Page 38 of He Falls First

Watching Elizabeth take control of the sizzling pan, I admire her command. There’s a smoothness to her movements, a natural rhythm I want to meet. The clangs of pots and pans, the chatter of other couples learning to julienne and sauté—it all fades into the background as I focus on her.

She’s managed to get flour on her nose while pushing aside her dough.

“Here, let me,” I say, gently wiping the smudge away with my thumb. Her eyes meet mine, blue and bright. For a second, neither of us moves.

I could forget all this food and devour her mouth right now.

Then the spell breaks as she turns back to her work station.

“Thanks. Hand me the olive oil,” she orders playfully. I comply, raising an eyebrow at her newfound assertiveness.

“Someone’s getting bossy,” I tease, and she grins back at me.

“Hey, you said you wanted to teach me confidence, right?” she says, pouring a generous glug of oil into the pan. “Besides, I’m pretty sure this is the only time I’ll ever get to boss you around.”

It occurs to me that I actually like it when she asserts herself like this. Not just because it shows a side of her personality that I find incredibly appealing, but also because it means she won’t let herself be pushed around by other guys.

She continues stirring the pan with exaggerated flair, and I can’t hold back an amused chuckle. Her playful spirit disarms me. Makes me feel lighter.

“Am I acting right for a first date?” she asks.

“You’re nailing it. Just be yourself.”

There’s a bittersweet tinge to that. She’s going to be phenomenal on real dates, outshining those ordinary guys who won’t know what hit them. And I’ll just be the guy who taught her how to play the game before bowing out. I wish I could freeze this moment. But all too soon, she’ll move on. And the memory of her will be one more thing I keep locked away, hidden behind the mask I wear.

I was supposed to have gotten rid of this hunger when I had her beneath my hands in my office. It should’ve been a release valve for the pent-up tension simmering between us since day one. Instead, it was gasoline on a flame. Now, every time she leans forward, every time her laughter bubbles up, I’m right back there, craving more. Spanking her, hearing her moans—it wasn’t enough.

It only made me want her more—a fact I haven’t been able to scrub from my mind no matter how hard I try.

As class continues, I find myself watching Elizabeth more than focusing on my own cooking. The way she moves with enthusiasm, not caring that she’s made a mess of herself and her station. The world needs more people like her—passionate, warm, unapologetically unique.

“Chop these, would you? And try to keep your fingers intact. We don’t want a trip to the emergency room on our fake first date.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, taking the knife and attacking the vegetables with precision.

She watches me for a moment, then speaks with a firmness that’s as surprising as it is attractive. “And don’t dice them too fine. Rustic, remember?”

My mind is a mess, aroused by her assertiveness. I appreciate her strength when she’s unwilling to be bulldozed by anyone, myself included.

I set down the knife and shake my head to dispel the visions clouding my judgment. This isn’t right. We crossed a line once, and now I’m teetering on the edge again because of these damn fantasies of mine. They’re dangerous, addictive, and entirely counterproductive.

She turns back to the stove, and I know I need to get back in control.

As we step out of the cooking class, I force my mind away from darkened rooms and tangled sheets. The evening air is crisp and electric. I drive us back to my place, trying my best to keep my thoughts of Elizabeth in check. The laughter and lightness from earlier seems like a distant memory now, replaced with a certain kind of seriousness, an unspoken tension that crackles between us as we step out of the car.

Our arms brush against each other as we walk from the car, sending little sparks across my skin.

“Okay,” she starts, breaking the silence as we head toward the house, “so, about kissing on the first date…”

My pulse quickens. I force my tone to stay neutral. “What about it?”

“Well, when is it appropriate? Should I make the guy wait, or…?”

She trails off. I picture her kissing some faceless man, and jealousy flares hot in my gut. With effort, I push it down. This is for her benefit, I remind myself.

“You should do whatever feels right in the moment,” I say slowly. “But don’t rush into physical intimacy just because you think it’s expected. Kissing is a natural way to express interest. It can be a good gauge of chemistry.”

“Chemistry, right.” Elizabeth nods, curiosity and daring flickering in her eyes.

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