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I give him a small nod. He closes the gap between us, and then his mouth is on mine in a tender, slow kiss.

All the kisses I’ve had before have been with men who were drunk and I wanted to take advantage of their alcohol levels. Kisses that have tasted of stale beer or cheap spirits.

Kisses that are a million miles apart from this.

His tongue brushes against mine in a glorious French kiss. He tastes sweet and heavenly, of sugar and sweetened cream, and he feels sensational. My heart pounds in my chest. It feels so powerful and strong, but I’m terrified he’ll hear how loud it’s hammering away. When his hands trace their way up my arms, I shiver with a burning want that I’ve never felt before.

We break apart. He stares at me, almost like he’s waiting for me to react.

“Joseph,” I murmur. My voice sounds far away, like I’m underwater and listening to the muffled speech of people on the surface.

“I have wanted to do that for a long time,” he tells me. He softly strokes the skin at the base of my neck, sending more glorious shivers down my spine.

“I didn’t realise how much I wanted that. How much I wanted you,” I admit.

All the time we’ve spent together, I’ve told myself everything has been platonic. Right from that first morning, I’ve assumed he saw me as just a person who needed somebody to watch over them. I’ve never thought there was anything remotely romantic or sexual between us. Now, though, all that feels like a mockery, swallowed whole by this feeling of lust and desire that has overtaken me.

“Delilah,” he starts, taking a step back from me. He looks conflicted, and I panic that he’s about to tell me I should leave.

I do not want to leave.

“I want this,” I murmur. “There isn’t anything wrong with what we’re doing.”

I know he could tell me a hundred things that are wrong. He was my teacher. He’s older. He’s clearly more experienced than I am. He probably assumes that I’m vulnerable, and if I’m honest with myself, I am vulnerable. I just don’t feel vulnerable with Joseph, especially not after that kiss. I feel safe. Secure. Desired.

“I should—” he starts again but then stops talking, shaking his head. “Goddammit, Delilah. I should be showing you the door and telling you to stay away, but….”

“But what?”

“But I’m selfish, and I want you.”

I can’t stop the wide smile that breaks across my face. I’ve had men tell me they want me before, but it sounds different when said by somebody who isn’t intoxicated and would be able to pick me out of a line-up in the morning. When they know who I am as a person, all my scars and stresses, rather than just the superficial surface.

It feels different, too, when being said by a man I’ve come to admire and developed feelings for, rather than a stranger I’ve selected because they look like an easy target. Where their statement of want is something I can match.

I’ve never been in this position before, and the unfamiliar rush of desire and attraction is almost enough to knock me off my feet. I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anybody. I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling this much for another person.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and take me into the living room so you can show me how comfortable that sofa is,” I suggest.

“That sofa is uncomfortable as fuck,” he retorts, making me laugh and breaking some of the tension.

I slide off my seat and reach for his hand, pulling him with me as I walk through the house, heading towards his bedroom. I’m sure at some point, he’ll come to his senses. He’ll tell me it’s too much, that it isn’t logical. Instead, he just squeezes my hand as I lead him into his room.

We both sit on the bed, the mattress dipping under our weight. I hadn’t thought much past getting him into the bedroom, and now we’re here, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Telling him the same thing I’ve said to other men before to urge them on feels wrong, and I’m sure without the alcohol, it’ll sound stupid. I’ll sound silly and immature, and demonstrate just how inexperienced I am.

“You’re shaking.” Joseph strokes my hair. “We can stop. We don’t have to do anything,” he whispers.

“No, I don’t want you to stop. I’ve never wanted anybody like how I want you. I want you to be my first, Joseph. Just be gentle.”

I lean closer and kiss him firmly. He responds with a deeper kiss, making me moan against him because everything seems to tingle—from the tips of my toes right up to the strands of hair on my head. His hands trail up and down my back, setting off further tingles. I don’t break away from our kiss, but I grab his top and pull him with me as I lie on the bed.

He kisses me for what feels like hours, making me desperate for him to take things further. Between deep, slow, and luxurious kisses, his hands make their way to my shirt, undoing the buttons. His fingers trail across my skin. They slip under my bra, run lightly over my breasts before moving to the back so he can unclip my bra. He pulls away from the kiss, and I know I’m staring at him with a stunned expression, but he looks equally as stunned. He shifts his position above me. I feel his arousal, firm against my thigh.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Relax,” he whispers back. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”