“How many?"
I blink. "How many what?"
"Women. Since..." She gestures vaguely between us. "Since me."
The question catches me off guard completely. I mean I could lie. I could inflate the number to seem less pathetic, less hung up on her.
But I don't.
"None."
Her eyes widen. "None?"
"None."
"Nate, that's—" She stops, shakes her head. "I don't believe you."
"It's true."
"Seven years and you didn't?—"
"I kissed women. But I didn't sleep with them," I interrupt, and there's no heat in it, just honesty.
"I still don't believe you."
"I kept your birthday as my passcode for seven years.," I say, leaning over her, staring into her eyes so she knows I'm not lying. "You think I was out there sleeping with other people when I couldn't even change six numbers?"
She stares at me, and something shifts in her expression.
“Don’t get me wrong. I tried," I admit. "I went on a few dates. Let people flirt with me. But every single time, I'd compare them to you and they'd come up short. So I stopped trying."
"That's..." She swallows hard. "That's a long time to wait to?—"
"Have sex?” I laugh. “Yeah I'm very well aware. Believe me.”
"You waited."
"It was always going to be you," I say. " Just took you a while to come back."
She moves then, closing the small distance between us, and kisses me. Soft at first, then deeper, her hand coming up to cup my face. I respond immediately, rolling her onto her back, covering her body with mine, and the sound she makes—half gasp, half moan—goes straight to my dick.
"I'm not a patient man," I say against her mouth, already hard and pressed against her thigh.
"But you waited for me," she points out, breathless.
I kiss the hollow curve behind her ear, moving down the line of her neck, lavishing her with attention.
"I'd wait for you for a thousand lifetimes if I had to," I murmur against her throat, then bite down gently on her earlobe. "But I'd hate every fucking second of not having you in my arms like this.”
She arches into me, and how ready she is, how much she wants this, is undeniable.
“You don't need to wait anymore," she breathes.
And I don't.
The first time last night was desperate. Frantic. All those years of need compressed into barely controlled urgency. The second time was slower but still hungry.
This morning is different.
