7
Keon approached our new relationship with the dedication of a man trying to qualify for a government contract.
He planned actual dates.
He called when he said he would.
He introduced me as his girlfriend so enthusiastically that he once told a delivery driver who had only asked for my signature.
Therapy remained on Thursdays.
On Fridays, we cooked together.
He still left shoes in my hallway. I still stole his fries.
The difference lived in the conversations between those ordinary moments.
Three months after the festival, Keon invited me to his apartment for dinner.
He had cooked shrimp pasta, lit candles, and placed flowers on the table.
I looked around suspiciously.
“What did you break?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you forget an anniversary?”
“We’ve been together three months.”
“You remembered?”
“I keep records too.”
After dinner, he played the song we had danced to on our first date.
Keon held out his hand.
I stood and moved into his arms.
We swayed together in the living room, his hand resting against the curve of my lower back.
“You happy?” he asked.
“Very.”
“Scared?”
“Sometimes.”
“Me too.”
I looked up at him. “That helps.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Stay tonight.”
“I brought an overnight bag.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I believe in preparation.”
Keon’s smile changed.
He kissed me slowly, drawing the moment out until desire warmed beneath my skin.
We made our way to his bedroom between soft laughter and lingering kisses. He unzipped my dress and let it fall around my feet, his gaze moving over me with open appreciation.
“You know you’re beautiful?”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
He pulled his shirt over his head.
I ran my hands over his chest. “You’re acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
“Your probation is ongoing.”
Keon lifted me onto the bed.
“I might need to improve my evaluation.”
His mouth traveled down my neck, over my breasts, and across my stomach. Every kiss felt patient and deliberate.
When his hands slid along my thighs, my breath caught.
He looked up at me.
“Still acceptable?”
“Your score is improving.”
He laughed against my skin.
The humor faded into something deeper as he moved over me.
We took our time.
Every touch carried affection. Every kiss felt like a promise made in the present instead of a future we couldn’t control.
Keon held my gaze as our bodies joined, moving slowly until I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
The rhythm became fuller, warmer, carrying us beyond conversation. Pleasure gathered between us, bright and consuming. I held him as it swept through me, his name leaving my lips.
He followed moments later, trembling against me.
Afterward, Keon pulled the blanket around us.
I rested my head on his chest while his fingers moved through my hair.
“Page?”
“Yes?”
“I should warn you about something.”
I lifted my head. “What?”
“I’m probably going to love you for a very long time.”
I stared at him.
“That was dangerously close to being smooth.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
I settled against him again.
“Keep practicing.”