When he touched me, I couldn’t even think. All I could process was his hand against my skin, rubbing fiercely, my desire feeling like an ember that was growing hotter and bigger and all-consuming.
But then the orgasm faded, and the look was still there in his eyes. The intensity on his face told me he didn’t want things to end like that. Not with a kiss, not with a touch.
He wanted more.
And then my thoughts started swirling, imagining what would happen, if I kissed him again, if I let him believe I was going to give him what he wanted.
He says he’s never dated before, but how can that be true?
He seemed so comfortable, being that intimate in a public setting. It’s difficult to believe he’s never done it before.
But maybe I’m looking for a reason to blame him, and not myself.
I push on a door marked exit, staring straight ahead, hardly aware of what I’m doing except I need to get someplace quiet. My head is too loud, conflicting voices rising, a chorus telling me to go back and another telling me to get as far away from here – from him – as quickly as possible.
It’s a confusing feeling. He’s all I want. What we shared, that closeness, that pleasure, I’m already hungry for more of it again.
But not for what comes after.
Heck, I am. I want to have sex with him. I want to be the wild willing woman who can rock her man’s world.
But I’m not. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.
I turn a corner, walking down an alleyway between two businesses. When I’m sure I’m alone, I collapse against the wall, my hands on my knees, panting jagged breaths. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast.
One second, we were talking about our childhoods.
Next, his hand was on me. The crazy part is how normal it felt, how natural to be so intimate physically so soon after being intimate emotionally felt.
He was going to say something about his dad, I remember, but then the moment swept us both away.
I’m not sure what’s happening to me now. My breaths come fast and I hunch over, digging my fingernails into my knees, struggling to get my breathing under control. My panties are twisted, my sex sore in a contended and good way, sore in the best way.
I hunger for the feeling again, but I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if he took me someplace private, someplace we didn’t have to be careful.
I almost laugh.
Getting ready for the date, I was worried he wouldn’t want me at all.
And now my fear is, what, that he’ll want me too much?
I saw that look in his eyes. I saw the barely restrained hunger.
No, starvation, like he’d die if he didn’t take things further.
Slowly, my breathing resumes its regular pace. I stand up, leaning against the wall, looking around at how clean the alleyway is. It figures. This is a wealthy neighborhood. They want to keep even their alleyways clean.
With the panic gone, the realization suddenly hits me.
I just walked out on my date, leaving him sitting at the table, alone. How long has it been? A few minutes?
I look for my phone. I’m certain I had it when I left, clutched in my hand, even as my handbag lay forgotten on the floor. But then everything happened so fast, I was in such a haze of emotion, I can’t be sure.
Did I bring it?
Heck, I have no clue.
Moving from the wall, I walk up and down the alleyway, scanning the ground. I didn’t plan on walking out like that. I really meant to go to the bathroom, but then the thoughts in my head became too loud, convincing me I was going to make a fool of myself if I went back there.
A door whines open behind me. “Excuse me?”
I turn to find a man standing there, probably around thirty, with a close-cropped beard and dark hair. He’s wearing a chef’s uniform, the sleeves rolled up, showing his tattoos. His eyes are narrowed on me.
“I’m just looking for my phone,” I tell him.
“You can’t loiter here,” the man says, angry for seemingly no reason. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you people. This isn’t a hangout spot. We need this area clear for fire safety reasons.”
“I’m not loitering,” I say quietly. “I’m looking for my—”
“You’ve looked,” the man snaps. He props the door open with a cinderblock and strides into the alleyway. “It’s clearly not here. I don’t have time for this today. Just go, okay?”
My hands ball into fists. I haven’t done anything to him and he’s treating me like dirt.
“Why are you being so rude?” I hiss, my voice getting loud, as my heart pounds heavily.
I usually avoid confrontation, but something has snapped inside of me. I’m angry, angry at myself. I abandoned Preston. He probably thinks I’m the biggest asshat in the world… if he ever speaks to me again, which he might not, will he even let me say I’m sorry? Sorry for running scared when all I want is him.