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Sem interrupts my thoughts, "If you like this one, we can make an offer."
I smile. "Yes. This one. It feels right."
"I agree. I can imagine us here in this room," he motions around him in what would probably be our bedroom.
"Me too."
Neither one of us mentions children, but he must be thinking about a family too.
Sem puts in an offer below the asking price but not ridiculously low. Then we get a phone call back an hour later, or rather, I do because it's all in my name. I smile at Sem across the table from me at a café near my apartment. I hang up the phone. I can't stop smiling. "It's ours."
Sem picks me up and swings me around, so much so we almost knock over our cups. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. "I'm so happy right now."
He kisses me back and then puts my feet on the ground. "How should we celebrate?"
"Champagne?"
"In bed," he adds.
"How can I say 'no' to such an offer?"
We drive back to my small apartment, and before I can even take off my shoes, Sem has his hands all over me. It's not long before my dress is over my head, and my back is against the wall, my underwear to one side, with him on his knees, his head between my legs, licking and using his fingers to pleasure me.
This is how romance is supposed to feel, I think as he's bringing me to orgasm with his fingers in my underwear against the wall. I've never had sex in a doorway before, but now it seems like the best idea we've ever had. A few minutes later, without removing too much of his clothing, he lifts me and enters me. He's so strong he pins me to the wall without effort as he thrusts in and out expertly. It's so primal, and I must admit I love his impulsive sexual desires. We've had sex in so many places, but he always makes sure I orgasm first, which means it's never a quickie, and I like that after having the most experience with quickies before.
Sem orgasms quickly after me, and his semen spills out as he slowly pulls out. There's always so much of it, and he always likes to push it back in. For some reason, I find this erotic as well. He knows I'm on birth control, so it's really about the naughtiness of it. He pulls my underwear back to where it’s supposed to be, runs a finger over the wet cotton now showing the outline of labia, and says, "Don't take that off. I like the idea of your underwear being wet with my semen like that."
The thought of this makes me desire him again. “Only if you promise to properly wash me later.”
He kisses me. “I promise.”
Then he sets me on my feet and does up his pants. I love what we just did. But it’s difficult to ignore his unique penis when I’m not erotically out of my mind, and then I think about the other odd quirks he has. Publicly, he treats me like an equal, but in other ways, romantically or sexually, he treats me like a cherished doll. It's unusual, I think. But I’ve not had many lovers in my life and never a foreigner. Perhaps this is how Scandinavian women are so equal; men are allowed their evolutionary urges in the bedroom to dominate. Just after we returned from Greece, this uneven treatment was giving me whiplash. But now, I think not only am I growing accustomed to it, but I prefer it.
Sem gingerly picks up my dress from the floor, puts it back over my head, and straightens it. Then runs his hands over my wavy hair. I know he didn't wash his hands. He knows he didn't wash his hands. Is he marking me as his? Would he cover me in his semen if he could? Possibly. But that's fine. I want to be his, even on such a primal level.
When I'm dressed, he takes me by the hand and leads me a few steps to my kitchen. "Now, about that champagne.”
I open the refrigerator, and he gets out two glasses from the cupboard. I open the bottle, which is again part of the whiplash effect. He should be opening the bottle, but I suppose he's not French. I pour the bubbly drink and make a toast, "To our new house."
He adds, "May it bring us closer together as wife and husband."
"Husband and wife in English."
"What?"
"In English, we say it the other way around."
"Is it wrong to say it the other way?"
"No, but it sounds weird."
"It sounds odd to me to say it your way. You are the most important person in my life. You're the only one who can produce life. Wife comes first."
"I'm not going to argue with you."
As we talk excitedly about our new house and our plans, I reflect that there's nothing I want more than for him to be home with me all the time. Still, it was clear from the first time he spent the night here that it was unreasonable to ask him to spend long periods in New Orleans because of his work. I remind myself to be grateful for meeting him in the first place and the time he can spend here. Some people never meet anyone they truly love, and I do really love him, and we are lucky to have this time together.
* * *
