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Sensing my struggle, he tips his head, cupping my face, gentling my cheek with his thumb. “What is it, honey?”
“I haven’t touched someone the way we touch,” I tell him. “Haven’t kissed them the way we kiss. Before you, I’d never doneanything like what we did after paintball, like what we’ve been doing the past few weeks.”
His eyes widen. “Kate. Are you telling me—”
“I’m inexperienced,” I blurt. “Demisexuality and one-night stands don’t exactly vibe, and traveling constantly for work doesn’t lend itself to long-term, emotionally grounded physical intimacy. Before I knew how I worked, I tried some stuff, but I always stopped things pretty early on. It never felt right... until you.”
He’s staring at me, mouth agape, then his mouth snaps shut, his jaw jumps. I think maybe, just possibly, Christopher’s a little upset. “Kate. After paintball... I threw you over my shoulder and humped you like an animal against a bathroom wall.”
“Technically, it was a bathroomdoor.”
“I tore off your underwear in the kitchen,” he groans, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.
“They were falling apart anyway.”
“Katerina,” he warns. His hands drop from his face and his eyes meet mine, dark and troubled. “I wish I’d known.”
“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I can’t explain how incredible it felt, how good it felt, after so long, being so frustrated and misunderstood by too many people, to be with you and for it to feelright.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “That night after paintball just... happened. Same with the kitchen. Every moment since then, it’s felt so right. And while I wish I could have found a way to tell you everything before this moment, you and I are messy people, Christopher. We don’t do things the easy way, and we don’t take the direct path. I’m here now, and I’m telling you. Please don’t hold that against me.”
He swallows thickly, his hand curling around my jaw. “I would never, Kate. I just... I could have hurt you, upset you—”
“But you didn’t,” I remind him, nuzzling my cheek into his palm. “You asked, and I answered, and you listened. It was perfect.And now I’m nervous that it won’t be perfect again, because we havethisbetween us.”
“Honey.” He stares down at me with such absolute tenderness, such naked longing. “Nothing’s coming between us anymore. It’s just you and me.” His lips brush my cheek, gentle as a whisper. “That’s all that matters.”
I peer up at him, naked though I’m clothed, free-falling even though I’m held tight. “Promise?”
He lifts his pinkie. I lift mine and hook it around his. And just like our childhood ritual, he kisses his thumb, I kiss mine. When our thumbs meet, soft, slow, like a tender, trusting kiss, his mouth meets mine, too, as he whispers, “Promise.”
When we pull away, his eyes search mine. A sweet smile lifts his mouth.
“What is it?” I ask.
The smile deepens. “That night, after paintball, was that the first orgasm someone else gave you? The first—”
“Ugh!” I slug his shoulder, making him laugh as he leans in and kisses me harder. “The ‘specialness’ of ‘firsts,’ the notion of virginity, are patriarchal constructs, Christopher Petruchio. You are taking nothingfirstfrom me, you are not claiming me. I am not your property.”
“You’re right,” he says, hoisting me higher in his arms and turning us onto the bed so I’m pinned beneath him.
“As you throw me around like a bag of bagels.”
“Thankfully, I’ve never thrown bagels around on my bed or harbored fantasies about bagels like I’m harboring for you.”
A smile sneaks out of me in spite of myself. “Please. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
His expression turns serious as he brushes away the fine hairs from my face. “My satisfaction at your history, it isn’t what you think, Kate.”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow.
“No,” he says, pressing a hot, wet kiss to my throat. “I’m just deeply aware there are many selfish at worst, mediocre at best, lovers out there, and you, Katerina Wilmot, deserve nothing but the best. Which is why I’m so satisfied. Because I am a lot of questionable things, but a selfish, mediocre lover is not one of them.”
Being reminded again of his vast experience feels like whiplash. I shrink back in his arms. “Maybe this is a terrible idea.”
He freezes over me. “Why?”
“Idon’t know what I’m doing.”
“Every time you’ve touched me says otherwise,” he murmurs, easing his hand along my shirt, rucking it up toward my belly.
