He kneels beside me, his face serious.
“I didn’t want to assume,” he says, shrugging. “Just because we did it without one the last time.”
Protection had not even entered my mind. I hold my hand over my eyes, blink into the darkness behind my open palm.
“I completely forgot,” I say quietly. My stomach does that flip, the one I feel when I miss a step going down stairs. That’s what this feels like and I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. But I also don’t want it to stop.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do.”
He smiles. “I trust you, too.”
I can’t look at him right now. “This feels so weird.” My voice is muffled from beneath my hands.
He leans away. “Nothing kills a boner better than a woman saying sex with you feels weird. Do I make some face I don’t know about or...?”
A girlish laugh bursts out of me. “No. No, it’s not you, I promise. I just...” I glance around the room like maybe I’ll find the words written on my walls. “Ineverforget to use condoms. Inevertext a man to meet up at his house. Inever...”
Have sex with my intern on my desk, I leave unsaid. But I think we both hear it.
“Well, lucky for you, I and every other human male has kept a condom—or five—in his wallet since he knew what sex was. So, if you forget, I’ll remember.” He holds it up again. “Do you want me to put it on?”
My chest warms with affection and appreciation for this man. “Yes.”
He tears it open and rolls the rubber down his shaft. His hands shake a little and I wonder if it’s because I’m watching him or because he feels as excited as I do to discover what else sex with each other can feel like.
“Once...” He pauses. “I shot the condom into my eye like an elastic band.”
“I...uh...oh.” I suck in my lips and bite them to keep myself from laughing.
“I wasn’t even having sex. I was just trying on a condom for the first time when I was like fourteen.” He pulls at the reservoir tip, a flush on his cheeks that might be from arousal or embarrassment. “But I didn’t this time,” he says quietly.
Leaning over me, he kisses my cheek.
“Thank Big Papi for small miracles,” I whisper and he huffs a laugh against my neck.
“Yes. Thank you Big Papi and all the Boston Red Sox.”
My hands settle over his hips again in the descending silence. His grin slowly fades, his lips brush mine and he slides his tongue into my mouth in a quiet, soft kiss. My whole body thrills at these touches, at the knowledge that—in every situation—Wesley is the same man, gentle, humble, kind. Arousal pools low in my belly. I want to press my thighs together but I can’t because his own block me, so I settle for rubbing the coarse hair on his legs against my inner thighs.
“Can we do something a little different?” he whispers. “It’s not anything weird,” he says quickly. “It’s just... I like it...on your stomach?”
“O-okay.” When I don’t move, he cups my hip, slowly turning me onto my side, placing one arm under my head and bending my knee so I am not fully on my stomach. Normally I don’t mind a little bit of manhandling, but this is nice, too. Every touch feels reverential. He hovers, half behind and half over top of me, stroking my stomach in slow circles. With each pass, he gets closer and closer to my core. My body is open, exposed to him. But the sheets are crushed in his fist, for me. I am so wet and so powerful. Even with my body heavy and shivery from my orgasm, I still want every inch of him.
“Is this okay?” He breathes the words into the nape of my neck.
I try to catch my breath and look over my shoulder at him. “You like this?”
He nods, his eyes bright. Taking himself in hand, he rubs the head of his cock on me, like he is soaking me up. I rest my forehead into my arm, arching my back into him. When he pushes inside, I release the breath I was holding.
He feels exactly as I remember. He feels better than that. He leaves room for nothing else but him. No other thought but him. This is the feeling I want. The feeling I chased him for.
I moan as he slowly pulls out and presses back in. It’s a debased sound, lecherous. If someone were to ask me what sex should feel like this would be the sound I’d make as I tell them, it feels like this: Wesley Chambers fucking me from behind.
My breasts bounce, my nipples brushing against the sheet with every thrust.
“Let me,” he whispers against the sweat at my temple as I reach between my legs.
“Don’t stop.” I sound desperate for it. “Harder.”
