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Who knew it could feel like this?
Why is it that when the heart is involved, everything feels like more?
Colors, sounds, the drifting of his fingers over my skin, his mouth, the sensations, all of it is amplified, and there is no going back after tonight. I’m choosing to believe him and trust him. He said he wanted to win my heart over, but he doesn’t realize he already has.
Standing there, I’m left in just my heels. He groans like it pains him to see me this way, and my stomach clenches in the best way when he says, “Take me to your room, Goldie.”
Without hesitation, I say, “Right this way.”
25
BRIGGS
Last night, a chapter of my life closed, and another began.
I should have seen it coming. Over the past several months, this thing between Goldie and me has been building and building, and looking back, it’s evident that she and I were going to be inevitable.
By the time we arrived at her room and all our clothes were completely gone, the need to be inside her was so powerful, every part of me ached.
Goldie is unlike any woman I have ever been with. Did I love Adele? Yes. At that point in my life, she was just what I needed. But as the years went on, I grew, discovered more of myself, and as much as me changing courses wasn’t what she wanted, it was the best for me. At some point, a man knows what his future will look like, and it wasn’t with her. Goldie, on the other hand, I don’t see a future without her.
Do we still have things to discuss and discover about each other? Of course, but after last night, there’s no going back.
Her skin, the way it fluttered against my fingers. Her thighs, the way they quivered as I buried my head between her legs, her gasps and sounds that I elicited from hitting that spot so deep within her, it’ll never be enough. The warmth that surrounded me as I slid inside, her hips as she lifted them to get closer and for me to go harder, faster, her arms wrapped around me as I tucked my face into her neck, every bit of it, every second was fucking perfect.
She doesn’t realize it yet, or maybe she does, but after this . . . she’s mine.
“This condo looks completely different from your home,” I say as she’s setting up a fancy coffee maker. She’s standing at the kitchen counter in a T-shirt she’s pulled on from somewhere, and I know without even putting my hands on her that she has nothing on underneath. It’s sexy as hell.
“It’s the lack of plants. I took them all with me, so this place feels devoid of life.”
She glances at me and then does a double take. I’ve slipped on my boxer briefs and nothing else. I don’t think she wants me wandering through the condo naked, but I’m not opposed to it, given the way she’s looking at me. Seems I’m not the only one affected this morning.
“No, it’s not that. It’s white with sleek gray. Don’t get me wrong, I love the windows and the layout, but it just feels cold. Well, colder than I would expect for you.”
She looks around the condo and takes in the different architectural details. The outside wall is brick but whitewashed. The windows are bracketed by heavy dark gray drapes. The kitchen cabinets are white, the countertop is gray and white marble, the floor is gray tile.
“I see what you mean. I guess I just know what it looked like before the house. I brought with me most of the things that I loved. Like that painting in my living room, the plants, a few things that pop of color.”
“Tell me about the painting,” I say to her as the machine whirls to life.
She glances over her shoulder to where the painting once hung.
“I love that painting,” she whispers.
“I know. I’ve seen you look fondly at it. Where did you buy it?” I ask as I take a seat at the breakfast bar.
“At a small art gallery in Brooklyn.”
There has to be more to this story. No one loves a painting that much without it having some sentimental meaning to it. And while it looks like her now that I know her, it also doesn’t.
“Why?”
“Because I know the artist.”
Last night, the driver left a few items of food for us to eat. Goldie moves about the kitchen to toast some bagels and pulls a premade lox and fruit board out of the refrigerator.
“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s beautiful, but I don’t know, it doesn’t look like something I would expect you to buy?”
