“Still doesn’t seem fair.”
“Trust me, watching you come is pleasurable enough for me.”
“Well,” she begins and starts trailing her hands over my body, “I know you said it’s not a tit for tat thing, but we are in a bed.”
“That we are,” I say and fit my hands to her slender waist.
Angie pushes my shirt up and off my body, and if I had a camera, I’d take a picture of her face in this moment. “Fuck.”
“You have a little drool right there.” I move to wipe the non-existent drool off her chin, but she knocks my hand away.
“Can you explain to me how you’re not walking around shirtless all day?” she asks and runs her hands over my torso and biceps, before coming up and fiddling with the hoops that are pierced through my nipples and giving one of them a tug.
“Angela,” I scold as the piercing has a direct line to my dick.
“Yes?” she asks coyly as she continues playing with the ring while flipping the hoop up and down.
I flip our positions and hover over her. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“I don’t want you to be a gentleman,” she smarts, and my eyes widen.
“Are you on birth control?” I ask tightly through clenched teeth.
Her wide eyes meet mine and she nods quickly. “Yes. And clean. I don’t want anything between us.”
“Good. Me too. Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure.”
It’s no more than two seconds until Angie has my pants down my hips and I’m thrusting into her. It’s not slow and sweet as her heat envelops me. And if I thought she’d want us to keep going slow, that was all but erased from her vocabulary after tonight.
18
ANGIE
“You’re still in a good place with him?” my therapist, Maureen, asks through the screen.
Monday’s signify the beginning of the week. It also means my therapy sessions restart. It’s taxing on the body, but I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t get a proper diagnosis and the right tools to manage my depression.
“Yeah,” I tell her. I adjust my headphones and adjust my spot on the small couch that’s in my bedroom. Even though it’s the beginning of August, I have my balcony doors open to let the summer air inside. It helps that the breeze brings the scent of pine from the trees lining the side of the yard.
“But…” she begins knowingly.
“But I’m wondering how long we can exist in our bubble until someone comes along and pops it. We both know that we’ll have to tell our families. It’s just finding out when,” I voice one of our biggest hurdles since deciding to date.
Maureen gives me an understanding look as she tilts her head. “I wish they gave us these sorts of tools in school. But there is unfortunately no way to properly navigate dating someone your family has a history with.”
“So you’re suggesting we play it by ear like we have been?”
She nods. “Until you two can no longer deny that what you have is not just a fling, you’ll have to.”
I drop my head back and groan.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Angie. But give yourself some grace for falling for someone in the first place. I know it’s hard to find pockets of light with your diagnosis because clinical depression is not one size fits all. Some feel like every day is a marathon.”
“You make it seem like my depression is a crutch.”
“No. But some days it will be your crutch—like when you can’t get out of bed, for one. When you can’t find the joy in anything, including your new boyfriend or piano. Those are the days when you’ll feel like your depression is winning. But when you find that joy, when you’re kicking depression in the face, hold onto it. Remember that feeling.”
