Page 30 of Business or Pleasure

“You’re not hopeless,” I tell Finn once the cyclist is out of earshot and we’re relatively alone again. “I have plenty of awkwardness in my past, too. And the fact that you’re not making this about your fragile, wounded masculinity is a huge plus.”

“I want my partners to have a good time. Or at least, for us to be able to talk honestly about why someone isn’t.”

And it’s ridiculous, isn’t it, the way those words settle low in my belly after having had a decidedly not good time with him.

“A solid place to start.” I lean back against the railing, draping my arms over it. “Women can just be... a little harder to please, and it’s not always easy to express that. There isn’t some button you can press and then voilà, instant orgasm.”

I watch him swallow hard as he dips his head, inching closer. The wind twirls his hair across his forehead, nudges open the collar of his flannel shirt.

“How would I do it, then?” he asks, curling a hand over the railing next to me. His voice is only a notch above a whisper, and though his body is at least a foot from mine, it feels like he’s speaking right against my ear. I can practically feel the vibrations along my skin. “How would I make you come?”

My throat instantly goes dry. All the water in the Willamette couldn’t rehydrate me at this point.

“This feels like the opposite of what we were saying last night.” I try to laugh, but there isn’t enough air in my lungs. Maybe even in the whole state of Oregon.

“I want to learn.” He pushes a wayward strand of hair back into place, but it’s no match for the wind. “I was up half the night googling, but it all started to blur together after a while. And I’m only a little scared of the targeted ads I’m going to get now.”

I let out a deep, shaky breath, my heart turning wild in my chest. Because maybe the scariest thing about this conversation is that I want to tell him. The thrill racing up my spine is a foreign, delicious thing, impossible to ignore. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve already seen each other naked that makes talking about this easier. Maybe it’s that I went on this walk thinking I was about to get fired, and any other outcome has me feeling like I’ve just cheated death.

Whatever it is, I run right toward it.

“Hypothetically... you’d want to start slowly.” My voice takes on a huskiness that feels wholly out of place in a public setting, and when I get quieter, Finn leans in closer. “The more aroused she gets, the more likely she is to orgasm. It’s crucial to spend time building up that tension, figuring out what she likes. Ask her. She might prefer your hands, or your mouth. She might have a specific way she likes being touched. Or, even better—have her show you.”

At that, his mouth slides open, accompanied by the smallest hitch in his breath. I almost don’t catch it, but that slight hint this conversation is as exciting for him as it is for me sends a shock straight to my core.

“You’ve done that?” he says. “Shown someone?”

“Yes,” I say, as calmly as I can. “Masturbation doesn’t always have to be a solo act. What about you?”

He shakes his head, that pesky lock of hair falling back across his forehead. “I’m usually fairly easy.”

“I got that.” This earns me a soft jab of his elbow against my shoulder. “You have to listen. Communication is probably the most important part of it, more important than the physical.” Although I wouldn’t hate his physical elbow touching my physical shoulder again. “You can’t expect that what works for one person will work for everyone.”

“I’m not asking about everyone.” His gaze clings to mine. “I’m asking about you.”

Jesus. I have to break eye contact or else I’ll incinerate.

“I like when someone’s clearly paying attention to my body,” I say, dragging my fingertips out along the railing, and then back. His eyes follow them. “My breaths. My slightest movements. The places where I might be tighter, and the places where I open up.”

A nod. Another step closer, a few inches separating his chest from mine.

“And I love when it’s obvious that he’s enjoying what he’s doing to me. When getting me closer also gets him closer—there’s something so incredibly sexy about that.” My pulse is roaring in my ears, louder than the rush of the river. “I don’t mind if it takes a while, and I want to know that the other person doesn’t mind, either. Because the longer it takes, the more desperate I get for it, the more my body begs for it... the better it feels when I finally go over the edge.”

Now I’m picturing it: the two of us in a different hotel room this time, his hand between my thighs while I narrate exactly what I want him to do to me. I’d draw it out, make it last as long as possible so he could wring every drop of pleasure from my body.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest, unsure how we got here. My own inhales are sharper, heavier.

“God,” he breathes out. On the railing, his hand is an exhale away from mine. I’m not sure what would happen if we touched right now. If we’d cross a line that started wavering the night we met. “I wish—”

He cuts himself off, and I don’t dare say anything. I’d do unforgivable things to know what’s on the other side of that sentence.

Instead of finishing it, he straightens his posture, drops his hand, backs up a few steps. I can breathe a little easier—but not better.

“I don’t know why it’s so easy to talk to you about this, but it is,” he continues, pressing his back to the railing, a healthy distance between us. “Maybe because you were the first person to say something. I guess I trust your opinion.”

“What, should we leap back into bed so I can give you some pointers?”

In my head, it sounds exactly like the joke it is. A lighthearted quip in the middle of the strangest conversation. And yet the moment the words are out of my mouth, I feel something shift between us.

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