Chapter 16
As I drove up the cobblestone driveway to the Phelps compound, I felt almost proud that I had a date with an attractive, mature man on a summer Saturday.
Theoretically, if things kept going well, Max and I could keep seeing each other back in New York.
But that thought had me picturing returning to Peters I couldn’t seem to get out of my head, worrying about what he thought of my body and whether he’d still be interested in seeing me after we’d hooked up.
I almost gave up and asked him to stop, but he didn’t seem to want to.
I was smitten by his persistence, like my orgasm was a contest he was determined to win no matter how long it took.
And I was happy to reciprocate. He made it a little easier for me, finishing within a few minutes after I started touching him.
As Max buried his face in my chest, pulling down my bra and brushing his lips over my nipples, I was glad we skipped the do you want another drink part this time.
“How do you turn me on so much?”
My stomach fluttered with butterflies.
“Mmm,” I murmured in reply, pulling his face back up to kiss his lips. I parted mine and my tongue met his. Anticipation slowly built in my core. He grabbed my hand and led us to the bed, pulling me on top of him. I felt his erection pressed into my underwear under my skirt.
“Val. Let’s have sex. Yeah?”
That’s one way to ask.
“Yeah.” I dipped down to kiss him again.
We shed the rest of our clothing, kissing and fumbling with buttons and clasps, and suddenly I felt more exposed than I wanted to be.
I twisted to turn off the lamps as Max reached across me to one of the nightstands.
This will be fun, I said to myself. He’s attracted to you, or else he wouldn’t be doing this.
He wasted no time rolling on the condom he’d produced out of the bedside drawer, lining our hips up, and pressing himself into me.
My breath sucked in from the pinch of it.
I wasn’t quite ready. I’d need more foreplay next time.
If there was a next time.
“So tight,” he said after he pulled back and pressed into me again. That’s because it’s been well over a year since I’ve done this, I thought but didn’t say.
After another minute of thrusts my body became used to his.
I lifted my hips, trying for a better angle, trying to focus on the sensations and get out of my head.
It was clear Max was enjoying it, at least. That made me happy.
He rocked into me several more times and then finished with a groan, collapsing on top of me, kissing my neck.
I hadn’t finished this time, but that wasn’t unusual for me.
I wondered if he’d touch me, or offer anything else, but he didn’t.
Maybe I’ll start letting him go down on me beforehand?
He’d done a fine job with that last time.
“I’m glad I met you,” he said, a sated glaze in his eyes as he kissed my palm.
I snuggled up under his arm, breathing in his subtle, expensive cologne. “I’m glad I met you, too.”
I meant it. When I decided to move to Martha’s Vineyard for the better part of this summer, dating was the furthest thing from my mind.
I was clawing myself back from the brink of depression, and felt terrible about myself, both inside and out.
Somehow after six weeks, I’d put a couple of my pieces back together.
I’d discovered (or, more accurately, rediscovered) my passions for reading and writing.
Having time to help Mimi and Luke and Luna made me feel useful and appreciated in a way I wasn’t used to.
My mentality felt stronger, like I was more capable of fighting off the anxiety, the tears, when they cropped up.
I’d lost weight and gained muscle and felt so much better about myself, mentally and physically.
Max’s attention helped, even though during these last two hookups I’d still felt self-conscious.
Nevertheless, it felt good to be desired by someone like him.
And hopefully next time would be even better.
I enjoyed our dates, enjoyed him. Max was smart and fun and enthusiastic, never making me chase or pine for his attention. I couldn’t predict what kind of a future we might have, but for now I decided this was a good thing we had going.