23
The walk from the train to the apartment is exquisite torture. I’m acutely aware of the press of our hands, the pace of our steps.
I want to do everything perfectly.
I can’t get ahead of myself. It could be nothing; he could change his mind. Or it could be the start of everything.
We unlock the apartment like it’s any other day. Remove our shoes. Andy hangs his coat on the coat rack. I put my purse on the kitchen table. We look at each other, and I can feel the blood in my veins.
Andy’s gaze drags down my body, and it’s another expression I’ve never seen from him before: hunger that borders on impatience.
We’re fifteen feet apart and the distance feels enormous.
Eventually I take the first step towards him, cautiously, then another.
“Andy…”
He’s stepping towards me too, first slowly, then picking up speed until he reaches me and locks me in a crushing kiss. I clasp his face with both hands and he’s hoisting me in the air, carrying me backwards into the kitchen, placing me on the table’s edge and stepping into the space between my legs.
It still feels new—holding him like this, being held by him, pressing my mouth to his and feeling the way our bodies move together.
Here in the apartment where we both live, perched on the table where we now eat breakfast together every morning and dinner every night—we’ve somehow skipped over casual and straight into vital.
My back arches as Andy moves to my neck, biting and sucking his way across my skin.
He finds the freckles along my collarbone and kisses one, then another, disintegrating all my remaining brain cells.
When his path is intercepted by cotton, he looks to me for approval before carefully lowering the dress from my shoulders.
It pools at my waist, leaving me in a black lace bra.
He takes one step back, eyes raking over me. And I know my hair is mussed, my cheeks are red, my clothes are in disarray. I must look a mess. But he whispers, almost to himself, “You are so beautiful.”
I reach forward, pulling his face back to mine. One of my hands twines into his hair while the other travels slowly down his body, over the taught plane of his stomach, until I reach the front of his pants. I find the hardness there and let out a small gasp.
“Oh my god.” My fingers curve around him, palm tracing an exploring path over the fabric. “Andy—you’re so big.”
“Fuck, Sophie,” he breathes into the next kiss.
Then my hand is gone and we’re grinding against each other, the hardness of him pressing right between my legs, my hips bucking up to meet him because I need more.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in tighter, pressing him where I need him most.
But then his hands are on my hips and he’s pushing away, creating distance where there should be none.
“Wait, Soph. Hold on. I don’t want to…” His head falls against my shoulder, his breathing heavy.
Already, the inch of space between our bodies is clearing my head. I’m disappointed, yes, but I get it. I hold his face gently to my shoulder as I say, “That’s okay. We don’t have to.”
His head snaps up, eyes finding mine. “No. Sophie. God—I want to. I really want to.” His lips meet mine with hunger again, and between fervent kisses he murmurs, “I meant I don’t want to come. Not yet.”
And good lord, knowing that what we’re doing has him that close is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
“Let’s go to your room,” I say, barely sane and not above begging. “Please.”
Andy lifts me straight up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his torso and he carries me towards his room, kicking open the door.
From the moment he places my feet on the floor by his bed, he’s already pulling at the buttons on his shirt.
His hands are shaking, his motions stilted and frenzied.
I don’t want him to be nervous, so I do the only thing I can think of: I pull my dress over my head and drop it on the floor.
When he finally tosses his shirt to the ground and looks back up at me, I’m in nearly nothing—black lace underwear to match the black lace bra—and it’s like a hard reset.
Time slows, and whatever nervous thoughts were swirling through Andy’s head before are forgotten.
“Sophie…” He stalks forward, nearly closing the distance between us but not quite. “You wore these for our date. For me.”
It’s not really a question, but I breathe out a “Yes.” I’ve never felt more exposed or more secure.
His hands wrap around my waist with urgent slowness, then guide me backwards onto the bed.
I lie back, propped on my elbows as Andy’s body moves to cage mine.
He pauses there, just looking at me, midnight whirlpools in his eyes.
With the tips of two fingers, he traces the lightest path over my ribs, then my stomach.
His touch is warm, and he lowers himself to kiss the plane of my stomach once.
Twice. Then his gaze slides back up to mine.
“Show me,” he begs.
And I will do anything he asks.
Eyes never leaving his, I tuck one arm beneath myself, unfastening my bra and tossing it to the side. When my hands move to the fabric at my hips, Andy takes over, replacing my hands with his own. He slowly pulls the black lace over my thighs, then lower, until it's tossed aside.
Andy doesn’t touch me yet. He comes to kneel on the bed between my legs, gaze ravenous, flitting across me in a way that I know means he’s memorizing every inch. His hands hover between us, like they can’t quite decide where to go first. Slowly, his expression glazes over.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he says. “I’ve… tortured myself.”
His hands find my thighs, fingers kneading the flesh in a way that’s somehow too light for the intensity of his grip, the obvious tension of his muscles.
“Being so close to you, just on the other side of that wall. Imagining you, like this, with some other guy. Some stranger.”
His palms slide up to my hips, fingertips pressing ardently into the soft flesh as my body becomes his confessional, and I want to hear every sin.
“Even before that. Fucking other women with my eyes closed. Wishing they were you. And now…”
He moves reverently up my stomach, cupping my breasts, teasing each nipple with a thumb, and I’m losing my mind.
“Andy.” His eyes snap up to mine and he’s back, haze clearing from his expression. “Take off your pants.”
He obeys, pulling away to undo his belt buckle. What remains of his clothes falls to the floor and I stare unrepentantly. I feel like an animal—a biological need begging to have him inside me.
I realize we’re about to cross a line that can never be uncrossed. That we can never just be friends again after this.
I wouldn’t want to, anyway.
I drag my teeth across my bottom lip. “What are you waiting for?”
His responding smirk reminds me that this is still my best friend, and somehow that makes it even better.
He chuckles as he crawls over me, every hard edge of his body finding its corresponding curve on mine.
He centers himself between my legs and the sensation has me sighing, lifting my hips, grinding against him, showing him just how much I want this.
“Soph,” he pants, kissing behind my ear, “I swear I’m usually better at foreplay than this, but I just—”
“I’ve had like nine years of foreplay, Andy. I just want you. Now. Please.”
He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, then reaches towards his nightstand to pull out a condom, tearing it open and rolling it on.
Our eyes lock as he positions himself between my thighs again.
I nod, hand cupping the side of his face. Then finally, slowly, he pushes inside me.
I moan as I take him in, I can’t help it. He’s so big and my body is a livewire, and even without moving another inch it’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
Then he captures my lips again as he starts to shift forward, gradually, savoring every inch of pressure. And it’s incomparable.
“Andy.” His name feels heavy on my lips. “God.”
My body rolls into his, nails pressing half moons into the back of his neck. My eyes flutter closed and I know he’s watching me, but I love it, need it.
“You are—” he says as his mouth moves to the hollow of my throat “—so perfect.” He’s thrusting in and out at a languid pace, teasing us both. “You feel so fucking perfect, Soph. Like you were made for me.”
My hands roam over his shoulders and back. “Maybe I was.”
His groan is anguished as he starts to kiss farther down my body, reaching my breast, dragging his tongue over my nipple with torturously light contact that has me writing under him.
When I beg for more, harder, he only switches to the other side, repeating the same torment until my moans are loud enough to wake the dead.
With every sound we make, every kiss we place on each other's bodies, it’s like we forget ourselves a little more, until we’re nothing but sensation and raw, searing emotion.
“In my wildest dreams,” he’s saying, “I never believed I could really have you.” His breath traces the pulse in my neck. “I still can’t believe it.”
Then he’s finally thrusting faster, giving us both what we so desperately need. His rhythm is punishing as I pull his body deeper into mine.
“God, Andy, I love you. I love you so much.”
Then he’s coming, pulsing inside me as he presses his fingers where I need them most, and I’m gone too, falling over that edge with him. We kiss through each wave, coming down together until we’re both gasping for breath.
Our hearts begin to slow, and we meet each other’s eyes with tentative smiles. Then it turns into full-fledged grins, and suddenly we’re both laughing. A relieved, contented, intimate laugh.
It feels so good—to know we’re still ourselves.
Andy is still inside me as his forehead comes to rest against mine. He brushes the hair from my face, then kisses me once more before pulling out. He offers to grab something to clean us up and I thank him.
Only once he’s left the room do I realize what I said. I said I love him. Which, to be clear, I do. And he knows that. We say it all the time. But it definitely feels different to say it while we’re having sex...
Oh my god. We had sex. And it was amazing, life-ruining sex. The kind of sex where everything else will just be downhill from here on out.
He walks back in the room with a washcloth for me and a stupid happy grin on his face. It makes my chest squeeze. I love his dimples. I love him.
The thought terrifies me, but I make the active choice to put a pin in it. Today, I just get to be happy.
Once we’re both cleaned up, Andy crawls back into bed and pulls me into him, tucking us both under the top sheet. I rest my head on his chest and he kisses my hair.
“Andy, that was… oh my god.” He chuckles, and I feel the resonance against my cheek. “I mean, I’m retroactively jealous of your exes.”
He trails his thumb over my bottom lip. “I was actively jealous of all of your exes while you were together. I think I win.”
Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I nestle back into him. I want to burrow into this moment and never leave. But even reeling from his words, a little sliver of doubt makes me say, “Okay, but can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
I try to bend my voice away from accusation. “If you were jealous… I mean, if you wanted to sleep with me for so long… why didn’t you ever take me up on my offer?”
“What are you talking about?” he asks without a trace of malice, peeking down to find my eyes.
“I just mean, I’m the one who wanted to do this from the beginning. And it was a pretty hard road to get you here eight years later. And that’s fine,” I insist, leaning up on my forearm to look at him fully.
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to do anything you didn’t want to do at the time. I just mean, you know, wanting to be with me now is good enough, even if it’s new.”
“Sophie. Just to anchor us in the reality of this situation. Are you talking about the night when you were browned out on absinthe, asked me to be your friend, told me you were a virgin, and then had to be physically carried home? That’s the night when you ‘wanted to do this’?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
He laughs and kisses me softly. “I wanted you then too. I’ve never stopped.”
I roll onto him, straddling his torso and grabbing his face to pull him into a rougher kiss. He reciprocates enthusiastically, his hands traveling up my body, then back down to rest on my hips.
But then another thought bursts through my mind and I pull back. “Oh God. We’re going to have to tell Lia and Nolan. They’re gonna lose their minds.”
“They…” he hesitates before confessing “...may have been helping me out.”
“Helping you out?”
“Helping me with you. Helping me figure out how to tell you how I felt, these last couple weeks.”
“Oh yeah?” I say with a note of mischief. “And how do you feel?”
“Like I’m obsessed with you,” he says before rolling on top of me and attacking kisses down my face and neck. I erupt into laughter.
“I can’t believe they didn’t tell me. I’ve been freaking out for weeks thinking I was being a creep for checking you out and wanting to…” I trail off.
“Wanting to?”
“Well, do what we just did! I don’t know if I should be mad at them or impressed that they kept a secret for the first time in their lives.”
“Don’t be mad,” he says. “I was really losing it there, and they screwed my head back on. Especially Lia.”
“I still kind of want revenge.”
“What are you thinking?” he asks, curiosity piqued.
“What if instead of telling them about us the normal way, with words, we just send a picture of us right now with no explanation? And then refuse to answer them for like a full day?”
“You’re evil,” he laughs, pulling me back into another smiling kiss.
“Here, lie down next to me.”
He does as I ask, handing over his phone. I position my head so that it’s resting on his bare shoulder, with his arm holding me in place. I raise the phone up in front of us, take a picture, then flip it around so we can review our work. And it’s absolutely perfect.
I’m beaming up at the camera with a thousand-watt, over-satisfied smile.
Andy is looking away from the camera, nose nuzzled against my hair, eyes closed, wearing an absolutely dopey grin.
Only one of his dimples is visible from that angle, but everything about it screams two-dimple smile.
And even though it only captured from our shoulders up, we are very clearly unclothed, together, in a bed.
I hit send and we burst into laughter.
“I think that was the single trolliest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” I say, tears streaking down my face.
“We’re going to regret that when they break down the door,” Andy says, pulling me tighter into his chest.
“Put your phone on silent. We’ll deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, I just want this.”
He agrees, flipping the phone to silent then kissing the top of my head. We curl into each other and gradually drift off to sleep.