I wiped my damp palms on my skirt—Should I take it off? Too soon?—feeling woefully out of place.
He turned on the bedside lamp, the yellow light castinghis planes and hollows in stark relief. I sucked in my breath, because, face it, the man was gorgeous. Not in a Hot Duke fantasy sort of way. More like the carpenter in a porno movie—hard, muscled, a little hairy. Except Joe was real. This was real. If we slept together, had sex together, here, it would be part of my actual life. Which meant if I messed this up…
His throat moved in a swallow. Something tugged in my chest. Maybe he was nervous, too. He shut the door, the sound as loud as a branch cracking in the forest, and I jumped like a squirrel.
He arched one eyebrow. “Change your mind?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Nope. I’m good. Thanks.”
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Sure.”
Was that a question?
Before I could decide, he moved away from the door. My heart thudded. He stood right in front of me, radiating heat and testosterone, his eyes dark and steady. My breath evaporated. There had to be a word for…Animal magnetism, that was it. Less Gilbert Blythe than the virile gamekeeper inLady Chatterley’s Lover, what was his name?
Joe brushed one knuckle along my jaw, tugged lightly on my ear. I smiled a little, reflexively, and he lowered his head, catching my smile with his lips.
He was a good kisser. His mouth was warm and confident. I could taste the tea on his breath, sweet and fruity, and another, darker flavor that was his alone, exciting and unfamiliar. For a second, sensation blanketed my brain. I softened against him as he deepened the kiss, nudging, searching. I drew a shaky breath, simultaneously revved up and reassured. Because this was Joe. My first crush.
The last man in the world I’d dreamed of having sex with.
Well, no, I’d dreamed about it after Daanis and I had spied on him at the lake all those summers ago, sharp, confused longings that faded to black. Plus, okay, there were those hot, muddled Covid dreams. But nothing had prepared me for the reality of Joe’s tongue in my mouth.
Before Chris and I had sex the first time, we’d planned for it, prepared for it, days in advance. There had been earnest discussions about birth control, followed by dinner at a nice restaurant with a candle on the table. He’d changed his sheets, he told me later. I’d shaved everything.
I hadn’t shaved today. My legs, sure, I was wearing a skirt, but…
Joe raised his head. “Hey.” His voice was gentle. “Nothing’s going to happen you don’t want to happen.”
“I want everything.” I was pretty sure. “But…don’t expect too much, okay?”
His cheek indented. “Define ‘too much.’ ”
I floundered. “I mean, I’m sure whatever you want to do will be fine. I’m just saying I haven’t had a ton of experience.” I could count my sexual partners on one hand. “Also, I’m a little out of practice.”
“That makes two of us.”
Because he was still getting over his beautiful blond ex-wife. Or not getting over her, as the case may be.Two years.
“Okay, then,” I said in a loud, chipper voice, like I was instructing a room of ninth graders to take out their textbooks. “Let’s do this thing.”
He gave me a funny look. Probably because I was talking like a Nike commercial. I closed my eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry. It’s performance anxiety. Not that you have…I mean, I—”
Joe’s mouth closed over mine, mercifully cutting off whatever I’d been about to say. His arms tightened, pulling me firmly against him, shocking my brain into momentary stillness. The relief was staggering. He smelled so good, like soap and sweat, and his kiss this time was deeper, rougher. I felt a flutter low in my belly and his erection, hard against my stomach. He was into this. Into me.
Just do it, I thought, and reached below his belt.
He braceleted my wrist. “Easy, champ.”
“We have less than an hour,” I reminded him. “An hour and a half, tops, your mother said.”
He pressed a kiss into my hand and then held it to his chest. His heart thudded under my palm. “Plenty of time.”
Maybe? Chris and I had got it down to fifteen minutes on the nights he had a shift at the hospital.
“The thing is, it can take me a while to get in the mood,” I explained. “Also, I get…I don’t know. Distracted? Like I have trouble turning my brain off. I mean, I want to do this. Obviously.” My cheeks were flaming. “It’s just I start thinking about, oh, if I’m doing it right or how I smell or something Sarah said at school, and then I take too long to come.” I buried my face against him. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”
A tremor of laughter moved through him. “I’m not timing you. This isn’t a test.”
