I move my hips. Pleasure bursts as I push in and out of her. Emotion saws through me, and at times I can’t breathe. I moan into her hair, press kisses to her neck and jaw and lips. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing at first, I can’t deny that. But soon I find a rhythm, and the soft gasps she releases that turn into moans and whimpers of pleasure buoy my confidence.
I wish I could say that I last long for my first time. But I don’t. What can I say? I’m no superhuman. I’m just a man, and feeling Carmen like this for the first time, feeling the clench of her warmth around me while her sweet moans sing in my ears, it all has the growing swell of pleasure inside me approaching the point of no return way sooner than I want.
She rolls her hips into my thrusts, and that’s it. I’m a goner. I only manage two more hurried ruts into her before my orgasm grabs me, pulling the life out of me. I fill the condom with hot streams of cum. My muscles spasm, my jaw clenches, my eyes screw tight as my climax smashes me to bits.
My weight collapses next to Carmen. That was … wow. How else can I describe it? It was beyond words.
Carmen’s hand rests on my chest, the warmth and softness of it feeling so good against the sheen of sweat I’ve worked onto my body. I turn my head to her, and when our eyes catch, my heart splits in two.
“How was it?” she asks.
I huff a laugh. “Are you kidding? I’d need to invent a new word to answer that question. And you’re the writer, not me.”
“Good, then?”
“Fucking amazing.” I tuck her closer to me. I pull in a deep, contented breath. “Did you come?” I ask.
Now it’s her turn to huff a laugh. “Jamie, you might have a real natural talent for getting me off, but this was still your first time. Of course I didn’t come.”
There’s nothing but good-natured humor in her answer, and I chuckle, too. Fuck, would I be crazy to say that having a post-sex laugh with Carmen is even better than the sex itself?
“In that case …” I try to summon some strength into my boneless-feeling body to crawl down and put my head between her legs, to make sure that she leaves this bed satisfied, too, but she flattens her hand on my chest to stop me.
“You can make it up to me some other time,” she says. “I enjoyed it, don’t worry. Let’s just relax for a while.”
I listen to her, settling into my spot on the bed, her warm body snug against my side.
This moment is so close to perfect. So damn close. There’s just one thing I wish I could say that would make it so. One small sentence. Three words. I want to say those words so badly.
But I don’t. I stop myself. I hold back. I content myself with what I have.
But in the back of my mind, I can’t erase the feeling that I won’t be able to keep doing that for much longer.
36
JAMIE
I’m lying on our living room couch, daydreaming. I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing so for hours, but I couldn’t swear to it. I’ve lost track of time. My eyes are closed, my lips are tipped in a drowsy smile, and nothing is running through my head except memories of my first time with Carmen.
It feels like I’m floating on a fluffy cloud, alone in a blue sky on the softest and most beautiful day of the year. In reality, I’m reclining on an old, lumpy couch covered with stains of questionable origin.
I’ve been holding out for years for a first time that just felt right. Well, that was it. No matter what happens between Carmen and me, I’ll never regret yesterday. It’s a memory I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.
But that sure as shit doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens between Carmen and me.
I want us to be together. I’ve been gone for her since the very beginning, and I’ve never felt any other way. Now, I need to move beyond just hoping. I need to convince her how right we would be together. But how do I go about it without scaring her off?
My brain isn’t in the right state to think through a question like that, though. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow, either. Maybe not for the next week. I’m too high on the memory of yesterday, the memory of sinking into Carmen and losing myself utterly in her body, to handle thorny questions.
I slide right back into my reveries of feeling her hips roll against mine and her legs lock around my waist, until I’m pulled back to reality by the sound of one of the kitchen stools scraping against the linoleum floor.
I crack my eyelids open. Veikko sits at the counter, a miserable look on his face. He reaches out and pulls over a half-full bottle of whiskey and a shot glass I’m not even sure is clean. It probably isn’t. Veikko pours the glass full to the brim. His brow lowers as he eyes the amber liquid.
I press my eyelids shut. He thinks I’m napping here. He thinks he’s alone. I don’t want to spy on him, but I don’t want to intrude on his moment of contemplation by getting up. I stay still for a moment, unsure what to do, unsure whether or not I should get up or make a sound to let him know I’m awake.
But before I can decide, I hear the front door open and the sound of a determined stride marching toward Veikko.
“Felix …” Veikko says. His throat sounds dry. A sudden unsteady charge thickens through the air. Now I’m really not sure what to do. I don’t move a muscle, staying on the couch with my eyes clasped shut, trying not to breathe too noticeably.
