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Not in this moment.
In this moment, I want it. I want him. With a fierceness that I probably haven’t felt before. Not even when I’d look a little too hard at his family photos all over his house to memorize the look on his face when the picture was taken, trying to get to know him that way; or when I’d stare at him on TV, kicking that ball around, running across the field like he owns it, the happiness in his eyes when he scores a goal. It comes a close second to the look on his face when he sees Sophie after a long, hard day, and it’s beautiful.
So yeah, I’ve never felt this kind of need before.
Probably because I know what he tastes like now.
“I do,” I confess.
I even go so far as to move against him.
Move againstit.
And it turns out to be the right thing to do because it makes his eyes flash and his hands grab my fleshy hips, I’m sure to stop me.
“You don’t,” he snaps.
“No, I do. I really do.”
“You —”
I move against him again. It’s harder to do now with him holding me but I still try.
And it still is the right thing to do because now along with flashing eyes and digging fingers, he shuts up, gritting his teeth. Like I’m causing him pain, but I know it’s not that.
It’s not pain.
It’s lust.
The kind that hurts.
I feel it too.
“Because I know what happens on a third date,” I declare.
“Yeah, what?”
“Sex.”
He flinches.
I would too.
But as I just explained, I’ve lost my mind. I’m not acting like I should.
So no flinching for me.
Or ducking my eyes or tucking my hair behind my ear.
No shame. No reality.
Just plain lust and pure love.
“This isn’t a date, remember?” he reminds me with clenched teeth and flexing fingers on my hips.
I remember.
I do remember.
