I lean in and murmur, “Why did you need it?”
She blushes. “To be honest, I didn’t know I did. You make a compelling point. I’m not sure if I can live without it now.”
I’m halfway to punching the sky in triumph. What stops me is the realization that the intimacy she spoke of, the intimacy I may or may not be trying to avoid, is filling every corner of this room.
I’ve never had a conversation like this. With anyone. Long relationship or short, the topic of intimacy never came up. I’m not sure if that speaks to the shallow relationships I’ve had, the women I’ve been with, or my own warped ideas about how relationships work. I’m torn between being relieved and pissed off. Nobody bothered to do a deep dive on Benjamin Owen before tonight. What gives?
I roll to my back and study the ceiling. I’m not sure how much of what I’m thinking I should reveal, if any of it. Since she keeps revealing things without my permission, I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. Cris is a safe space. She is my life coach. She’s my assistant at work. She’s my best friend. Just because I’ve never shared the ins and outs of my relationships with her doesn’t mean I can’t.
So why didn’t we talk about them? Why didn’t she ask me about Trish when clearly, she must have wondered? Why was she so careful to stay out of the way? I could blame professionalism, but her work attire of tattered jeans and Chuck Taylors are proof professionalism isn’t top of mind for her. Still studying the ceiling, I ask, “Why the sudden interest in my relationships?”
When no answer comes, I roll to my side and prop my head on my hand again.
Her mouth frowns as she shrugs. “I was curious.”
Curious because we slept together? Curious because I took her virginity? These are the kinds of questions I don’t typically have to contend with since the women I sleep with are experienced. Cris is the very definition of inexperienced.
“There’s no reason for you to be twitchy,” she states, confirming she can read my mind. If I was twitchy before her observation, now I’m twitchier. “Normally we talk about whatever interests us.”
“Yeah, normally we do. You’ve never asked about Trish or why we broke up before.”
“You never offered to tell me,” she snaps. “I may have phoned in a few reservations for dinners, but you kept me in the dark about the women you were dating.”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not wrong. That’s the thing about Cris. She’s always fucking right.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.” She tears the sheet off my body and hers and climbs on top of me. I’m covered in petite blonde, her feisty smile and perceptive gray eyes going a long way to helping me forget this conversation.
Her breasts are between us, the perfect handfuls. I focus on them rather than the jittery feeling that I’m overlooking something really obvious. So. Breasts. I love the way they taste on my tongue, and she loves the way I love the way they taste. On that, we agree. Wholeheartedly. We should focus on what we agree on tonight.
“Let’s not spend the rest of tonight arguing,” she says, again echoing my thoughts. “I’m sure you can think of a dozen things we can do instead.”
“Honey, I’m game for whatever you want to do.” As much as it pains me to say it, there is a “but” coming. “But this is your first time or technically, your third time tonight. I don’t want you to be sore tomorrow. We can take it slow. I can do a lot of completely satisfying things with my mouth without the sex.”
She looks almost hurt. “Is that what you want?”
“No! No. Not even a little. But it’s not like this expires when we check out of the hotel. We can have sex at home.”
“Really?”
That’s the second time she asked, and I admit I’m almost as surprised as she is that I offered. I wasn’t planning on dumping her on her ass after this trip, but I was expecting her to want to wrap things up. I thought after she’d taken what she needed from me, she’d be ready to go back to the way we were. I hadn’t thought that far ahead until now, but damn, why would we stop?
Answers line up to shout at me. Answers like “the intimacy,” “the questions,” and “because she’s your best friend.” I ignore them. They don’t know what I know. They don’t know Cris the way I know her. She’s cool. As evidenced by her suggestion to stop arguing and have sex instead. How many women have said that to a guy in the history of the world?
Exactly.
Zero.
She doesn’t want to march the debate to its inevitable end, but that isn’t the only reason I’m continuing our affair after we leave Florida. I cup her breast and lean in for a kiss. “I won’t stop you if you would like to use me for my body some more tonight.”
She smiles so big I accidentally kiss her teeth. That moment is as memorable as the rest of them. Cute. Sweet. Sexy. Erotic. I’m not sure I’ve used those four words to describe one woman, but here we are.
What was I saying earlier? Oh right, the reason I’m continuing our affair after we leave. The main reason—I deepen the kiss as I roll her onto her back—is I’m having way too much fun with her to stop.