My enemy is now my friend.
In a single movement, I strip my clothing, my erection pressed against my abdomen, so hard it borders on painful.
She takes the foil square from me, tearing open the wrapper. I hiss when her fingers wrap around me, squeezing before she slides the latex on.
People spend a lifetime searching for something half as good as this, and as Sofía lies back, hair fanning out beneath her, I know I’ll never have anything like this again.
A connection as special as this is something worth fighting for, right?
Our eye contact never breaks when she lines me up to her entrance. Doesn’t falter when I shift forward inch by glorious inch until I’m fully seated and we both release groans of pleasure. Doesn’t snap when she clenches around me.
Fear flashes over her face, and I drag her down into a kiss to banish whatever thought flickered in her mind. Does she feel it, too? The tether between us? There’s nothing casual about what we’re doing, and as I meet every roll of her hips with a thrust, that cloud of emotion grows between us.
Soft moans and breathy sighs fill the space, and when my name falls from her lips—a plea, a prayer, a promise—I inch closer to oblivion. She tightens around me. And I press my thumb to her clit, replicating the slow circles she demanded earlier, driving her to the edge with me.
“Please,” she begs against my lips, her feet wrapping around me to pull my hips tighter, deepening the angle and ripping a shuddered groan out of me. “I-I’m going to—”
Her words cut off as her head tips back and she tightens around me, her orgasm slamming into her. It sparks my own, and the ball of pleasure at the base of my spine explodes, so strong my vision darkens around the edges with tiny bursts of light.
Sofía’s eyes crack open, and she gifts me a shaky smile as I thrust into her one last time, spilling into the condom. She caresses my cheek as I pull out of her, kissing her palm and slipping into the bathroom to clean up.
I yelp when I realize she’s following me, focused on my ass. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, voice husky.
Once I’m done, I give her space, taking a few minutes to reorganize my spinning thoughts.How am I supposed to give this up?
She returns and slips into bed beside me, resting her head on my chest, the warmth of her skin melting into mine.
“That was…fun,” she whispers.
There are so many words I would use, butfunisn’t one of them. Revolutionary, maybe.
“Yeah.” I play with a strand of her hair, twirling it around my finger. “It was fun.”
Her brow crinkles, only momentarily, before it smooths away.
“Your dream partner,” she says after a while, her fingernails dragging up and down my torso. “Tell me about them.”
My chest tightens.
I wonder if she can sense the erratic nature of my pulse, the subtle increase in the temperature of my skin. I’ve spent a lot of time asking myself this question. For a while, that perfect person was an undefined blob. A figment of a person, molded and formed by the types of love I was surrounded by. Then Grace took the form of my dream, but I think I projected some of that onto her. Now I know she never quite fit in the lines because they weren’t shaped for her.
“Well, she has to be smart.” Sofía stiffens beside me, her movement pausing. “And organized to manage my chaos. Kind. Funny. A little particular about her routine.”
Unlike before, that blob now has a definition. It’s taken shape as a short, opinionated, high-maintenance, so-far-out-of-my-league woman with long brown hair and gorgeous, soft eyes. She hates the wordointmentand has a million bags inside her purse. She quiets my mind when I’m with her.
“She sounds…nice.”
It’s you, I think to myself, wishing I was bold enough to say the words out loud.My dream girl isyou.
I pick up a strand of her hair, curling it around my finger. This is the kind of silence that used to leave me on edge—one where my thoughts would wander and spiral and overwhelm. Now it’sthe moment in the day I crave the most because it’s time I get to spend with her.
Her body molds against me, her legs weaved between mine to ward off the chill of the air-conditioning.
What if life were like this every day? Busy days followed by quiet nights together?
I don’t want flashy or loud. I wanther. That would be enough.
“She’s incredible,” I say finally. “And your dream guy?”
