Page 53 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

Evan readies himself and slides the condom on. He’s naked, exposed, and she can’t stop staring.God, he’s beautiful, she thinks.And he wants me.Slowly, he positions himself and Dalisay gasps as the fullness of him slides into her.

He waits, checking to see if she’s okay, but she kisses him, forcing him to stop thinking for once. They move together.

“Oh,fuck,” he groans against her mouth, his voice hot and low. “Dalisay.”

He turns his head, as if he can’t bear it any longer.

Dalisay nips her teeth on his earlobe, wrapping herself around him, leveraging her hips against his. She buries her face into him, breathing him in, tasting him, kissing him. She can feel his heartbeat thrumming through his whole body, the tension of his neck, the curve of his biceps.

Evan reaches down and rubs his fingers between Dalisay’s thighs, and she arches.

“Oh, God,” she gasps. It’s happening again.

How can a simple touch be so amazing? The pressure builds, and he looks down at her, his face inches from hers. All it takes is one more smile, one more push, and something loosens in Dalisay’s gut and she’s unwinding in his arms and so is he, and for once, words aren’t enough for either of them.

A few hours later, they lie, sticky with sweat, exhausted in bed. It’s dark outside, and the sheets have long ago been kicked to the floor, and Dalisay isn’t sure where any of her clothes are, but she doesn’t care.

The shape of Evan next to her is almost unreal.

He traces his fingers over her shoulder, brushing her hair away, and she nuzzles deeper into his pillow. She never wants to leave. If she’s not careful, she could fall asleep.

“I’ve thought about doing that with you for a long time,” he says, his voice low and soft, sleepy too.

Dalisay smiles. She’s about to say the same, but she’d be incorrect. She couldn’t imagine it being half as good as it actually was. She rolls over and kisses him, and his lips are soft, and gentle, and sweet.

She can’t tell anyone about this, but a thrill rushes through her at the prospect of keeping it a secret. It feels naughty, and a little dangerous, and exciting. If anyone in her family found out, there might be hysterics.

The digital clock on Evan’s bedside table says it’s almost nine. So much for only coming over for lunch. She totally lost track of time after her third orgasm.

“It’s getting late,” she says.

Evan rolls over and looks at the time too. She loves watching the way his chest muscles move when he does, and she touches her hand against them, to feel for herself. He takes that hand and brings it up to his mouth so he can kiss her knuckles.

“Stay,” he says.

“I wish I could,” she says. “But my family will start asking questions.”

“I know.” His eyes sparkle in the dark. “It was worth a try.”

She kisses him again, deeply, and breathes him in, remembering this moment. She was saving herself for the person she loved most, and she thinks, maybe she fell in love with him a long time ago.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Evan, can I see you in my office?” Naomi asks as she passes his desk early Monday morning.

He looks up from his computer with a start, heart hammering in his chest. Immediately, he thinks she knows about him and Dalisay, and he has to swallow the bite of his croissant hard, it’s suddenly so dry.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, trying not to look at Riggs as he follows her.

Even in heels, Naomi is a brisk walker and she’s already sitting at her desk by the time he gets to her office, which always smells like lemon Lysol. Normally when he’s in here, it makes his nose itch, so he constantly feels like he has to sneeze, but now his dread has shut down his senses. His armpits are already sweating.

Naomi won’t even look at him, eyes cast down to her desk. That can’t be a good sign. He can’t lose this job. There has to be something he can do, something he can say that will fix this, but what if it’s not enough? He has to think of something that won’t get Dalisay fired either. If one of them has to go down, it’ll be him.

“Close the door,” Naomi says. He does, robotically.

When she indicates for him to sit, he does, and she slides the paper in front of him. He always thought a pink-slip was, well, pink, but the one in front of him is just a regular sheet of paper. And as he reads the words on the page, they don’t make sense at first. He has to read it a few times for them to sink in.

“ ‘Senior editor’?” he asks, looking up. “Me?”

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