Page 54 of Director's Cut

Then another searing moment.

And another.

Until Maeve smiles. “Something about that doesn’t feel so scary when I’m with you.”

When we come together to kiss this time, it feels like a promise.

There’s something about gay people talking about the future that gets them unreasonably horny. I’ve learned to just accept it at this point. Before I know it, we’re climbing out of the pool in each other’s arms, barely toweling off on our way into the house because we just want to make each other feel really damn good. No babies, no consequences, not even a love that I’m afraid to say out loud. I manage to come up for air long enough to say, “My wood floors are fragile.”

We climb up the stairs, holding on to the railing and each other with white knuckles to keep from slipping. We giggle as we swipe pool water off each other’s faces and bodies, as it drips from our wet hair. We drop the towel and stumble into the shower.

But it’s not exactly like the movies. Worth noting. As Maeve slips off her bra and panties, she does this half-gasp, half-laugh thing. “Oh my god, you’re bidet rich?”

I had no idea that was a type of rich. I laugh as I turn on the water in the shower. It’s steaming already. “Do you need to use that right now, or…?”

Maeve blushes, presumably from my comment and not because I’ve thrown my own panties and underwear into a sopping pile on the floor. “No, just…” She grabs my hand. “I can’t believe you’re you but also a real-life rich person.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I kiss her and lead her into the shower, shut us inside the steam. It’s almost choking hot, though, so I turn on some cold.

“I’m clean, by the way,” Maeve says.

I grab a bottle of bodywash, put a liberal glob of it in my hand, and turn to Maeve to give her some.

“STD-wise. I get checked after every new partner, and I was clean as of mid-August.”

“Oh.” Oh, she’s a responsible adult. Not to mention she, what, has spent the entire time we’ve known each other not fucking other people? It’s embarrassing to say how much that turns me on. “Yeah, I was clean as of a year ago.” I’m blushing now too. “I haven’t been with anyone since then. I swear I’m not skipping out or anything.”

Maeve smiles, grabbing some of the bodywash off my hands. Her touch sends a jolt of energy through me. Hot energy. “I trust you. You seem starved enough for this, anyway.” That ignites me.

I smash our lips together, bodies together. The bodywash is still on my hands, though, so I rub it up and down her skin. Her soft fucking skin. Her hands move to my hair, dig into it, tug as the kiss deepens. A moan escapes my lips, into her mouth. I swear she smiles. She holds me tighter.

She holds me tighter, and I can’t take it anymore. Cradling her head, I pin her to the side of the shower, pressing us together lips, tits, and hips. Grind up against her, coaxing the most beautiful little yelp out of her.

“You hungry for this too?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“This?” she chuckles. “I’ve been dreaming about this for years.” She leans in, her breath brushing against my ear. “Specifically you since I saw Needlepoint.”

Fuck.

Holy fucking shit, she just—

All this time shaming myself for enjoying the idea that she might find me attractive. All this time and she actually was fantasizing about me after seeing Needlepoint? It swells in my heart, makes me even prouder of that movie. A bro high five to Past Me—Thanks for doing such a good job pretending to get nailed by a dude because now we’re going to have sex with the most wonderful lady we’ve ever met.

God, Maeve liked me. Maeve likes me. Maeve is right in front of me, and we’re both naked and want each other.

I can’t play around anymore. I shut the water off. As it dribbles to a stop, I pull us out of the shower, wrap a towel around us both. Still kissing Maeve, I walk my way back to the bedroom using nothing but tactile memory. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to experience but her lips, her skin, her sighs, her body.

Dropping onto the bed feels like the drop on a roller coaster. Butterflies flap viciously in my stomach, but I’m loving it. I want the extreme sensation, the extreme pressure in my chest, my gut, between my legs. That ache for something that’s suddenly possible. That’s suddenly so goddamn possible I could cry.

I push her down to the bed, and she looks up at me as I straddle her. “Let me know if there’s anything you like or don’t like,” I say. “Or anything you want to try. I’m open.”

Well, open relatively speaking. Still a top, but Maeve isn’t protesting about being under me. So…fingers crossed.

She grabs me by the hips, pulling me down so our pelvises rub. I bite my lip to hold back the moan as we meet. It’s so simple. It’s so fucking simple, but as we grind against each other, my body fully on top of her, my weight supported with strength I’m proud to have, my heart is hammering and I’ve never felt this good. She squirms under me, her breath getting faster. So fast, like this is a quick release for her. It’s amazing the way that connection tugs at my own body, makes my mouth moisten with each movement. I forgot how good it feels to make these motions, to feel that skin, to have my lips on her neck as her back arches. If she lets me, I can’t wait to fuck her.

These sensations are familiar, yet what I’m tasting—Maeve’s breath, the salt of the sweat on her skin, the flowery scent of my bodywash—is in its own league. A custom-made flavor only I can experience in this exact moment. I memorize the topography of freckles, moles, and scars on Maeve’s body as I explore her neck, her shoulders, her back as we move against each other. Every partner I have is a thrill—I’m always eager to learn every fact, every trick, every twitch and sound the person in my arms makes.

---