Page 49 of Doomsdate

I want to, at least. Maybe that’s all trust really is. Wanting to believe in someone and hoping they don’t prove you wrong.

“You go first,” he says.

I take a deep breath. “If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules.”

He nods, resolute. “Agreed.”

“First, this is truly a lesson. I want you to explain everything we do. I get to ask as many questions as I want, and you’ll provide me with honest, straightforward feedback. Don’t sugarcoat it if I’m doing it badly, or wrong. I want to know the truth.”

Everett considers my conditions. “Okay, I’ll try. But so much of this isn’t straightforward. What doesn’t work for me isn’t necessarily bad or wrong, and there’s no such thing as a universal A-plus in bed. You’ll have to be okay with some ambiguity.”

I frown, not realizing how much I wanted an A-plus in bed until the idea was presented to me. “Okay, fine. Second, this is purely sexual, not romantic, and for tonight only. When you’re not, ah, actively teaching me during lesson time tonight, we will automatically revert back to what we are now—survival partners. We can’t afford to be distracted by each other out there, so no confusing the boundaries. I’m not your girlfriend, and you’re not my boyfriend. Nobody’s getting Miseryed. Got it?”

Everett winces slightly, and I wonder if I’ve once again been too blunt. “Got it. Tonight only. No feelings will be caught.”

“Third, no laughing.” My chin lifts, even though this condition makes me feel the most vulnerable of all. “It’s okay to give me constructive feedback, but you’re not allowed to laugh at me or make fun of me or even comment on how little I know.”

Everett’s brow furrows. “Maisie, I would never—”

“None of that, either.” I flap my hand at the sympathetic face he’s making and look away. “No pity. This is a professor-student relationship in Sex 101, and you should assume I know nothing.”

After a second, he says gently, “Agreed.”

“That’s it.” I risk a glance back at him and am pleased to see that his thoughtful face has returned, instead of the one that regards me like a broken baby bird he found on the sidewalk. “Do you have any additions?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Everything is optional. If one of us doesn’t want to do something, whatever it is, we don’t have to do it, no hard feelings. One hundred percent consent required for everything.”

I nod. “Good one. Next?”

“Let’s agree on protection now—for both birth control and STI prevention. I didn’t bring any condoms. Did you?”

I shake my head, kicking myself for not bringing any. If nothing else, they’d have made great bartering items. “No, but I have an IUD, and we were both recently tested.” I look down the bridge of my nose at him. “Right?”

He frowns, tilting his head at me curiously. “Right, but how did you know that?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You told me when we were messaging.”

Everett looks incredulous. “I did? Oh, right. I did.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’d shared that. I for one appreciated his frank responses to my battery of questions.

“Anything else?” I prompt.

“This one’s more a topic for discussion than a rule per se, but uh…” He pauses to loosen a tie he’s not wearing, fidgeting instead with the neck of his wool base layer. I watch as his index finger dips below the collar, running his knuckle there. “I was wondering what your thoughts are on orgasms.”

“Orgasms?” I frown. “Well, I’d like to learn how to have them with someone, and how to give them, too, just like any other technique you’d teach me tonight.”

The tops of Everett’s cheekbones flush. “It’s just—orgasms are often the end result of, ah, most sexual techniques we’d be studying. So, from a lesson-planning perspective only, I’d like to clarify”—while his tone remains professorial, it drops a register, and his hazel eyes flash dark—“do I have your permission to make you come?”

The low thrum of his words reverberates across my body, lighting up sectors previously unknown. I frown again. It’s almost as if he wants to make me come.

It’s almost as if he’s dying to.

“Yes.” The word comes out jagged, a raw response from the animal of my body, elicited by the excitement perceived in his. “And…can I make you come?”

A rough sound rumbles from the back of his throat. “Yes.” His handsome face folds into a bashful, charming smile that heats me up from the inside. “I’m guessing it won’t be hard.”

With the rules out of the way, we set about making dinner, luxuriating over the fine knives we use to chop our root vegetables, the large stainless-steel pot simmering our soup. It feels a bit like playing house with Everett, a kind of unreal reality of what it might be like to live with a man. We eat at the island next to each other, chatting over the next day’s logistics and route, at what time we can expect to hit D.C., the best way in.

He takes both our empty dishes to the sink and begins to wash them. “Why don’t you relax a bit while I clean up?”