Page 61 of Happy After All

The tendons in his neck stand out, his teeth clenched tight. I can see that he is fighting to hang on to control.

Good. I want him to lose it.

“Yes,” I say. “Fuck me just like that.”

“Brat,” he grits out.

“Please.”

“Not yet,” he says.

He rolls his hips forward, and I feel myself getting closer to the edge.

I didn’t think I was going to be able to come again, but now ... Now I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold myself back from it.

He slides his hand between our bodies and moves his thumb over my clit, pinching lightly, and I’m done. I fly over the edge. This time when I shatter, it’s complete, and he takes it as permission to let go.

He comes on a growl, his mouth against mine, and he trembles.

Just a bit.

I rejoice in the reality that I made this mountain of a man shake.

He moves away from me, and I’m dimly aware of him going into the bathroom. I fling my arm over my face.

Part of me can’t believe we actually did that.

Another part of me can’t believe it took so long.

As I lie there looking at the texture on the ceiling, I can admit to myself that this had a feeling of inevitability to it.

A necessary step in my development. Maybe in his. But I don’t let myself wonder about that. I want to revel in what it means for me. At least, right now.

When he emerges from the bathroom a moment later, he stands there, naked and perfect, and maybe a little bit uncomfortable. Like he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to come back to the bed or get dressed and leave.

“If you’re looking for guidance on the protocol for all of this, I’m afraid I’m not the person,” I say. “It’s not really my area of expertise. Hookups, I mean.”

“Mine either,” he says.

I have trouble believing that. He is an outrageously skilled lover, and I feel like maybe it’s that thing decent men do when they downplay their prowess and body count because they don’t have anything to prove.

“You really should write more sex scenes,” I say. “Or enjoy writing them more because ... goddamn.”

I let out a ragged breath.

“I needed that,” I say. “I want you to know, you don’t need to feel bad for me or obligated to me in any way. I am not going to have a breakdown about it or go chasing you through the yard with a boiled bunny.”

“Jackrabbits everywhere just breathed a sigh of relief,” he says.

I didn’t expect him to be amusing.

I find myself smiling. “I just mean it doesn’t have to be weird. You don’t have to avoid me. You don’t have to ... walk by me tomorrow and pretend it didn’t happen.”

He moves to the bed and sits down, though he leaves a bit of space between us. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You’ve done it before, though,” I say. “Like I said, I thought you were going to kiss me when you got the power strip from me.”

“Yeah. I thought I might too,” he says. “I didn’t because I was trying to avoid this. I’m very aware of what I can’t give you, and we’ve been through that already. You said not to worry about it. So I won’t.”

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