No one haseverdone that.
I’ve never bothered to imagine that anyone would touch me there so intimately.
The whirling in my chest tells me I’m unsure of whether this level of vulnerability is okay. I don’t stop him, though. I don’t want to. I just stare in equal parts awe and confusion.
Bo grazes his teeth along my palm, then plants a few delicate kisses onto my wrist, his eyes holding mine the entire time. I’m a little stunned. And conscious of how my heart’s rhythm has quickened and swelled into a forgotten affection I haven’t felt inyears.Possibly ever.
“Do we need to stop?” he asks, his voice low.
No,everything in me answers.
“I’m on the pill,” I choke out.
He nods thoughtfully. “I’ve been tested since my last time. All clear,” Bo says with an unmistakable desperation in his voice.
“Me too.” I nuzzle against his neck as he winds his hands around my waist and pulls me back onto his lap. “I don’t want to stop,” I say as he places kisses across my collarbone.
“Neither do I,” he answers.
Lulled with such adoring kisses, I eventually lower myself onto him completely bare. At first, we both remain perfectly still as I adjust to the stretch of him inside me. I feel him deeper than I thought possible, and while it’s not exactly uncomfortable, it steals my breath away and causes a shudder to pass through me. A throbbing ache needing to be satiated.
We do something between fucking and making love. Something new and a little bewildering, unlike any casual sex I’ve ever experienced. It’s not gentle, but it’s not entirely hedonistic either.
We fit together perfectly. Me, with my legs wrapped around his back. Him, a pillar of strength sitting at the centre of the bed. Bo’s hands travel up and down my spine, gripping the flesh of my hips, my ass, and my neck. My hands feast in his hair, trace his jaw, grip his shoulders.
We continue passionately kissing throughout. Biting when it’s all too much—lips and shoulders and jaws. Breathless gasps and moans exchanged, breathed into the other’s flushed skin and hair.
Eventually, we finish together, with his thumb on my clit and his teeth harsh against my jaw telling me—demandingme—to come. It’s incredible.
And yet, when I come back from cleaning myself up in the bathroom, Bo is half dressed and searching in the dark for his carelessly discarded belongings.
“Here,” I say, handing him one of the rings he so casually threw to the floor at the end of the bed.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling shyly at the ground between us as he slips it on.
It’s not that I expected him to stay afterward. We were both clear about what we were looking for. I, even more so. Nothing serious or permanent. Nothing long term. And I still feel that way.
But… I can’t help the sinking feeling that starts in my chest and creeps its way down my spine at the thought of sleeping alone after sharing such a vulnerable time together. I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t nearly as unique for him to experience such great sex. If I wasn’t as good for him as he was for me.
I cover myself with a bed sheet and watch as he effortlessly buttons his shirt back up.
Once dressed, he stills. He pats his pants for phone, or keys, or wallet, and nods to himself. Eventually, he looks at me with hesitancy heavy across his features.
“Thank you,” he says, reaching for my left hand. He bends over to kiss it, his eyes looking up at me. “I can’t entirely explain what this meant to me,” he swallows thickly, “but thank you, Win…”
I nod, unsure of what to say. Nervous that the wordstaymight escape my lips if I answer him. I lower to sit on the mattress as he grabs one last thing off the chair in the far corner of the room and walks toward the door without looking back.
After shutting off the lights, I fall against the pillows and begin convincing myself that this is definitely for the best. The last time I felt this sort of immediate connection with someone, the effortless back and forth, the rush of excitement followed by great sex, I landed myself in a horrible place.
Jack had been kind at first too. Sweet. Funny. Generous in bed. If he was entirely horrible, I wouldn’t have given him the chance to crush me like he did. That’s how men get you. A false sense of comfort, and then boom—ten months later you’re telling people you have allergies to avoid explaining your red-rimmed eyesagain.
And, like my mother, I’m far too soft hearted. Often too eager to see the best in people. Too attached to leave when I should. Too scared of being alone.
And Idostruggle with the idea of being alone forever. But that’s even more reason to keep it that way, I think. What’s worse than a woman who can’t enjoy her own company? Independence is a virtue, and one that is best learned without too many hard lessons.
My logic will always have to reconcile against my foolish, helpless heart. And I think logic will win in the end. I can make sure of that.
So I shut my eyes and will myself to sleep well. Determined to not lose sleep over any man. No matter how wonderful he may seem.
