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“My boobs aren’t this big either. It’s a push-up bra.”
“Oh, I am well aware of what is going on with your tits. I’m very happy with what I found.” He winked at me.
Cain looking bored and nonchalant was attractive enough. Cain smoldering was sexy as hell. Cain winking? Dead. I was basically dead from the beauty of it. I lifted the beer and took my own sip.
“I need you to get off the floor,” Cain said. “So I can stand up.”
I did, rolling my dress back down over my thighs. It was still gaping open in the back but I was mostly covered. The Washington Apple buzz had worn off and I bent over and grabbed the beer. I was thirsty and I could hear my phone chiming in my purse on the table. Bella was probably blowing up my phone.
Cain rose to his feet and tossed back the small amount of whiskey left in his glass. He had kicked off his sandals at some point and he padded barefoot and bare-chested back to the kitchen, refilling the glass. He didn’t sip this serving, he just took it all down, his expression giving no indication of any burn of the booze. He didn’t flinch or react at all.
His house was small and dated, but it was clean. There weren’t shoes or laundry or old pizza boxes sitting around like guys I knew in college. It was tidy, though stark. There was no art on the walls or anything personal like family photos. He had mentioned his family irritably, but I wasn’t sure if that just meant he wouldn’t live at home again or if he genuinely didn’t get along with his family. Given the lack of photos maybe it was the latter. Not that it mattered.
Cain wasn’t an equation for me to solve. He was just here and now. A very delicious means to an end. But I did like him. I could admit that to myself. Which made it all feel very surreal that I was here, in his living room, somewhere in Maine, with my dress unzipped, my bra compromised, and my fake eyelashes off. While he poured another drink I texted Bella back, who was, as assumed, freaking out. I told her I was still at the bar, just to calm her down.
Then I tried to determine how much whiskey Cain had consumed but I didn’t know how many ounces were in a glass. Besides, he had been drinking out of different-size glasses all night. Suffice it to say it was more than the recommended daily allowance. I wondered if he would be insta-drunk. Fine one minute, trashed the next. Because he seemed fully functional. But I didn’t know him.
It seemed I shouldn’t want to know him. Cain was no stranger to the bar. And there had to be a reason for that. I was curious what that reason was.
There I went—thinking again.
What had he told me? Most questions don’t have answers.
Or maybe more accurate, most questions didn’t have simple answers.
Also, life wasn’t like math because it wasn’t predictable.
When Cain came back into the living room he had his phone in his hand and he turned on music. Nineties grunge rock. He came right up to me and kissed me, one that I felt all the way to the tips of my toes.
“Come to my room,” he murmured.
I waited for something clever and seductive to come to mind as a response, but my brain flipped through a dozen or so phrases quickly and they all seemed so unlike me. So corny. It would be more distracting than seductive. So I settled for what seemed like an answer most men would appreciate. I took the neckline of my dress and pushed it down to my waist then over my hips. It dropped to the floor with a soft thump and I stepped out.
Cain swore as he took in the sight of me in nothing but my bra and panties. “Is that a yes?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and I took his outstretched hand. My heart was racing and my body felt prickly with anticipation. I don’t have any particular body issues or insecurities. Sure, I’m on this side of short, and what woman doesn’t wish she was a little thinner, but overall I’m satisfied with what I’ve been given. I have a curvier shape than my sister, but it’s proportionate, and my anecdotal research would lead me to believe some men prefer hips and ass to stick-straight.
I have no particular reason to feel shy and I was never one who minded changing around other girls in gym class or undressing in front of my boyfriend.
But it hadn’t made me feel empowered either. Sensual. But when Cain drank me in with his eyes I felt like Aphrodite, goddess of sexuality. I didn’t stand there as an innocent Little Red Riding Hood not understanding what she was about to encounter. I craved what was coming.
It was ten steps down the hallway and it felt like forever. I actually counted the steps because it felt endless. But then Cain was moving through the doorway into a dark room, taking me right to the edge of his bed in the moonlight. God, there was moonlight. I shivered at the perfection in that. Even a mathematician likes a little moonlight to set the mood. I tossed my hair back over my shoulders as Cain bent to turn on the lamp on his bedside table.
“Don’t,” I said.
He hesitated. “I want to see you, but if you’re uncomfortable, that’s fine.”
“I like the moonlight,” I said. “It’s beautiful.” It was, casting its soft, white glow around a small, but again, tidy room. Cain’s bed wasn’t made, which was slightly distressing to me, but there were no dirty clothes or overflowing laundry baskets at first glance.
“Then let’s get more of it.” Cain went to the second window and flicked the blinds open. It killed the dark corners to the right of the bed.
I sat down on his bed, the creak of the mattress muffled by the music drifting from his phone. Nirvana. Yikes. That seemed like a band I didn’t want to lose my virginity to. But I had to assume the song would change before penetration so I could only hope for a better follow-up.
Cain undid his jeans and shoved them off. He was wearing black boxer briefs and nothing else, not even a smile, as he sat down next to me. I felt fifteen years old again, anticipating a kiss. But when he closed the space between us and pressed his lips to mine, this was no fumbling first attempts in a friend’s basement rec room. This was all demanding man, taking what he wanted. This was hot tongue and possessive marksmanship.
He had one hand in the back of my hair, holding me tight to him. I gripped his waist, needing something to hold on to as passion exploded between us. Each plunge of his tongue into my moist heat mimicked what I knew would be next and I felt restless, eager. Wet. My breathing was shallow and I knew this was why I was doing this—because if I was experienced, what I would do now was shove him down and climb on top and ride him. It felt like I needed that. To get on and make this ache go away.
But I didn’t want to wreck the rhythm and I knew I couldn’t figure out the physics this first go-around. So I just let him kiss me over and over until my nipples were hard, my lips swollen, my body aching. Cain eased me down onto the bed and I went willingly, my eyes drifting shut as his mouth teased over my nipple. He undid my bra and it slid to the floor as his hand cupped my breast hard, squeezing with more force than finesse. I didn’t even care. My thoughts just rolled around in my brain but they weren’t as urgent, as demanding. I felt relaxed, languid. Easy.
