Page 38 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

Sonny is quiet for a moment. “You mean just with your current guy?”

“With anyone.” I try to shrug it off. “Maybe that stuff only happens in movies.”

“No, Cai.” His voice turns husky, almost fierce. “It’s not just movies. You deserve someone who puts in the effort. Who plans something because they’re excited to see you smile. You’re not high-maintenance for wanting that. You’re… worth it.”

His words settle deep in my chest, cracking open things I’ve kept sealed for years. I have to change the subject before I start crying again.

“Okay, here’s a better one,” I say, my voice lighter. “One time, I accidentally sent my boss a very personal text meant for my friend. It was a screenshot of a conversation with a guy on a dating website, where he asked me to call him a dirty piggy and tried to tempt me with a picture of his flaccid penis.”

“Wow,” Sonny sounds like he is struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that a guy messaged you that or the fact you forwarded it to your boss.”

“Once,” Sonny continues after considering it a moment. “I showed up to a major work presentation in two different-colored shoes.”

We go back and forth, the stories getting sillier and more vulnerable. With every laugh, I melt further into him. Our legs tangle.

His hand slides slowly from my back to my waist, then to my thigh. My kaftan is airy, and it feels like he is touching my bare skin. His thumb is tracing lazy circles, sending electricity up my thigh.

The air between us changes.

I become hyper-aware of every point of contact: the hard plane of his chest against my breasts. The firm muscle of his thigh pressed against mine. The heat of his breath on my forehead. My heart is pounding.

I want Sonny’s hands everywhere. I want to forget every principle I’ve clung to and lose myself in him.

“Sonny…” I whisper.

He goes still. “Yeah?”

I tilt my head up. In the near-darkness, I can just make out the line of his jaw. Our noses brush. Then our lips meet; soft at first, tentative, then deeper. A low groan escapes him as I part my lips, inviting him in. His tongue brushes mine, and heat floods through me, pooling low and heavy between my legs.

For the briefest moment, I think I hear murmured voices down the hall, reminding me of where we are.

It doesn’t stop me, but I press closer, one leg sliding over his hip, needing to be tighter. His hand slides from my thigh, over my waist, and cups my breast. I arch against him, a soft whimper escaping me.

Sonny is making a rough sound. He rolls us so I am half beneath him. The weight of his body, solid, warm, is overwhelming in the best way. I can feel how hard he is against my thigh, and the knowledge sends another rush of heat through me. My hands roam his back, then slip under his shirt to trace the muscles there. His skin is fever-hot.

He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, sucking lightly at a spot that makes me shiver. One of his hands slides between us, cupping me through the thin fabric of my underwear. I rock against his palm, desperate for more pressure.

“Cai…” His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. “If we keep going, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

The words hit like cold water.

Shame washes over me. Trevor’s text. The lies. What type of woman got in bed with someone she just met twenty-four hours ago? What must Sonny think of me? I was in a serious relationship recently. One whose status feels unclear at least to some extent. Yet, here I am, grinding against Sonny like I have any right to him.

I freeze, breathing hard. “I… I shouldn’t⁠—”

“Hey.” Sonny gently pulls back, though his body is still trembling with restraint. He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed. “We stop. Right now. No pressure. Ever.”

I nod, mortified by my behavior, but also overwhelmed by his tenderness. His prudence and consideration accentuate how I am still a mess.

We lay here in the dark, bodies close but no longer tangled, the storm going wild outside, matching the tumultuous one still churning inside me. Sonny’s arm stays around me, loose and comforting, but I can feel the tension in him, the same want, held carefully in check.

Neither of us speaks again. As I drift toward sleep in his arms, one thought keeps circling:

How much longer can I keep pretending I don’t want this, want him, with every part of me?

Rule #16

WHAT NEEDS TO BE WILL BE