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We talked for hours, sitting at the table where we’d originally bonded over nightmares. I found out the minuscule things. Her favorite Disney flick wasThe Little Mermaid. Spaghetti was her favorite meal. And she loved anything chocolate and with ice cream.
Hours later, I finally walked her up the stairs, dropping her off in front of her bedroom door.
She pushed her toe into the plush carpet, nervous all of a sudden. “I had a great time tonight. As all first dates go, this has been the best one I’ve ever gone on.”
“Have you been on a ton of first dates before?”
She shook her head. “No. But if I had, I imagine nothing would top this.”
I nodded, swallowing, assessing my next move. We had reached that awkward moment right before you said good-bye at the door, that moment when you decided to kiss her, to try, to see if she’d let you.
I swallowed again.
I should kiss her.
No hesitation.
We stared at each other for a good few seconds before she laughed, pulled me in by the shirt, and kissed me. My arms wrapped around her lower back, bringing her in, and I deepened our kiss. She felt like heaven in my arms, my lips on hers. She pushed against me, crushing her breasts against my hard chest. My body was on high alert, wanting, needing. I gripped the back of her shirt, bringing her closer yet it wasn’t close enough.
We went from zero to one hundred in a nanosecond, my hands in her hair, her back against the door. After a beat, she placed a hand on my chest, and both of us were breathless.
I rested my forehead against hers, pressing on the brakes, not wanting to rush anything. “Sorry. I …”
“Do you want to come in?” she whispered.
“Uh …”Shit … I really shouldn’t. Not on the first date at least.
Was this rushing things? I knew that once we crossed this line, there would be no turning back, and I was well on board with that—with all of her in my life.
I just wantedherto be sure because I’d never been more certain that I wanted to be with her.
Her hand was already on the knob of her door, leading me in.
“Okay,” I said.
As soon as her door shut, I lifted her in my arms, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, grinding into me. I groaned, barely able to guide her to her bed, where I laid her out on her back. We made out like teenagers, kissing and groping until we were both breathless and naked over her comforter.
But then I stopped cold. “I don’t have a condom. Not with me. Not here,” I said, pulling back to meet her eyes.
She stroked my cock up and down, and I groaned, dropping my head against her neck.
“Well then, get one,” she whispered, her voice husky soft against my skin.
I pushed myself off the bed, reached for her, and pulled her into my arms, carrying her down the hall, both of us buck naked. In my room, I kicked the door shut behind me. Gently, I placed her on the bed, her hair a mess of blonde splayed out on my gray comforter. The green in her eyes sparkled with want, with lust, and with a deep emotion I was familiar with because I was sure my eyes mirrored hers.
“I’ll be back.”
I rushed to the bathroom, seeing my reflection in the mirror above the double sinks. My cock was hard, needy, and it wanted one thing—to be inside of Becky. Dropping to my knees, I opened the cabinet, searching for the box of condoms. After finding it, I pulled out the string of condoms and tore off one.
I stood but stopped, stoic and still because something had caught my eye.
Nat’s and my wedding rings sat in a small ceramic dish that we had painted together when we went to Mexico. I swallowed as a slew of emotions bombarded me at once.
This is me moving on … and that’s okay.
Nat would be okay with this.
As long as I am okay.
