I don’t know about him, but I’ve never been so nervous about a sexual encounter since my first one, which involved a twin bed, a roommate who came back early, and a poster of Neil Patrick Harris silently judging me from the wall.
The Uber ride is mostly silent, but it’s the kind of silence that feels like foreplay. Every time the car turns, our thighs press together, and neither of us moves away. When we pull up to my building, Devin practically launches himself out of the car, thenstands there bouncing slightly on his heels while I thank the driver.
The lobby feels impossibly bright after the darkness in the car. Neither of us speaks as we wait for the elevator, but he’s vibrating with the same energy that’s making my hands shake as I hit the button for the twelfth floor.
When we get in, we’re the only people in the elevator. And it strikes me that it’s the first time we’ve been alone since we met.
I make the mistake of locking eyes with Devin. The same concept seems to have occurred to him.
He tilts one eyebrow up in a question or a challenge, I’m not exactly sure which one, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s enough for me to close the distance toward him.
Which is only half the distance it was a second ago because he’s moving toward me at the same time.
We collide, and his hands go immediately into my hair while mine grip his waist like he might disappear if I don’t hold on tight enough.
His lips are even warmer and more perfect than I’ve imagined, which is saying something because my imagination has been working overtime for the last three hours.
We kiss frantically, desperately.
This is not just chemistry. This is physics. It’s the fundamental laws that determine how matter works being rewritten to try to prove two objects actually can exist in the same place at the same time if they want it badly enough.
We stumble backward until I’m pressing him against the mirror, and we continue to consume each other.
Our tongues are tangling and Devin’s hands are everywhere. They move from my waist to my hair to my face before slipping under my jacket like he’s trying to map me through touch alone. I’m vaguely aware that we’re in an elevator and the doors could open at any moment, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not whenthe small, breathy sounds he’s making against my mouth are rewiring my entire nervous system.
The elevator finally dings for my floor, and we break apart. We’re both breathing hard, staring at each other like we’ve just discovered something revolutionary.
The door slides open.
“After you,” I manage to say.
“Such a gentleman.” He gives me a devilish smile, tinged with amusement. Because okay, there wasn’t anything gentlemanly about the way we just kissed.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I leave the elevator.
Fuck. I’ve never seen myself look like this. My pupils are blown wide and my cheeks are flushed. I look completely undone, like someone’s taken all my carefully organized pieces and scattered them across the floor without any discernible filing system.
I stagger after Devin, fumbling for my keys, which seem to have disappeared from my pockets.
“Performance anxiety?” Devin asks, leaning temptingly against the doorframe in a way that should be illegal.
“My motor skills are temporarily compromised,” I mutter, finally finding them in my jacket pocket.
Devin looks pleased by my admission. “By one kiss?”
“That was not just one kiss. That was like…fifteen kisses pretending to be one kiss. A kiss consortium.”
He laughs, and it’s a bright, delighted sound. “A kiss consortium? You’re such an engineer.”
I finally get the door open, and we tumble inside. I should give Devin a tour, offer him water, do something host-like. Instead, I press him against the closed door because, apparently, I lose all social programming in his presence.
It’s been two years since I’ve had someone pressed against me like this. Two years of rusty social skills and forgotten rhythms. I should be panicking.
But I’m not. With Devin, my body seems to remember what my brain forgot.
I’d forgotten how good it feels to want someone so much it overrides everything else.
“Hi,” he says, grinning up at me.
