He lay on the leather sofa, and I climbed on before settling into a straddle over his hips.
“Honey,” I said, leaning over so we were face to face. “I want to go slow.”
“I’d like that, too.” He pecked me on the lips and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. With a sweet smile and another kiss, he bunched my skirt up to my waist. When I moved against him, his smile fell away, his expression sobering.
Bill held the nape of my neck and pressed his lips to mine. I felt the passion behind his kiss, but there was something ghostly about it; it was a shadow of a kiss, a kiss that seemed to go right through me. It made me feel suddenly tired and dry, like eyes that had been open for days.
He ran one hand up my blouse and massaged my breast. My nipple swelled into his palm, and he put it in his mouth. He kissed down my sternum, then sat up to urge me onto my back. His mouth continued over my belly until finding its way under my skirt. I could count on two hands the number of times he’d gone down on me, so I gasped when his mouth closed over my mound.
“How’s that?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at me.
“Good,” I said and exhaled. “Actually, you can be less . . . gentle,” I instructed.
I can do this, I thought.I can make this happen for Bill.
I reached down to spread myself wider and circled my other hand over my clit.
I can do this,I recited.
I remembered Bill as my boyfriend, my fiancé, my husband now. We had history. We had the present and a future. His touch was familiar; it was just for me, and mine was for him. I bowed my back and moved my hand faster, frustrated that my body didn’t respond the way I wanted it to. “Finger me . . .yes,” I breathed when he touched me. “More.”
“More what?”
“More fingers.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
It took a moment until I felt the pressure. I was still rubbing myself, and he pulled his mouth away to watch.
Come on, come on, I pleaded.
After what felt like ten minutes, but what could have been two, I told him I was ready.
He was over me in a moment, groaning as he entered me. “Shit. Why don’t we do this more often?” His face distorted with pleasure as he found his rhythm. He kissed his way down my neck, and then up to my jawline. I appealed to the ceiling, praying for more than what I had to give.
But my body was still broken.
I wasn’t sure what inside of me had surfaced that night with David, but it wasn’t present now. An orgasm wasn’t even within reach. As Bill worked on top of me, sadness settled over me.
“Oh, babe,” he said between gritted teeth. “I can’t wait, I’m so sensitive. I’m going to come.”
Panic gripped me. I was still on birth control, but at just thethoughtthat it could fail, that I’d be the one statistic who got pregnant—
“Bill,” I uttered, gripping his arms. “Bill, stop. Pull out.”
“What?” he asked, panting. “Why?”
“Just pull out,” I said as my throat closed.
He dropped his head into the crevice of my neck and breathed hotly onto my collarbone. “Oh, God.”
“Bill, don’t come inside me,” I said more forcefully.
“Aren’t you on . . .shit,” he cried and sat back. He grabbed himself and rubbed his crown against my stomach, groaning until liquid heat spurted over my skin. He remained that way for a few seconds, breathing heavily. “Damn,” he said. “That was kinda hot.”
He stood to pull on his pants before swiping a tissue from his desk.
