“That’s cool,” he said. “Teenage-diary drama, or kaiju and space monsters?”
Their main courses arrived at that moment, saving her from having to be astounded that he wasn’t laughing at her choice of medium. The waiter lifted the cloches, revealing a ceviched scallop for her, the translucent slices arranged into a delicate fan, decorated with sprinkles of some sweet-smelling green herb and brushed with a clear, lemony sauce. For him, he’d ordered a lobster tail, artfully butterflied and draped with silvery-white threads, and somehow the effect was that it was peeking out from under a layer of snow. When she tasted it she found herself wanting more of the sauce, a fact that annoyed her until she realized that was the effect the chef wanted.
“It’s delicious,” she said, to his unspoken question.
“Is my apology accepted?”
“Very well,” she said, feigning petulance. “But if my brothers put you up to this you can tell them to go—”
“They didn’t,” he said. “It just felt wrong, to leave you like that—I really did want to say sorry to you.”
“But?”
“But, well, I can’t say that I’d be devastated if you’d agree to a second date with me.”
“That’s a little forward,” she said, “considering that you haven’t brought this one to a proper conclusion yet.”
He squinted at her, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, but he only raised his glass. She raised hers, too, not really sure what they were toasting, and even though her gut was saying, “I don’t think this is such a hot idea” she could feel herself throwing caution out the door—it was just one night, why not have a good time?
By the time they got back to her place it was late, almost eleven. “Where does the time go?” he murmured, as they rode the elevator up to her apartment.
She wished she knew. The evening had been wonderful—they’d talked about old friends that they both knew, former lovers that they’d lost, and his time in the army. “Two tours of duty,” he’d said, laughing in a way that made it clear he was hiding something, “in the shittiest places on earth, with people shooting at us left and right and IEDs popping up every other day, and I’m still too chicken to walk into Kensington alone.”
“Kensington isn’t that bad,” she’d said. “They aren’t smart enough to make bombs.”
He’d raised his eyebrows when she’d said that and smiled.
Now, as they were walking down the hall to her apartment, she wondered if this was what people meant when they said, “Love at first sight”, because she had spent the entire evening with him, talking with him and not to him. She knew more about him after four hours than she knew about men she’d dated for four months, and she was already felt as if her life wouldn’t be complete without him. There was a quiet desperation in the way their hands clasped each other, as if they couldn’t bear to let go
“Thanks,” she said, as she opened the door to her apartment. It was that awkward moment of a date, when she should be offering coffee except that a) she didn’t have any coffee and b) it was obvious that what they both wanted wasn’t coffee. At some point after dessert but before the dinner mint, their pretenses dropped away and it was all they could do to make it back to his car in the parking garage, his hands wandering up her thigh and playing peek-a-boo with her pussy behind her panties. It’d been fun, but now as she closed the door behind him things took a more serious turn. This wasn’t just about a good time anymore, and as she gazed into his eyes she could feel his soul surrender to hers. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for her at that moment; and strangely enough, she felt the same way.
The kiss happened. She didn’t know who started it, but his lips were searching against hers, and as she tasted him and the lingering traces of the dinner mint on his teeth and tongue she became aware of something happening inside of her—it felt as if her heart had cracked, and there was some kind of warm, liquid light streaming out from it, reaching every last fiber of her being and illuminating her with a love that surprised her with its ferocity and urgency. Suddenly she was clinging to him with a desperation that she’d never known, a dizzying, almost frightening sense of need that had taken her over without her being aware that she was even capable of such need.
She was not a desperate person: she’d spent her entire life playing things safe, and even when she was in a tight spot she didn’t lose her cool, she kept her head and played the game and found her exits and kicked ass whenever she got the chance. But something about the way he touched her now, careful, slowly, savoring her curves even as he undid the halter to her dress one thread at a time, leaving her exposed, as if to say to the universe, “See, this is beauty,” kindled a flame inside her. She felt herself surrendering to his touch, letting him take everything—his fingers found their way to her clit and they began to pulse against it, each press weakening her knees until he lowered her onto her sofa.
He kissed her again, pressing warm gifts against her skin all the way down her throat. His lips were soft and smooth on her breasts, and when he took her nipple in his mouth he didn’t pinch her between his teeth. Instead, he mouthed her gently, insistently, sucking on it, pulling all of her awareness into her breasts—and then he ghosted his tongue over the tip, sending a shivering bolt of electric passion running through her spine, arching her back and slicking the folds between her legs with the hot scents of animal passion.
He opened her to the world and drank her in, his tongue flicking the soft skin of her pussy and worming its way inside her, rendering her helpless with waves of ecstasy that, for some reason, couldn’t make it past her solar plexus—she needed to close her legs, she needed to come, and he wouldn’t let her, forcing her knees apart the way he did. She groaned and cried out in her need, her body’s desires too strong to be contained. If he didn’t—
His cock was inside her all of a sudden—her body almost couldn’t contain it. She could feel herself straining around him, and as he went deeper and deeper she felt him touch a spot inside her that she didn’t know existed. Just once, and then twice—and all of a sudden all of that ecstasy had had been building up inside her ripped through her body. Her mind shut down, and all she could see was stars.
She woke up the next morning, in her own bed, to the smell of coffee. She was still naked, but she was at least under the covers this time. Ben called, “Be about ten minutes,” from the kitchen, and she heard the ticking of the gas as he fired up the stove.
Her body felt new—she got into the shower and could feel every last drop of water on her skin, creeping over every nerve with the same delicacy of touch. Her breasts were especially sensitive—she groaned as she washed them, the same electricity arching through them when she touched herself as when he’d mouthed her the night before. She couldn’t stand to have the towel against her naked skin. She wrapped her hair and stood looking at herself in front of the mirror, wondering what could have changed so much between yesterday and this morning. Her body—the twin eyes of her breasts, the swoop and dip of her hips and waist—seemed to stare back at her.
She reached between her legs and spread apart the folds, marveling at the sweet pinkness of the flesh down there, how smoothly intricate it was. So that’s what I look like, she thought, and she remembered the strange woman who’d kissed her there. She wondered what she tasted like.
She heard Ben come back into the bedroom. He’d set a tray down on her bed, a tray carrying an omelet and two mugs of coffee, and he’d also bought strawberries and arranged them on the plate. She stepped out of the bathroom naked except for the towel around her hair, and grinned when she saw his eyes grow wide. “Please don’t dress,” he said, as she reached for her robe. “I want to see how beautiful you are, all morning. I want to show you off to the world—”
“I’m not one for public nudity,” she said, but she climbed into the bed naked again, arching her back slightly so that her breasts were level with his face.
“That’s a shame,” he said, kissing her nipples, running his tongue around them, coaxing them to hardness. “It oughta be a crime to keep something so beautiful out of sight. I could sit here and kiss you all day.
“And I could sit here and—”
She heard the sound of the key in her door. What the—she sat up, too angry to worry about modesty: Miles and Jaxon had copies of the key to her apartment, just as she had a key to their places, as a precaution against getting locked out. But coming in without being asked—that was a step too far.
“Cerise—” Jaxon said, coming into the bedroom just as she was getting up to put on her robe. His eyes took in the breakfast on the bed, Ben sitting in the bed, his arm entwined around her waist, her nakedness—and he realized what he’d walked into.
And then Miles came in behind him, saying, “Cerise—look, we’re—”
It was silent for what seemed like forever, as the four of them stared at each other—mostly at Cerise, and she was too petrified with shame to move. Ben spoke first, “Well,” he said, his voice sounding oddly strangled. “I’d better get going.”