we have, when you're the one who has every right in the world to hate the sight of me."

      He head snaps up, and she looks into my eyes with an expression of utter confusion. Her mouth opens and closes several times, but she finally manages to whisper, "What? Why would you say that?"

      "Because after the way I acted, and the awful things I said to you, I honestly don't understand why you didn't just unload on me that first day in the studio, when I would have completely deserved it if you'd decided to let everybody know just what an asshole I was," I tell her. "There was no excuse for any of that, but I need you to know that I am genuinely, sincerely sorry, and if I could take it back, I would. The only thing I can say in my own defense is that Cyndee had me so completely conned that I honestly believed you were trying to turn me against her just because you were jealous."

      She lets out a snort of laughter and responds, "Well, you were partly right, anyway. I really was trying to save you from the aggravation and heartache that I knew she'd eventually cause you, but I was also jealous as hell, at least until that moment. After that I decided that you were just the most recent in a long line of idiotic horndogs who were more interested in getting laid than in what kind of person you were with, and you were basically asking for whatever you got."

      This causes me to chuckle also, as I acknowledge, "Darlin', we both know I'm still fully capable of being an 'idiotic horndog', so I guess neither of us were totally wrong." I come up from the floor and sit down on the bed next to her, then take hold of both of her hands and say, "So, now that we've gotten this out in the open, I'm hoping that we can both start being completely honest with each other, and that you'll answer a couple of questions for me."

      "Of course I will, if I can," she says. "Ask me anything you want."

      "First of all, why didn't you say anything earlier?"

      "At first, I just didn't want to cause problems for anybody," she tells me. "I mean, Macy and Lylah both work with you, or for you, as the case may be, and Alice is dating one of your bandmates. So it seemed like it would be better to just let it lie, and not take a chance on causing hard feelings, or jeapordizing somebody's job. But I've been thinking about it, and I realized that wasn't gonna work."

      "Why wouldn't it?" I question. "It's not like I was even close to figuring it out for myself." 

      "For one thing, the longer I put it off, the worse I felt for not being honest with you. I don't want to have a relationship that's based on lies, or misperceptions. Plus, there are still people here in town that I used to work or go to school with, and I didn't want to risk having you find out if one of them happened to randomly recognize me on the street or something. Plus, we have gone public, so there are pics and stuff on both of our social media accounts."

       "True, but what does that have to do with anything?" 

      "Because I got into it with Cyndee right before I left here for Pennsylvania, and she swore that she'd do anything she could think of to make sure that I never get what I want from my life. So even though she's with Philip, at least for the moment, I wouldn't put it past her to make some sort of announcement of my identity on y'all's fanpage or something, just to try to screw things up between us."

      I reach out and wrap my arms around her, saying, "Okay, I guess I can understand that. But I need to be sure that you understand a couple of things. First of all, as far as I'm concerned, Cyndee can go fuck herself, so you don't ever need to worry about me giving a shit about anything she says or does. And secondly, how could I justify being angry with you about any of this, when you not only didn't throw me under the bus to all of our mutual friends after I was such a complete and utter prick to you, but you've gone out of your way on multiple occasions to help me, without once asking for anything in return?" 

      I feel her muscles relax, and her arms come up and wind tightly around my neck. "Thank you for understanding," she murmurs into my ear. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I was afraid that..."

      "You don't ever need to be afraid to tell me anything," I reassure her. "As long as we're honest with each other, we can work around any problem that comes up. And speaking of being honest, I'd like to ask my second question, and I want you to give me a completely truthful answer, and not just what you think I want to hear."

      "Absolutely. What do you want to know?"

      "To quote an old song by The Clash, 'Should I stay, or should I go?' If you don't feel like... finishing what we started, just tell me, and I'll..."

      Before I can finish, I feel her hands cupping my face, and she moves away from me just enough to look me directly in the eye. "Stay. Please?" She leans in to kiss me, and I carefully lay her back onto the bed, moving one hand to unfasten her bra. Then I reach up and grasp her wrists, loosening her hold on me so I can stand up, taking the bra with me, and dropping it. She brings her legs onto the mattress, and looks up at me wide-eyed as I slip my fingers under the waistband of her panties and slide them down her legs to join her bra on the floor.

      I pause momentarily, taking my first look at the fully exposed form of my girlfriend, and I definitely like what I see. Not the trainer-ized, enhanced, and sometimes half-starved look of most other women I've been with, but soft, natural curves. A bit of extra flesh, yes, but still completely feminine, and desirable as hell. "Absolutely beautiful," I whisper, and she blushes from her hairline down to her cleavage.

      "You don't have to say that, you know," she mutters, lowering her gaze from mine.

      "Steph, look at me," I demand, and as she looks up again, I slide my briefs off of my hips and let them drop to the carpet. "Does this look like I don't mean what I said?" I question, and she reaches out her hand, trying to stroke me, but I move out of reach. "Not now, love, there's plenty of time for that later. Right now, I'd like to explore a bit, and figure out what works for you, if you're okay with that."

      She looks at me rather oddly, but then nods, and says, "If that's what you really want."

      I move to the foot of the bed and crawl up onto the mattress, kneeling between her legs and leaning forward to kiss her until we're both gasping for breath. "Just relax and enjoy, darlin'. This one's for you," I inform her once I'm able to speak again. I then proceed to take my time going over nearly every inch of her pale, silky skin with both my hands and mouth, searching out her most sensitive spots, and feeling her body shake with at least three orgasms before I reach the point where I can't wait another second. I raise an eyebrow as a silent question, and she points to her left, so I lean across and yank open the nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom and ripping the foil almost in the same movement.

      My dick is so hard it actually hurts, and I have to take a minute to calm myself a bit before I put the rubber on, because I'm honestly afraid just that bit of contact might put a premature end to the evening. But I finally get myself back on the leash, roll it on, and slide into her still-quivering warmth. I start out slow, giving myself a chance to make sure I'm in control of myself, but then work on finding a rhythm as she runs her fingers across my shoulders and up and down my back, occasionally pausing to squeeze my ass.

      After a few minutes, I reach back and slip my arms around her thighs, bringing her legs up over my shoulders, which lets me go even deeper. Almost immediately, her eyes get huge, and she sucks in a huge breath, which scares the crap out of me. "Are you okay, babe? Did I hurt you?"

      She shakes her head, and takes another deep breath before finally answering, her words separated by ragged gasps. "No. Oh God, no! But... what... did you... just do?"

      I'm a little confused by the question, so I start moving again, trying a few different tricks until she nearly levitates off of the mattress and whimpers, "That. That was it. Holy fuck, that feels amazing!"

      Now I know exactly what she means, and I'm surprised that she was so surprised by it. "Well, I do believe I just found your G-spot. So hold on tight, darlin', 'cause things are about to get very interesting."

      I start up a steady rhythm again, moving her left leg so both are resting on my right shoulder, which tightens things up and creates a bit of extra friction, and it's not long before I feel her fingertips digging into my biceps, and she moans, "Oh, fuck, you feel so good. Please don't stop, I'm almost there."

      "I wouldn't dream of it," I tell her, before moving down to nibble her neck. "Let it go, babe. I want to feel you cum for me. Just let it go." After just a few more thrusts, she starts to shake, burying her face in my neck and biting down on my shoulder to muffle a scream. I start going faster, not even giving her time to recover, and she climaxes again almost immediately. Which is good, because I've finally reached the point where I can't hold myself back anymore, and I have one of the most intense orgasms I can remember; my heart is pounding like a jackhammer, and my entire body feels like a fucking pile of Jello.

      After taking a couple of minutes to recover, I ease out and get rid of the condom, then lay back down next to Steph and gather her into my arms. She drapes her arm across my stomach and flings a leg over mine, cuddling up as closely as possible before she looks up at me and says, "Wow!"

      "My sentiments exactly," I reply. "I think we work very well together, don't you?"

      She smiles and tips her head up to kiss my jaw, then gives me a response that I'm totally not expecting. "Oh, I definitely have to go with 'yes' on that question, since I just had more orgasms in..." She pauses to glance at the alarm clock, then continues, "a little less than an hour, than I normally used to get in a week."

      "Excuse the fuck out of me!?" I blurt out. "How was that even possible? Did your idiot fiancee never stay home, or what?"

      "Yeah, he did, at least up until the last couple of months," she replies. "But Philip didn't exactly have a great deal of... oh, I guess stamina is the word I'm looking for. Or much of a sense of adventure, for that matter. Before he started getting weird, which I have to assume is when he hooked up with Cyndee, we usually had sex at least three or four times a week, but the, ummm... outcome was pretty much a coin-toss, at least for me. If I had time to sort of get myself primed, it usually worked out okay, but if there wasn't any advance notice ... not so much. I mean, you know that thing you said a little bit ago, about finding my 'G-spot'? Well, to be honest, until tonight I wouldn't have been able to swear that it actually existed."

      "I'm sorry to hear that, babe. But didn't you ever say something to him about it, maybe try to get him to... I dunno, 'branch out' a little bit, maybe?"

      "Yeah, I brought it up a few times, but depending on what I suggested, he either acted like I'd just mortally insulted him, or like I hadn't even said anything at all. He was sort of... uptight, I guess you could say. And it's not like I could offer a whole lot of suggestions, since I'd only ever been with two other guys before him. For all I knew, that was just how it worked when you were with somebody for a long time. I mean, Mom did tell Macy and I that even in the best relationship, we shouldn't necessarily expect it to happen every single time."

      "Hmmm," I mutter. "Uptight, with no stamina and a lack of imagination, huh? Not to sound like I'm bragging, but those are three things I've never been accused of." This sends her into a fit of giggles, and when they taper off, I say, "In all seriousness though, Steph, I guess there might be at least a bit of truth in what your mom said, so while I won't try to promise you a one-hundred percent success rate, that doesn't mean that I won't do my damnedest to achieve it. Because you deserve better than that. You deserve someone who actually cares more about making you happy than coddling an oversensitive ego. And I am promising to be the one who will make that effort, for as long as you want me to be."

      She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, we're interrupted by a loud scratching at the door, and she mumbles, "Crap, it sounds like Mickey has business he needs to do. I'd better get out there so we don't walk into a mess in the morning."

      "You stay there, babe, I've got this," I tell her, rolling out of the bed and picking my briefs up from the floor. "I'll be back soon." Then as I get ready to grab the doorknob, I turn to look back at her, raise an eyebrow, and ask, "A week's worth, hmmm? How would you like to try for two when I get back?"

      She gives me a mischievous grin in return, and says, "Only if I get to play this time. I have some questions I'd really like to find the answers to."

      This sends the blood rushing back to my crotch even as I open the door, and I manage to respond, "Oh, I'm pretty sure that can be arranged, love."

       I step out into the hall, and make a mental note to myself as I close the door. "Definitely need to help them put in that pet door tomorrow." Then I look at the dog, who is practically running in place in front of me, and say, "Okay, Mickey old buddy. I sympathize with your problem, but let's hurry and get this done. I have somewhere I'd much rather be."