Leah
Can someone have an orgasm solely from taste bud stimulation?
Because if so, Nicholas Crawford is almost three for three.
Somehow this man took my sad little cracked eggs, a few basic kitchen staples, and a leftover BLT sandwich, and made what is quite possibly the most epic breakfast of my entire life—even pre-chemo.
Taking another bite, my eyes drift shut as an involuntary moan escapes.
Nick chuckles. “I'm guessing you're liking your breakfast tacos?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I slap a hand over my mouth and continue chewing around my embarrassingly full bite while. I nod. “Love,” I mumble before swallowing. “These are amazing. Where did these tortillas come from?”
“Here. This will kick it up a notch.” He passes me a bowl of homemade salsa. Where he found the ingredients for this, I'll never know.
I hesitate. “That's okay. This is perfect the way it is.”
He licks the side of his thumb. “You don't like salsa?”
“Oh, no. I love salsa. It's just …” I nervously chuckle. “Well, spicy food doesn't really like me.”
“But wait. You like spicy ketchup.”
I snort. “That's not spicy. I'm talking actual heat.”
He considers me a moment before understanding settles over his face. “Is it—” he lowers his voice—“is it because of your endo?”
I nod, wiping my mouth.
“Does it make … um … things worse?” he asks.
“Okay, doc.” I point my taco at him. “I'd rather not discuss that over breakfast.” I pause. “Actually, let's just never discuss it. Ever.”
He laughs. “Oh, come on. Everybody p—”
“Don't. You. Dare.” I recoil dramatically, nearly fumbling my taco. “Yes, everyone does that, but as far as you and I are concerned, no, I don't.”
“Ah, so you're one of those women, trying to be a lady—”
“No. I'm a woman with severe tummy issues who's been embarrassed enough. I'd still like you to find me attractive.”
“That's not a problem, darlin’.” He flashes a crooked smile.
“Okay, then, I have a confession … I may have stolen the onions and peppers from the leftover Chinese, added a few spices, and called it homemade salsa.” We both laugh as he nudges the bowl over.
“It's really not that spicy, but it's phenomenal. Try just a dab. And if you shit yourself—”
“Nick!”
“What?” He shrugs. “I'll take care of you.”
“Gosh, no.” I snicker. “I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one date.”
He quietly shakes his head before reaching out and grabbing my plate. He scoops a bit of the salsa onto my taco before handing it back to me. “The only embarrassing thing happening here is you refusing my salsa.”
“Next time?” I chuckle humorlessly. “Are silent, fidgeting with her napkin.
Placing my empty plate on the coffee table, I slink back onto the couch, crossing my ankle over my knee. “Can we talk about last night?”
She doesn't look up. “Do we have to?” she asks, her voice quiet and timid.
“Of course, we don't have to. But I think we should. Don't you think?”
She's quiet, her breathing heavier than normal, shaky and nervous.
“Hey …” I cautiously climb onto the floor, mindful of Angus. I take her hands in mine, holding them in her lap. “I’m not going to pressure you. But I am here. And if I did something last night, or if you are regretting what we did—”
“No. No, that’s not it.” She sniffles, tears welling in her eyes. “Last night was … incredible. I’ve never—um … had an experience like that.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Oral?”
“That … and …” her voice trails off. “Gosh, this is embarrassing.”
“What is? That we had sex?”
“No?” Her shoulders slump as she conceals a coy smile. “Maybe?”
“Lee …” I murmur. “I’m trying to understand. Did we take things too fast?”
She sighs. “No. It’s just … you won’t understand.”
“Try me.” I smile.
“Sex is preached as this grand glorious gift from God between a man and his wife, and everything else is sin. Like, everything.”
“And … you believe that?”
“No, absolutely not. I mean … not anymore. But … it’s just weird. Ever since I was little, I was told my body belongs to my future husband, to save myself for him.” She chuffs. “My body was described as a bouquet of flowers, and every time a man kissed me, it was like giving a flower away.”
“What in the actual fuck?”
“Yeah …” She cringes. “Sex was never painted asa good thing. Masturbation? No. Porn? An attack against Biblical marriage.”
“So … are you saying because you had an orgasm, you sinned?”
She stares our joined hands, her knee bouncing. “I know it’s dumb. But … I still feel so much—oh God … shame? Guilt?” She pauses, a lone tear traveling the curve of her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, forcing a cordial smile. “Sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry, darlin’.”
She chuffs. “This is ridiculous. I’m crying over something so stupid. Oh, poor, little church girl ...” She sardonically laughs. “There are actual real-life problems in the world, and I’m freaking out because I allowed myself to enjoy pleasure—”
“Look at me. Nothing about this is ridiculous or stupid. Or small. Unimportant. You’re upset, therefore this matters, period.
Your feelings don’t need excuses or prefaces.
” Her glassy orbs meet mine. “You’re right; I don’t understand religious dogma.
I don’t understand why there are so many rules and restraints on something that is supposed to be satisfying and freeing.
But I want to understand you because I want to be with you—if you’ll let me.
If you really don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.
But I’m here. I want to listen. And …well, I want you. ”
A small smile teases on her lips, a spark returning to her deep brown orbs. She finally huffs out a breath. “I’ve never had an orgasm before last night.”
My eyes widen.
“See? You’re judging me!” She chuckles.
“No, I’m not!” I snicker, relaxing back on to my hands. “I just … wow. How, though? You were married.”
She scoffs. “Don’t remind me.”
“Can I ask … what the hell did you see in Declan Harrison?”
She laughs, playfully kicking me with her foot. “I know. I was—” she stares at the wall for a beat. “I was woo’ed into what I thought romance was. We fell in love when we were young.”
I hold up a hand. “I thought he was almost my age.”
“Eh, he’s not that old.” She giggles as I grimace at her. “He’s about six years older than me. He was Matthew’s best friend growing up. They volunteered with the youth group after they graduated high school, and Declan and I spent a lot of time that summer together.”
I stare at her. “When … you were twelve?”
“Okay, I know it sounds bad. But, he said I was mature for my age. We had a special connection. Nothing weird.”
“Leah, that is fucking weird.”
“You’re forty. Are we weird?”
“That’s different, and you know it. You’re an adult, able to consent. That’s the point. Where were the adults? Where was your dad?”
She picks at the ribbed sleeve of my sweater. “My dad loved Declan—my whole family did. Still do.”
It takes everything in me not to jump into my truck and hunt her family down and pulverize them for allowing a man to groom their child into a toxic relationship