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I always said this and never meant it. We got the same thing every time. It was my favorite. I couldn’t even have said if Dante particularly liked it, but he always got it.
“Yeah,” he said into the phone, his free arm moving to drape over my shoulder. “I’ll take a large pie, thin crust with jalapeños, chicken, and sausage. Extra sauce.”
When he hung up I pushed play on the movie again.
We sat stiffly like that for a few minutes before I felt him put pressure on my shoulders, pulling me back more firmly against him.
“Relax,” he said into my hair. “I won’t bite. Just lay on me.”
I tried, but it was impossible to relax like that. He wasn’t relaxed either though, to be fair. I could feel the tension coiled in him like a spring about to bust.
I wiggled my hips, pushing closer to him. He jerked like I’d hurt him, and I stopped. And that’s when I felt it, that hardness poking into me from behind, through our clothes.
I swallowed and spoke, my voice like a croak, “Is this comfortable? Should I move?”
He didn’t answer, but he was breathing hard into my ear.
I laid back, putting the weight of my shoulders more firmly to his chest. I wasn’t any more relaxed, but I didn’t really care. This felt better than relaxed, like something important was happening, and I didn’t want it to stop.
His arm around me moved suddenly, went up, gripping the top of the sofa above us, his knuckles white with the pressure of it.
I started to sit up to look at him, but he stopped me with a touch from his free hand to my belly.
I stilled, my eyes glued to that hand and the way it kept moving, stroking my stomach, pushing me harder into him.
I didn’t stop him, and he just kept rubbing. I started to move my hips, rubbing against that foreign hardness at my back. He didn’t stop me.
This went on for some time. Not progressing, but not stopping, which seemed like enough for a while.
Until it wasn’t. Eventually I craved more contact. I wasn’t sure what. It was a tangible desire for something intangible.
Feeling drugged, my body heavy and aching, I started to turn.
I pushed my chest to his. His eyes were on mine as we breathed each other’s air, our lips less than an inch away.
I don’t even know how it happened, but he was suddenly sitting up and I was straddling him, my fingers in his hair, his hands on my hips.
He was panting into my mouth, and I didn’t know what to do with myself I loved it so much.
He’s finally going to kiss me, I thought in wonder.
I’d been waiting for this for what felt like my whole life. And, at last, it was going to happen.
I didn’t move to him. I wanted him to make the move. I held perfectly still as he leaned that last inch toward me.
The doorbell rang, breaking the spell.
I scrambled off him, cursing in my head. My first kiss ruined by the fucking pizza man.
I was sullen as I grabbed the two cleanest plates I could find and laid them out on the coffee table.
We ate in silence, the movie playing on. I had two slices, Dante the rest. There wasn’t so much as a crumb left by the time he was done. He always ate like that, and it was no surprise with the way he was growing.
He got up, threw the box away, and joined me again on the couch, throwing his arm over my shoulder.
I shrugged it off. I felt my temper suddenly brewing. It felt separate from me at times like this, a storm out of my control. I couldn’t have calmed it if I’d wanted to. I only seemed to know how to fuel it. Every bitter pill I’d ever swallowed was lodged somewhere inside of me, just waiting for these moments.
“So that girl you’re going to marry,” I ground out, voice tight and angry. “Is she nice?” I turned my head to watch his reaction.
