“Against old wrestling mats in a room lit by flashlight, apparently.”
“Anywhere,” I say. “Everywhere.”
Her hands are moving through my hair again, my head against her chest. She’s quiet like she’s thinking.
“Were you waiting?” she finally asks. She doesn’t addfor marriage. She doesn’t need to.
“Not on purpose,” I say, and I sound lazy and slow, voice deep as the ocean. “And I’d done… other things. Before.” Even though we just fucked halfway in public, I can feel my face heating at the admission. Jesus Christ. Maybe someday I’ll get up the nerve to sayoral sexout loud.
“Well, you were a pleasure to deflower.”
“Andi.”
“How’s it feel to be flower-less?”
“Youcan’tcall it that.”
“Call it what, deflowering?’
I sigh and try to make it sound as annoyed as I can when my brain is floating a foot above my skull.
“Cherry popping,” she offers, and now she’s definitely laughing. “Ooh. You swiped your v-card. Your virtue has been—”
I turn around and kiss her, both of us laughing, to shut her up.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
ANDI
The next morningwe sleep in and then I make extra-sure that Gideon has been properly deflowered when I get on top and ride him until he’s incoherent, then slow down and get myself off before I finally let him finish. We’re both loud and his bed frame isn’t the quietest, but I’m drunk on the sight of Gideon beneath me, the way his arms flex as he grabs my thighs, the way he throws his head back into the pillow.
It makes me fiercely possessive. It makes me want to fuck him slowly while he’s got that glazed-over look on his face and ask him who he belongs to. Whether anyone else has made him feel this good. Iknowvirginity is a bullshit social construct—Iknow—but despite that there’s a lazily pleased part of my lizard brain that his belongs to me now.
Which it doesn’t, because it doesn’t exist, and also, I’m not a feudal lord in Medieval Europe and that’s not how any of thisworks, but I get to think dumb things during sex, okay?
“There’s something else I should tell you,” Gideon murmurs a little while later. Neither of us has moved, his face in his pillow, one hand splayed above my belly button, one leg twined around mine.
“You’re secretly a porn star,” I say, which is the first thing that comes to mind because, again, sex makes me dumb sometimes.
Gideon lifts his head just enough to frown at me.
“Did I somehow give you that impression?”
“No?” I say, and good thing I’m already flushed from exertion or I’d be blushing. If I ever meet God, I’m going to ask him why I’ve got no problemperformingall manner of blush-worthy acts, but the second I try to talk about them I’m embarrassed to death. “I mean. It would be surprising. Given that until yesterday you hadn’t…”
“If you use the phrasev cardagain—”
“Had intercourse,” I finish, and stick my tongue out at him.
“There are plenty of kinds of porn,” he points out, which, yes, true.
“Gideon,” I say. “Either tell me you’ve been in pornography so I can go watch it or tell me whatever you were going to tell me.”
He sighs hard, squirms a little.
“I had a vasectomy four years ago.”
It’s notI’m a porn star, but it’s surprising enough that I have to think about it for a moment.
