“Alright,” I said. “How about this? Let’s treat this like an improv exercise. For the next thirty seconds, you follow your impulses. Do exactly what you want, and then you can stop and check in, okay? Within reason, of course. If you have a very specific50 Shades of Greything, you might want to run it by me.”
“Yeah, of course, I would never…” He stopped. I watched as he considered it.
“And unless I’m uncomfortable, I won’t make you stop, and you don’t have to stop yourself. And then you check in with me, and I’ll tell you if I didn’t like anything. Okay?”
He nodded. He took a slow breath. “Does the thirty seconds start now?”
I nodded. “If you want.”
As soon as I said it, he pulled me close to him, spun me around, and then gently lowered me to the bed, climbing above me. He leaned over and began kissing my neck, right below my ear, and then moved to my mouth. It was almost too fast, almost overwhelming, but then he slowed down. He moved down to my dress and began to kiss me through the delicate fabric. I arched up to get closer to him, unable to stop himself.
His wife was a fool or a liar, I thought. He was ridiculously good at this. But maybe he hadn’t let himself be like this, withher. I knew it could be easy, once someone made you doubt yourself, once they hurt you, to hold back all the time, to keep the most vulnerable parts of you safe. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this with anyone either: like anything I did next would be okay. Paul, not holding himself back, was on fire.
He kissed gently through the dress, down my chest, then below my belly button. He ran his hands along the edge of the fabric, then gently slid both hands underneath, up my thighs. His hands were warm and slow. His eyes were hungry. He leaned over and kissed between my legs through the fabric.
Then he paused and looked up at me.
“When does the thirty seconds stop?” he asked.
“I’ll let you know,” I said, smiling a little. “Maybe a few more minutes until your time is up.”
His eyes warmed, and then his full focus returned to where he was gently running his hands up my legs. He began to slide my dress up to my waist. I pressed closer to him, unable to stop myself. I was going on impulse, too.
Later that night,I lay awake, wondering if he was asleep. I pulled a handknit woolen blanket around my shoulders and walked to the window. The stars were an epic poem now that the last fingers of clouds had blown away. The Milky Way forged a clear path across the darkness to an unseen horizon.
“Not quite as exciting as New York.”
I turned to see Paul sitting up in bed. He looked very handsome, his chest pale and muscular in the half-light, his hair looking chestnut-dark. It felt like he wasn’t quite real. “The stars are better here,” I said. “You never see very many back home. Growing up in Troy, it was like this, but ever since I went to college, I only see stars when I’m traveling. Which is basically never.”
Paul rose and walked behind me, putting an arm around my shoulders. He leaned his chin against my shoulder as he looked outside. It felt right to have him there.
“So how many days did I last?” Paul’s voice resonated against me.
“Before what?”
He breathed a laugh into my shoulder. “How long did I manage to keep my distance from you?”
“Taking it slow? About a week,” I said, turning around to look at his face. We kissed again, slowly. He ran a hand through my hair, looking at it thoughtfully.
“It’s been a few weeks, though,” he said. “Pretty much since that first day when you called Lisette a rock star. I knew I was in trouble then. And then I took you on the boat and you got seasick, and I touched your wrist, and I thought, Oh no. I’m not in trouble. I’m completely fucked.”
“I thought the same thing. I wanted to kiss you, then, but I also really wanted to vomit, so…”
“I do have that effect.”
I pressed myself against him.
“I thought you weren’t interested in me.”
He laughed quietly. “I wasted so much time trying not to get my heart broken,” he said. “And I still ended up here, knowing it’s going to happen anyway.”
“What are we going to do?” I whispered.
He shook his head against me, wrapping all his warmth around me, head to toe. “We’re going to go back to bed.”
I wokeup slowly to the sight of a hand resting on the pillow next to me: Paul’s long fingers curved in an arc. It felt precious to see him so close, still sleeping, and I slid upwards carefully,not wanting him to wake yet. His other arm was draped over my waist. There was light pouring through white curtains.
I let myself take him in, the pattern of freckles scattered across his chest, the breath moving in and out of his lips. It seemed ridiculous that anyone had looked at him and thought that he wasn’t worth sticking around for. Softly, I leaned over and kissed the hand that was just within reach.
