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“If you knew that, you wouldn’t have come for me so hard,” he warned, voice low as he zipped up. “You wouldn’t have let me take you here.”
“You promised a detail,” she pressed. “For a kiss. And I gave you more than a kiss.” She was still panting as Xavier glanced back and forth, looking for witnesses. Then he leaned forward and whispered the digits of a phone number in her ear. He kissed her hard and left her wanting more.
* * *
Emma memorized the digits, repeating them in her head long after they’d gone separate ways from the alley. She watched as Xavier moved down the crowded public sidewalk. She was spent and sore, feeling like she might be standing on the edge of a precipice with no way down. Should she follow him? She felt weak-kneed and spent. Had she just fucked him in public? In full view of the condo window across the alley? She’d no idea if someone had seen, and she hurried on her way down the block and back to the safety of her own condo, so quickly she’d abandoned her thong on the concrete ground. She wondered what on earth had come over her. But then she knew what had: Xavier. His hands, his steady hazel eyes, his jet-black hair. The way he fit inside her perfectly, seemed to hit every nerve ending in her body all at once.
Was he right? Was the chemistry between them just because they were strangers? Emma didn’t feel this with the men she saw on the sidewalk, or on the train, or passing her in the aisle of the grocery store. Being strangers didn’t automatically mean chemistry. She stuck resolutely to her belief that she and Xavier shared something: a past life, a spiritual connection, something that made the sex so amazingly mind-blowing, that made her want him so badly that she took off her thong in an alley for him, let him inside her in the darkening dusk.
Would the sex be as wild, be as amazing, if they were a couple? Sleeping over in each other’s beds, knowing the ins and outs of each other’s routines? She thought about her past boyfriends, about knowing all the little details: the sound of their snores, their favorite Thai takeout dishes, their childhood stories. Had that made the sex...boring as well? Predictable?
The more sex she had with Xavier, the more...unpredictable, hotter, it got. She’d never in a million years guess she’d let him take her against a brick wall outside, just a few feet from a bustling city street, yet she had. She’d wanted it as much as he had. Was that because she didn’t know him? Would knowing him make her too shy, too embarrassed to do those things?
Emma wondered. Still, it didn’t stop her from immediately typing in the phone number he’d given her to try to find its owner. Every site she tried came up with a dead end. The number, whatever it was, wasn’t registered to anyone. A burner phone? Maybe.
She decided to text it and find out.
I want to know your last name, she texted.
Well, hello to you, kitten, Xavier wrote back almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for her. I enjoyed you today. Did you enjoy me?
Yes, she typed, her fingers trembling slightly as she remembered the passion with which he took her just a half hour ago.
I love the way you feel. You were made for me.
And you for me, she typed. I’ve never done that before. Outside. In public.
I know, he wrote, as if he could read her mind. But, that’s what can happen between two strangers. No inhibitions.
You’re not a stranger to me, she said. I know what you like. How you come. Your body. She knew how he came, the look on his face of pure release. She knew the little shuddering movement he made when he was done, a little hiccup unique to him, and the rush of air from his lungs when he did. That made them less than strangers. She knew he never came before she did, she knew he was always determined to please her first. She knew his touch drove her wild.
You already know too much.
I want to know more, she furiously typed back.
And then, Mr. X went quiet. No more texts. Emma stared at her phone, wondering where he’d gone. To work? She had no idea where he even worked. There were dozens of tech companies, and he’d been deliberately vague. Home to his wife?
He’d said he wasn’t married. She believed him, and yet...he seemed so extremely commitment-phobic for a man who’d only lost a fiancée. Sure, that was traumatic, but this felt so...extreme. Emma wondered about that. Was there an extreme form of commitment phobia? Was it a condition? She ran a quick Google search.
“Relationship anxiety,” she read aloud, skimming a few psychology articles. “...in its most extreme forms means a person is afraid to make a real commitment to another. This can be caused by the end of a relationship they didn’t see coming, or, in some cases, childhood trauma.”
