Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CLAIRE
"What time is the party tonight?" I ask Mark. We’re both sitting at the table in our pajamas with mugs of coffee, pretending like the awkward moment that went down in the kitchen last night never happened.
"It starts at eight, so we should probably leave here thirty to forty minutes before that."
"Got it." I take a sip of coffee and allow more of the tension to leave my body. If he hasn’t mentioned what happened last night by now, hopefully he won’t at all.
We sit in silence as he scrolls on his phone and I stare out the window at the bustling city streets below. After a few minutes, he breaks the silence by asking, "Have you ever been to a New Year’s Eve party before?"
"Not really. We would celebrate the new year, but it was a lot like our Christmas celebrations."
"Well, just so you know what to expect, there will probably be a couple dozen people at this one and a decent amount of drinking, but don’t feel pressured to drink if you don’t want to."
I’m sure he’s thinking of Christmas Eve when we both opened up, at least a little, over a few too many drinks. "Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. I hope the dress I got is okay," I say, more to myself than to him. The more I think about wearing it in front of Mark and a whole group of strangers, the more stressed I feel. What if it’s too much? I’ll be mortified if I show up to a party as the least modest person there after overcorrecting my wardrobe to an extreme.
Dressing in anything modern is so far outside of my wheelhouse that I have no idea what fits these "normal" occasions.
"I’m sure you’ll look wonderful," Mark says, but I know he’s just saying that to calm me down. He hasn’t even seen my dress yet.
"Thank you." I can only hope so .
The afternoon drags by, but after Mark and I eat an early dinner, I head back to my room to get dressed for the evening. It’s not like it will take long, but sitting around any longer with this nervous energy would have driven me insane.
I pull the tags off the dress and slide the silky fabric up my legs before slipping my arms through the straps. The material is a shiny, silvery light blue, and it hugs my body in a way I’m not used to. I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this revealing, but I know enough to recognize that it’s still somewhat tasteful, even if my mother would tell me I look like a harlot right now.
I do my best to push the ingrained judgmental voice out of my head, and I run a brush through my hair, not knowing what else to do with it. A braid would look silly, but I don’t have anything else to style it, so I just leave it down.
My small heels are the last thing to manage, and it takes me a couple minutes to get the thin straps buckled in the right place.
As I stand, my stomach is flip-flopping with jitters. I feel exposed, but not necessarily in a bad way. My arms are bare aside from the delicate straps on my shoulders, and I can’t hide behind layers of loose clothing like I normally do.
Yet somehow, the feeling of being dressed up and exposed in this unfamiliar way is almost…exhilarating?
The moment I step into the living room, Mark’s gaze zeroes in on me, and I stand there shifting on my feet as his eyes seem to consume every inch of my body.
"Well? What do you think?" I give him an awkward smile and twirl, trying to defuse the tension that has suddenly filled the room.
Mark stands wordlessly, his expression unreadable, and takes slow, deliberate steps toward me before stopping just short of where I stand. All the air leaves my lungs as he reaches up and brushes my hair back over my shoulder, his fingertips barely grazing the exposed skin of my neck. He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his chest as I stare up at him, my lips parted slightly in surprise.
"You look breathtaking ," he murmurs. There’s a sincerity and vulnerability in his gaze that’s not normally present, but he seems to realize that the same moment I do. He clears his throat, moves a step backward to put space between us, and takes a deep breath.
"Alright, I’ll grab our coats and then we can head out." His tone is friendly, almost businesslike, a stark contrast to the intimate way he spoke to me just seconds ago .
"Oh, okay." Did I do something wrong ?
He reappears a moment later with his coat on and mine draped over his arm. When I reach out my hand to take it, he shakes his head before lifting my coat by the shoulders and holding it open for me. I give him a soft smile and slip my arms into the sleeves, noting how he’s careful not to touch me.
I probably look so unrecognizable in a pretty dress that he forgot it was me for a moment. Touching a pretty girl is surely something he’s familiar with, but intentionally touching the needy, down-on-her-luck Claire? Yeah, right.
I try to force the thought from my head as we make our way down the elevator to the front door of the building. Mark had announced earlier that we’d take an Uber tonight instead of either of us driving, which I’m perfectly fine with.
He’s abnormally quiet as he watches his phone while we stand near the large glass doors at the entrance of the building, and I fiddle with the buttons on my coat to give myself something to do. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, and I’m not sure why. Because I’m disappointed he didn’t follow through earlier with whatever he was starting? Because when he came to his senses after a few seconds, he couldn’t get away fast enough? Even now, he’s not making eye contact or joking about something like he normally does.
He’s just so confusing. Or maybe I’m just misreading things. I certainly don’t expect him to fall in love with me—the thought of Mark loving someone like me is laughable even to my overly romantic self—but he could at least be consistent.
Is he interested, or is he not?
"Car’s here." Mark holds the door for me as we step out into the freezing night air, and I slide into the backseat of the white sedan that’s idling at the curb .
The entire drive, I stare out the window, and Mark doesn’t say a word.
Mark wasn’t lying when he said his best friend was a billionaire. We arrive at the penthouse in the middle of the city much earlier than anticipated, and when we step through the door, I can’t seem to find the right words to express how impressed I am. It’s all I can do to keep my jaw from hanging.
Eventually, I manage to say, "You have a beautiful home," so I don’t make a total fool of myself the first time meeting Mark’s friends.
"Thank you." Shane flashes me a genuine smile, introduces himself, and offers to take our coats. I shrug out of mine and hand it to him. "I’ll go tell Dani you guys are here. She’s still getting ready, but she’ll be so excited to meet you."
That should make me feel better, but it only ratchets up my nerves. How much do they know about me? What has Mark told them? And why would she be excited to meet me?
Mark’s stare burns into my side, but I resist the urge to make eye contact.
"Claire—" he starts, just as Shane returns to the room.
"Dani requests your presence in the bedroom," Shane says.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s speaking to me. "Me? Why?"
Shane shrugs. "Probably wants to have girl talk without us around. Mark, help me with the drinks, will you?"
Mark makes his way to the kitchen, and Shane tells me which door to go into and assures me that Dani will love me.
I sure hope so. I could use some friends.
As soon as I open the door, Dani sets down her lipstick and practically jumps off the chair to greet me. "Claire! Oh my god, I’m so excited to finally meet you," she squeals before wrapping her arms around me like we’ve been best friends forever.
"Oh, uh, me too," I answer, because what else can I say?
She steps back, smiling. "Sorry, I may have gotten a little too excited. Mark never brings women around, so you must be pretty special."
"Oh, no, it’s not like that. We’re not—"
Dani waves me off. "Maybe not, but you’re clearly special to him."
I snort out a laugh before I can stop myself, but Dani just gives me a knowing look. Too bad she has no idea what she’s talking about.
"Your makeup looks so pretty," I tell her, partly because it does and partly because I’m desperate to change the subject.
She beams. "Aw, thank you! It’s a new eyeshadow palette, and I’ve been so excited to try it out. Have you ever used this brand before? Because it’s so much better than I expected it to be."
Unease fills me as I’m reminded yet again how inexperienced I am, even with things as simple as makeup. "I, um, actually haven’t ever used any makeup."
Her eyes widen. "Like, never?"
"No. My home was . . . very strict, even into adulthood, and I only left it a little over a month ago. So I really haven’t had the opportunity to try makeup yet. I wouldn’t even know where to start."
"Well, no pressure, but I can put a little on you if you want to try it. You definitely don’t need it," she adds, "but makeovers are so much fun."
I give her a hesitant smile. Her energy is infectious, and she clearly knows what she’s doing when it comes to beauty—her brown hair is curled to perfection and her makeup accentuates her features perfectly.
"Go for it."
The grin she gives me is enough to spur my excitement, and I follow her instructions to sit in the chair and pull my hair back into a quick ponytail.
"Can I do your hair too?"
"Sure, you’re the expert." I take in the array of products strewn across the surface before me, and I’m able to figure out what some of them are for—lipstick, blush, eyeshadow—but others are a mystery. Regardless, my nerves are dissipating by the second.
Dani studies my face for a few seconds before nodding to herself and shuffling through the products. "You have such pretty skin, so I’m not even going to touch that. But a little bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick will take this to a whole new level."
"Alright, let’s do it." Warmth fills my chest as I sit here and close my eyes while Dani paints liquid eyeliner on my top lids. As she works, she speaks softly about how excited she is to introduce me to her friends tonight. Is this what real friendship feels like? It’s similar to what I’ve felt with Mark, but there isn’t that undercurrent of awkward attraction for me to battle with when it comes to Dani. Just a sort of giddiness that someone actually cares about me for who I am—even if she barely knows me yet.
"Keep your eyes closed for now while it dries," Dani says, interrupting my thoughts.
"Okay."
"So, what’s it like living with Mark?" She asks in a lighthearted tone, but I can hear the curiosity behind it. Of course she would want to know more.
"It’s very nice. He’s been so kind giving me somewhere to stay and helping me get back on my feet. I don’t know what I’d be doing right now if it weren’t for him," I admit. "He’s a really good friend."
I still can’t open my eyes to gauge her reaction, but she pauses long enough for me to know she’s considering how to respond. "He is a great guy. Sometimes he pushes back when life gets too good for him, though. It’s like he thinks he doesn’t deserve too many good things. I’m not sure why. But that may be something to keep in mind for the future."
I’m not sure why she thinks that has anything to do with me—all I’ve done is make his life more complicated—but I nod anyway. "Gotcha."
"Okay, open your eyes."
I do, and Dani clasps her hands together in excitement. "Ah, it looks perfect! Okay, now for some mascara."
After adding some pencil eyeliner to my lower lash line, she holds a wand and makes me blink a few times to coat my eyelashes with the makeup, and then she grabs a soft pink lipstick and swipes it carefully over my lips.
When she steps back to examine her work, she gives me another one of those wide grins and says, "Oh my god, you look fucking amazing ."
Her casual use of the word "fuck" startles me—I’m still getting used to hearing it, but this may be the first time I’ve heard a woman say it.
I turn to face my reflection, and I’m shocked at what I see in the mirror; It’s still me, obviously, but with a new added layer of sultriness. Dani has swiped the eyeliner up in a small wing extending past my eyelids, and the darkness of the makeup makes my eyes seem to stand out. It’s a subtle enough change, but it amplifies everything to seem more dramatic. The glossy lipstick is the perfect final touch.
"Hair tiiiiime," Dani sing-songs.
She decides to straighten my long blonde hair rather than curl it, then pulls the front pieces back away from my face and clips them in the back. Whatever she sprayed in my hair makes it shiny and soft, and by the time she’s finished, I feel like an entirely new person.
In the matter of twenty minutes, Dani has helped me gain a confidence I didn’t know I had with just a few simple changes. I look in the mirror and I don’t see a plain, awkward girl—I see a woman who is pretty and, dare I say it, even a little sexy. And not by hiding anything on my face, but by emphasizing it. It’s empowering.
"This is amazing," I say, looking at Dani. "Thank you. Seriously. I didn’t know I could look like this." I know I’m a bit plain, and attempting to look prettier was always regarded as vanity at home. But this doesn’t feel like vanity, it feels like confidence.
She offers me her hand to stand, and I take it. "It was my pleasure. And I know you might not care to hear me say this, but Mark is going to be drooling over you even more now." With a wink, she drags me toward the bedroom door, and we head toward the living room.
A few more people had arrived during the time I’d been in the room with Dani. I’m a half-step behind her as we make our way through the living room where the TV shows a man in a coat with a microphone talking about the new year.
All eyes turn to us. Which is fair, since Dani is the host of the party alongside Shane, but there’s only one set of eyes I care about. Mark’s gaze is locked on me from across the room where he leans against the wall with a drink in hand. His lips are parted slightly and his stare intense, and I give him a shy wave. I’m barely listening when Dani introduces me to the couple beside her, but I smile and introduce myself all the same.
Finally, she asks, "Do you want a drink?"
It’ll only be my second time ever drinking, but I have a feeling that wine might loosen up the tension buzzing inside of me.
I tell her yes, and we make our way to the kitchen where she pours us each a glass of champagne. I take a sip, savoring the light, bubbly flavor.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
I think about it for a second. "Good. Nervous, I think. I haven’t ever really been to any parties like this, so this is pretty new for me."
"Well, I’m glad this could be your first," she says with a gentle sort of understanding. I can tell she’s curious but doesn’t want to pry, but she’s been so incredibly kind that it feels less daunting to tell her a bit more.
"I’m glad, too. I come from a very religious background, hence the no makeup and no parties thing. That’s why Mark took me in—I was living out of my car and delivering pizzas for a job."
"Wow." She takes a sip of her champagne. "I knew you were in a tough situation, but he didn’t tell us all that. I’m really glad he happened to find you. Plus," she adds, "now I have a new friend because of it!"
People are rapidly arriving now, and pretty soon the living room and kitchen are filled with people milling about. I’ve been introduced to so many people whose names I can’t possibly keep track of, but I manage to at least remember Dani’s friend Audrey, who came alone. Her purple hair makes her easy to remember, and if that wasn’t enough, she has the type of personality my mom would have called a "firecracker." She’s not afraid to make herself heard, and she has an attitude that screams strong, independent woman.
I wish I could be more like her. I wonder what it’s like to have that sort of easy confidence, to not be afraid to take up space or stand out.
Eventually, I make my way back toward Mark, who’s standing with Shane and laughing at some story a woman is telling about her husband next to her.
Awkwardly stepping beside Mark, I insert myself into the small group of four and stay silent. Thankfully, they continue to converse and I have a moment to breathe until Mark says, "Guys, this is Claire. Claire, these are good friends of ours from the—" he cuts himself off. "Well, they’re good friends that we’ve known for a few years now. Sarah and Quentin."
I smile and shake each of their hands. They look a bit older than Mark, but not much. "It’s nice to meet you."
They both return the sentiment, and Dani sidles up to Shane’s side with Audrey in tow just as we finish introductions.
"Oh my god!" Sarah exclaims, walking up to Dani to examine her necklace. "Is this a new collar?"
Audrey chimes in. "Isn’t it gorgeous ? Seriously, I need to find myself a man half as kind—or as rich—as Shane."
Dani elbows Audrey and gives Sarah a sheepish smile before answering. "It’s not really new, but—" she brings her hand up near her neck so her ring and necklace are side-by-side "—it was part of the engagement." She giggles in response to Sarah’s excitement, and I notice Mark fidgeting at my side.
"I’m getting another drink," he mutters before turning and stalking toward the kitchen .
Shane raises an eyebrow at Mark’s random bout of frustration. Why is Mark suddenly annoyed, and why does Shane find that amusing?
"I’m going to talk to Mark," Shane chuckles while rolling his eyes, as if he’s dealing with a stubborn toddler rather than a late-30s, six-and-a-half foot man. "Quentin, would you like to join me and let the ladies have a moment?"
Quentin follows, and I take a step in toward the two women. Sarah is still gushing over Dani’s jewelry. "I can’t believe I haven’t seen it yet!"
"Well, I don’t wear it while I’m at school because it’s a little more obvious than my other day collar, and I don’t need the older students asking questions, but I’ve been wearing it to the club. I guess we haven’t seen you two in a while, though."
There’s that word again—collar. I thought maybe I misheard the first time, but apparently not. Maybe it’s a brand of some sort? Because the only other collar I can think of is something that goes around a dog’s neck, and this definitely isn’t that. Dani’s is a thin silver chain with a small circle at her throat, and a black gemstone—matching the one on her engagement ring—sits directly in the center of the circle.
Sarah turns to me with a kind smile. "Have you been to the club?"
"I, uh, don’t think so." I have zero clue what club she’s referencing, so I don’t know why I answered that way instead of with a simple "no."
"Oh, sorry! I guess I assumed with you being here with Mark that you were in the lifestyle."
My brow furrows. "The lifestyle? And Mark and I are just friends."
She facepalms and looks at Dani. "I’m making a fool of myself. Help me out here, because I clearly don’t know how to keep my mouth shut."
Dani’s expression is conflicted for a moment before she looks over her shoulder to make sure no one else is within earshot. Her eyes connect with mine as she speaks in a lowered voice. "Quite a few of the people here are friends we’ve made at the club Sarah mentioned. It’s a club for people who practice sexual activities that are a little more…unique. That’s what she was referring to with the term ‘lifestyle.’"
"Oh." I nod my head, taking in the information and trying to keep my expression schooled to one of casual interest. Inside, I’m trying to make sense of this new information while also trying not to show my discomfort with sex talk. It’s not that it bothers me, but the topic was so taboo my entire life that any discussion about sex for pleasure, let alone before marriage, is entirely foreign to me. Even now, I barely know the basics of it. And apparently there are clubs for it? This is definitely new territory.
"So, how does this relate to your, um, collar?" I ask.
Dani absentmindedly twists the chain between her thumb and forefinger. "I suppose the easiest way to explain it is that it’s a symbol of commitment for us. Sort of like the engagement ring, but with slightly different meanings."
"What are the different meanings?" Now that I’ve opened the floodgates of curiosity, the questions are almost impossible to stop. Every answer she gives me makes me want to know more.
"Well, a ring is the ‘normal’ thing to show commitment to a relationship in a way everyone understands. But a collar is more of a symbol of commitment to our dynamic, his ownership of me as his submissive."
The words "ownership" and "submissive" make me cringe, a visceral reaction to the memories the words churn up. Why would anyone want to be someone else’s property or be subservient to them? Back at home, that was exactly how women were viewed, and it was terrible. We were supposed to listen to the men without question, to serve the man as the head of the household while making ourselves small. In a world where you can be independent and equal as a woman, why would you be in a relationship where you’re seen as lesser than?
Dani must see the wheels turning in my head, because she clarifies. "It’s probably not like whatever you’re thinking. It can sound extreme or problematic at first, especially if you’re just learning about it, but it’s all consensual and something both of us enjoy."
"It’s a matter of total trust and communication," Sarah adds. "In a Dom/sub dynamic, the submissive willingly gives the Dominant his or her submission. It’s not like our partners forced us into these roles."
"Then why? I mean, why would you want to be in a relationship like that? Also," I add, "if I’m asking too many questions, please just tell me to stop." Over Dani’s shoulder, I catch Mark watching me from the kitchen with his whiskey glass lifted to his lips.
Dani’s answer forces me to look back at her. "It’s a bit different for everyone, but in my experience, I’ve spent my whole life being the one in charge, the person making decisions on everyone’s behalf. I overthink everything, and my anxiety tends to get the best of me. Shane is the only person I’ve ever met who can turn those spiraling thoughts off, and he does that by taking control of certain things in and out of the bedroom. I’m still my own person with my own career and freedom to live my life, but Shane helps me be the best version of myself. I give him my trust and my submission, and he gives me the safety to let go of control."
"And let’s not forget what else he gives you—a whole lot of orgasms," Audrey adds with a wink, breaking the serious mood that Dani’s speech conjured up. We all break up into laughter, myself included, though a small part of me still hears a chastising voice in my head telling me how wrong it is to openly talk about things like this.
"Any other questions?" Dani asks me once we get our laughter under control.
"So many, but maybe I’ll save them for another day. You said that Mark goes to that club too?"
A flash of something crosses her expression, though I can’t quite make out what it is. "I think that’s probably a conversation I should leave to the two of you."
That’s all the confirmation I need, though, considering Sarah told me earlier she assumed I’d be into it since I’m here with Mark. It sends my thoughts into a tailspin. Is he a Dominant like Dani described Shane as being? How often does he go to that club? Does he sleep with women there?
Ugh, I don’t even want to imagine that. But at the same time . . .
"Your glass is empty, let’s get you another drink," Sarah says. "Well, if you want one. No pressure."
I nod in confirmation, and the four of us head to the kitchen where the men are standing around chatting. Mark raises his eyebrows at me as I pour myself another glass of champagne, and I flash him a smile.
The group disperses slowly, and I take my spot again at Mark’s side.
"Have a nice conversation?" he asks.
"Yep. I like them. They’re a lot of fun to talk to." I know he’s fishing for information on what we talked about, but I’m not about to volunteer it. I feel like an insider now, recognizing little signs I wouldn’t have noticed before. It suddenly occurs to me that Mark had walked away right as Sarah had mentioned Dani’s collar, and it all clicks into place.
He was nervous that they were discussing their "lifestyle" with me present. But if that were the case, he would have tried to coax me away instead of walking away himself. So he was the uncomfortable one, for whatever reason. Hmm…
Mark takes a sip of his drink but still doesn’t make eye contact as I stare up at him from his side. "What did you guys talk about?" he asks.
I have two options here. I can either continue being vague, or I can throw caution to the wind and risk making him uncomfortable. The old me would have stayed quiet and awkwardly changed the subject, but the new me feels a surge of bravery. Or maybe it’s the champagne.
"They told me about the sex club."
Mark chokes on his drink, coughing and sputtering, and looks into my eyes for the first time during this conversation. I crack up at his reaction.
He studies me for a moment before asking, "And how did you feel about that?"
"It’s… interesting. I never would have thought there’d be so much to learn about life and relationships like this. But I suppose I’m always wanting to know more about everything. You told me it was okay to be curious and ask questions, so that’s exactly what I did."
Blowing out a slow breath, Mark closes his eyes for a few seconds too long. "Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not." And with that, I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room .
I’ve managed to pace myself with drinking tonight, but Mark seems to have had one too many. He’s not super drunk as far as I can tell, but he’s let his guard down. I’ve caught him staring at me quite a few times with an intensity that I’m not used to, one that makes every nerve in my body come to life. He seems conflicted about something, though it’s difficult to figure out exactly what.
As the clock ticking down on the television screen approaches midnight, we all congregate in the living room with the sound of the TV host filling the room over excited conversation. An electric energy buzzes through my body as the clock crosses the one-minute mark and the seconds count down to the new year.
I know in my heart that this will be a year of firsts, a year of new beginnings, and a year of self-discovery. Change is in the air, and I can feel it with every fiber of my being. It’s exhilarating. I know that the new year is realistically just another day, but something about it makes everything feel possible. Like I have a blank slate and every opportunity laid out in front of me.
Maybe it’s silly, but I’ve never had this much hope for my future before, and that alone makes today significant.
Mark’s presence is a familiar comfort next to me as we all count down.
"Five, four, three, two, one!" Cheers erupt around the room, and all the couples turn to kiss each other with beaming smiles.
I glance up at Mark without even thinking about what I’m doing, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me into his side in a half-hug.
"I’m glad you’re here," he murmurs, his touch lingering for a few seconds before he finally lets go .
His words send a spark of happiness through me, but my stomach sinks with disappointment at the same time. I’m not sure why. Was I really expecting him to kiss me? Sure, we’ve gotten closer over the past couple weeks, but nowhere near that level of closeness.
Okay, maybe I have a tiny crush on him, but it’s clear that it’s not reciprocated. I’m too young for him, too inexperienced, and probably not his type anyway. But the more time I’ve spent with him these past few weeks, the more interested in him I’ve become. He’s not what he seems to be, and it makes me want to dig further to see what lies beneath the surface.
Maybe I thought the looks he’s been giving me tonight were something other than what they really are. But he said he’s happy I’m here, which is at least something . So what if he’s not interested in me like that? At least I have a good friend by my side.
The car ride home is thick with tension. I’m not sure if I’m just imagining it, but Mark is unusually quiet again, though that could be due to tiredness considering it’s almost two in the morning. He may be thinking the same thing about me—I’m not a particularly talkative person on the best days, but I’m at a loss for words right now. It was a fun night, but exhaustion is weighing on me along with the constant replays of tonight flashing in my head.
His lingering looks throughout the evening. The way his arm felt around me, even if it was just a friendly hug. How small and safe I felt next to him. The way I secretly wish he would have kissed me.
How silly of me.
Even though we’re on opposite sides of the car, the space feels too small. Mark takes up most of his half of the backseat while I’m huddled into the door on my side and staring out the window. So when we finally arrive at Mark’s building, I breathe a sigh of relief as I step outside and watch my breath come out as a thick cloud in the freezing night air.
My relief is short-lived when we’re stuck together in a small space yet again during the elevator ride to the top of the building. Every enclosed space with him feels too small now, too intimate, even though we’ve taken this exact elevator ride together multiple times now. There’s something in the air tonight that makes it feel… different.
In a good way or a bad one, I’m not quite sure. On one hand, I’m still riding the high of hope for the future, the way bringing in a new year with new friends has lit a fire inside me. On the other hand, that small thread of disappointment from wanting someone and him not wanting me back has refused to stop tugging at my heart. But I decide I’m not going to let that outweigh my happiness for the night.
"Okay, what’s got you so quiet?" Mark asks as he tosses his coat over the back of the couch.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you were talkative and outgoing for most of the night, but once midnight hit, you practically went silent and haven’t said much since."
"I’m just tired."
"Bullshit."
His sharp tone startles me. He’s never cursed at me like that before. So… do I tell him what’s really on my mind or do I make up something else? It’s not like it would be hard to lie about it, even though lying still makes me cringe internally a little every time I do it, even if it’s a small white lie.
Well, I did make a promise to myself earlier tonight that I would be brave this year. No time like the present, right ?
My head drops as I consider how I’m going to say this without making a total fool of myself. I take a deep breath and look up just as Mark closes most of the space between us, though he still leaves a couple feet as a sort of buffer.
"Hey, are you alright?" His tone is softer now.
I lift my head to meet his gaze and speak before I can convince myself to back down. "I wanted you to kiss me earlier."
His brow furrows. "What?"
"Please don’t make me repeat myself," I half-whisper. This is already mortifying enough.
He’s giving me that same look that he’s been giving me all night, so full of intensity, but it’s only now that I’m up close that I see it for what it is—desire.
He’s frozen for a moment before he murmurs, "I didn’t realize you wanted that."
"Well, I do." I manage to keep my expression impassive despite my heart hammering in my chest.
"You’re sure?"
It’s only then that I realize I said "I do" rather than "I did." Present tense.
I nod.
Whatever sense of hesitation he had snaps. Mark’s voice is practically a growl when he mutters, "Fuck it," before covering the space between us in two quick steps, wrapping a strong arm around my waist, and kissing me like his life depends on it. His free hand cradles the back of my neck as his lips press against my own, and I melt into his touch as I experience what I can only imagine is the most passionate kiss I will ever have in my lifetime.
His lips are demanding but gentle, his arms holding me tightly against his large body. He feels exactly how I expected him to—warm and soft and strong. Every inch of my body is alight with need for him as I kiss him back.
There is no question in this moment of what he feels—it’s written in every brush of his lips and the way he holds me so tightly as if he doesn’t want to let me go. Every worry I might have had dissipates, and my mind and body are consumed by him.
The kiss feels like it lasts both seconds and hours. Either way, it’s not long enough. When he finally pulls away, just a few inches to look at me, I’m breathing hard and my pulse is pounding in my ears.
"You okay?" he asks with a playful half-smile.
I blush. "Way better than okay. That was… wow. I didn’t know it could feel like that."
He loosens his hold on me but keeps a hand on my waist as he takes a tiny step backward. "Best first kiss you’ve ever had?" He’s teasing now, giving me that playful smirk that makes me weak in the knees.
But his comment makes me realize that he doesn’t know just how significant this is for me. "Well, you could say that…"
"Hmm, that sounds like a non-committal answer."
"It’s not just the best first kiss I’ve ever had—it’s the only kiss I’ve ever had."
His expression falls. It only lasts a second, but by the time he’s recovered it, it’s already clear that this isn’t good news to him.
"Oh. Well, I suppose there’s a first for everything." He’s smiling again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. He takes another step backward and glances at the clock on the wall. "We should probably get to bed."
I nod in agreement, wondering why my admission caused such a significant shift in his attitude. I don’t claim to be experienced or knowledgeable in relationships, but it was my understanding that guys liked women to be less experienced. Apparently not in this case.
"You’re right. It’s late," I say.
"Goodnight, Claire." He’s walking down the hallway to his bedroom before I can even answer, and just like that, one of the most memorable moments of my life has been tainted by confusion and worry.
Maybe I’m just not good enough for him after all.