I can’t help laughing too, but then explain myself. It’s the perfect word. Freshness describes so many parts of you: your natural beauty, your spontaneous nature, your unexpected reactions, and your spirit.
She freezes and stares at me for a long moment. Oh, wow. You have such a way with words. That may be the best thing anyone has ever said to me.
We walk again. Cleo stops abruptly, raises her face to mine, and licks her lips nervously. Seeing her pink tongue makes me imagine how it would feel on my skin. On my cock. I swallow and pull her closer.
Tell me we’re going to kiss now. Cleo’s plea is hoarse.
Her directness makes me want to laugh again. Instead, I brush her mouth with mine, feeling the softness of her lips. Our skin-on-skin contact lasts only a few seconds but establishes the crackle of attraction between us.
I raise one hand to stroke her cheek with my gloved thumb. Then I kiss her again, this time relishing the feel of her soft, yielding lips as they part against mine. Cleo tastes sweet. Our kiss is both intense and slightly awkward, like she’s trying hard to make things perfect. But the longer we kiss, the more she relaxes.
I relish the contrast of our fevered kissing against the chill night air. Being out here in the moonlight feels romantic, like we’re one with nature. Cleo’s warm body presses against mine as I kiss all over her face, her cheeks and chin, the tip of her cute nose, and her fluttering eyelids.
Why do you keep opening your eyes? I ask.
She flushes. Um, well, everything feels so good. I just want to memorize each moment. You know, in case it doesn’t last.
So, it’s not just the two of us in this moment, but her history of bad boyfriends as well. I wrap both arms around her and kiss her forehead. Cleo, it’ll be okay.
I can’t give her any guarantees. But in this beautiful, moonlit moment, we seem to be made of potential.
It is getting cold out here, especially while standing still. We loop back to the car in a silence that feels both new and comfortable. I relax into this rare contentment.
We get back into my car. I start it up and let the fan run while the windshield defogs.
I’ve always liked being in small spaces. Like this. She motions around the car. They feel safe.
I wait, sensing she has more to say.
When I was around ten, my parents started fighting a lot. I hated hearing it, so I would take off. I spent a lot of time at the rink, or at a friend’s. But if they fought at night, there was nowhere to go. That’s when I discovered my mom’s car. It was in the garage, so not too cold in the winter. I’d take Jordan with me. We would read comic books or game. I’d bring blankets and snacks, because he was always hungry. Sometimes we’d fall asleep there, and my mom would wake us up and put us to bed.
Cleo turns to me, her face as unbothered as if she just shared some innocent childhood memory instead of something so gutting.
I reach out and stroke her hair. I’m sorry you had to go through that.
Ugh. I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. Sitting here just reminded me of that. And it’s not a bad memory. She smiles cheerfully. I still like being in cars. I’ve even had sex in a car.
She lifts a hopeful eyebrow. Which we could do here and now…
My cock rises at the suggestion. But I don’t want our relationship to start out the way that all her other ones have. I think we should wait. Get to know each other better.
Really? Because I already know how much I’d like to fuck you. Her voice is a husky purr.
I kiss her soft mouth gently, then pull back and settle into my seat. Hold on to that thought.
Cleo groans. What is wrong with you?
Because any other guy would take her up on her offer. And the sex would be great, but it’s too soon. It’s not about morality, but intimacy.
Anything I say right now is going to get me into trouble, so I shrug.
She sighs noisily. Fine. But can you share something, then? Because it feels like you’re made of secrets. Maybe secrets isn’t the right word, but you’re so deep. And I want to know all about you.
I don’t think I’m deep as much as I’m more reserved than most people she knows. I keep my inner issues to myself. But, other than revealing how false my last relationship turned out to be, I have no trauma to share.
What’s to tell? I don’t have any big secrets.
C’mon, Mats. There must be something, Cleo insists.
