3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
A n awkward silence descends. My gaze is drawn like a magnet to the bed. T’s looking at it too.
It sits there. The elephant in the room.
“I told my wife—ex—that I couldn’t do this,” T blurts out of nowhere. “She insisted I come. I said absolutely not—that I wouldn’t do it. I fought with her a lot, but she went ahead and found Dr. Desire anyway. She arranged everything. It’s been driving her nuts, thinking something’s wrong with her, even though I’ve told her a million times there’s not.”
He hangs his head. There’s defeat etched in his posture, in the forward slump of his body. “I told her it’s all me. My fault that things are falling apart.”
The rawness in his voice tightens something deep in my chest. I recognize that kind of pain like it’s my own. I know how blame wraps around your throat, choking you. How guilt sticks like cement on your ribs, binding them together so you can’t breathe.
Without thinking, I step closer and rest my hand on his arm. T stiffens beneath my touch, his muscles taut as if he’s bracing for rejection.
I hold steady, my voice quiet but certain. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “That’s why we’re here. To figure this out. Everything is going to be fine.”
He relaxes at that. Slowly, his shoulders ease downward. His breath hitches, but not in that panicked way from before. This time, it’s something softer.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. Hesitantly, he covers my hand with his own.
That’s when I feel it.
That zing of attraction.
My breath catches. Oh .
I send a silent thank you to the ceiling. This was one of my greatest fears, that I’d come here to find some old guy with three-foot-long nose hair that I’d have to screw. It shows how messed up I am, that even with that terrifying image in my mind, I still showed up.
I think T feels it too, that connection, because his eyes fix on me and dilate. He’s been so anxious up to now that I don’t think he actually saw me, but suddenly his gaze dances over my face, lingering on my hair, and then down my body, over my short skirt with its metal studs and finally to my scuffed biker boots.
I smirk, relieved to focus on something besides the fact that I’m about to fuck this dude. “Guess I’m not what you were expecting?”
His eyes fly up to mine, and he reddens at being caught staring. “I—I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m glad it’s you.” He drops his gaze and mumbles, “You’re pretty. I like your hair.”
I laugh, the sound loud and echoing in this small room. “You don’t have to flatter me,” I tease. “You’re already going to get me in bed.”
That was the wrong thing to say. T’s mouth thins into a tight line. “That wasn’t flattery. I meant it.”
And now things are awkward again.
Shit .
I scramble to fix it, to make amends. “Sorry. I’m just nervous. Humor is my go-to defense mechanism.”
“It’s okay.” He’s looking at me again, which I suppose means I’m forgiven. “How should we start?” A furtive glance at the bed.
I toy with the thick silver chain that serves as a belt for my skirt. “I’m not sure.” My nerves ramp up, making my heart thud painfully. “Undress? Kiss? Are we allowed to kiss? Are there rules? Is there anything you want to do? Don’t want to do? Should we talk about it? Plan it out? Or just go for it?” I’m babbling now. I know it, but I can’t seem to stop.
T shoots a look at the mirror. “Dr. Desire? Any input?”
The voice comes out of the speaker, deep and slightly distorted. “It’s up to you. There are no right or wrong answers. That’s an important lesson when it comes to sex.”
I release a deep breath and shake out my shoulders. “Let’s start by kissing,” I suggest. “Maybe that’ll get us in the mood.”
He faces me, his throat bobbing. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
We shuffle toward each other until we’re face to face. Too close. Not close enough. Hesitantly, T reaches out and frames my face with his hands. He has calloused fingers that ghost along my cheekbone. The contrast of rough against smooth sends a ripple down my spine.
Eyes searching, he asks a silent question, a request.
I nod.
He lowers his mouth to mine. Warm breath and soft lips, a gentle kiss. T smells strongly of mint, as if he ate an entire pack of Altoids on his way over here.
A sigh escapes me at the sweetness of it. I can’t remember the last time, if ever, that someone kissed me like this. That someone touched me so delicately, as if they were afraid to break me.
But I’m not fragile, and, as nice as this is, it’s not going to get us into bed. Which is what I desperately need because if this doesn’t work…I don’t know what I’ll do.
I part my lips and let my tongue flick over his bottom lip, tasting the heat of him. T inhales sharply, his breath shuddering against my mouth like he wasn’t expecting this. That split-second hesitation is all the invitation I need. I slide my tongue past his lips, catching another startled gasp—hot and sharp, it spills into me. I drink it down greedily, like I can steal a part of him, take his breath, his need, his hesitation, and make it mine.
The kiss shifts. It starts out chaste and then ignites into a three-alarm fire.
T’s fingers slip into my hair. Without hesitation, he palms the back of my head and deepens the kiss, leaning his long, thin frame against my shorter one. Now I’m the one surprised by the pressure of his body, by the intensity of his mouth moving against mine. I had pegged him for a bit of a country bumpkin. I had assumed that only being with one woman would make him inexperienced, but I was so wrong.
This man .
He knows how to kiss a woman.
Arousal shoots up my spine, quickens my breath, and makes me moan, a quiet whimper.
That single sound, so unplanned, breaks the spell between us.
T stumbles away from me with wide, shocked eyes. His hand flies up to his mouth, fingers pressing against his lips like he can still feel me there.
On instinct, I go to chase him but stop myself, which is unusual for me. I’m always the one who pursues. The one to make the first move. To be the aggressor. It’s occurred to me recently that maybe that’s part of my problem. Why I always end up with the assholes, the users. Perhaps I force acts, relationships, that were never meant to be?
This time will be different, I decide. After all, T’s nothing like the guys I’ve dated in the past.
Not that I’m dating him, of course.
This is just sex.
Nothing more.