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How much wine have I had?
He makes his move without any pretense, because seriously–why bother? We both know what comes next.
What comes next is us.
A kiss that is a prelude to making love feels so different from any other kiss. Like the first step in a long journey you know will require all the effort, stamina, and fortitude you have, but you also know you’ll come out on the other side of it stronger, knowing yourself better, and changed.
From the tips of my toes to the tip of my tongue, this kiss, his breath, the feel of his hands on my body, moving down to my breasts with questions that are too complex to answer with words – it’s all about to change me.
For the better.
Smooth and confident, Will takes the wine glass out of my hand, setting it down on the cocktail table in front of us, a mid-century modern piece I picked up at a small second-hand shop in Chelmsford last year. My mind does this–it starts tracking the rooted origin of everything he does. Each physical item in my apartment has a story. Just like me.
Just like Will.
Just like this.
The long kidney pillow behind me has a jewel-toned pattern of teardrops, colored in orange, turquoise, amethyst. As it rubs against my lower back, warm from the blanket of his body, our kiss growing more intense, my mind conjures the pattern. Perhaps I’m curating our movements, attaching them to important markers that chronicle what we do.
Or maybe I’m just filled with anxiety because OMG WILL LOTHAM IS CUPPING MY BREAST AND WE’RE MAKING OUT ON MY SOFA AND WE ARE ABOUT TO BE NAKED.
Pretty sure I thought that so loudly Will can hear it from outside my own skull, because he suddenly stops, his hand on my cheek. Looking down at me, eyes filled with an excited, smoky heat, he asks, “You okay?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You tensed up.”
“I did?”
“We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do, Mallory.”
“Are you kidding me?” I laugh, brushing the hair off his brow. It’s fallen across his eyelashes, the tips moving as he blinks. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?”
“Me, too.”
“What?” I nearly fall off the couch. “What do you mean, you too?”
“I always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.”
“By ‘always,’ you mean a month, right? Since you saved me from my failed porn career.”
He laughs, his warm breath tickling the tip of my nose. “No. Before that.”
“Before that, Will, I hadn’t seen you since high school.”
“That’s right.”
“You wondered what it would be like to kiss me back in high school?” I squeak out.
“Mmm hmm.” He kisses my collarbone. I stare at his thick, brown hair, each strand standing out like a member of a Greek chorus, waiting to chant something incriminating at me.
“Hold up, mister. You can’t just drop a fact like that on me without explanation. I confessed my crush on you and you never said a word!”
“Your crush wasn’t exactly private,” he whispers, the words making every pore on my neck tingle.
“That’s not–” I gasp, “–the point.” I had no idea a tongue on my neck could do that to me.
“What is the point?” he asks, thumb grazing my nipple until it tightens to an impossibly arousing peak, brushing against my bra with a maddening sensation that makes me want to be naked. Now. With Will between my legs. Now.
