off abruptly, as if he’s feeling too
much, too good.
I’m on birth control, and we’re both healthy. I know it for
sure. There’s no way I can stop at his point anyway. “Nate, now.”
The pressure as he enters me is intense. And it’s deep. And
it fills me in every way. I gasp out, arching beneath him. And I gasp again
when he takes his first thrust.
We don’t speak as we rock together, the covers pushed down
past Nate’s hips. I dig my fingernails into his back and his ass, marking him
in my desperation to get him even closer, feel him as deeply as I can.
His rhythmic huffs intensify as my motion becomes frantic
and rushed beneath him. I can hear myself making odd little sobbing sounds, but
I can’t help it. All the need, all the pressure, all the pleasure is coalescing
into a tension that is about to break.
I wrap my legs around him, squeezing him with my arms and my
thighs.
Nate lowers his face to give me a clumsy, hungry kiss.
I climax against his mouth, my cry of release muffled and my
body shaking helplessly.
Nate’s head jerks to the side and he chokes out, “God, Jane.
Yes.” He fall completely out of rhythm as he comes as hard as I do.
He buries his face in the hollow between my shoulder and throat,
and I cling to him with my arms and my legs. We’re both gasping loudly, hot and
exhausted and replete.
My body feels good. The weight of Nate on top of me feels
good, and natural, and safe. My body is still clinging to him internally,
occasionally spasming around the feel of him softening inside me.
The world is this room—a dark, deep, silent, primal place.
But even in this room, something at the back of my mind is wondering if this is
even right, if this is how we are supposed to be.
Nate is my best friend, my family, my security. He has never
been this .
I smother the thought as soon as it materializes. We need
each other tonight. We’ve loved each other all our lives. And nothing—not pain
or lies or betrayal or the motion of our bodies—will never be able to tear us apart.
I’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow.
Five
Tomorrow comes sooner than I want it
to.
I wake up tangled up in Nate’s limbs—lying on one of his
arms, trapped beneath one of his legs. He’s still asleep as I try to process
where I am and what happened last night. Then I gently try to slide away from
him without waking him.
I pull on my pajama pants, which have been pushed under the
covers, and then I sit on the side of the bed and try to breathe.
It feels like the world is different than it was just
yesterday.
I hear the covers rustle and feel the mattress shift, and I
know that Nate has woken up. He doesn’t say anything. He just scoots over to my
side of the bed, pulling on his pajama pants as he straightens up to sit beside
me.
I watch him as he does so. He was sleeping naked, and I can
clearly see the hair on his legs, the flat skin of his abdomen, his penis and
balls before he pulls the waistband up to cover them. Last night, it was too
dark for me to see his body, and I can’t help but look now—in the light.
I’ve always loved how he looks and that hasn’t changed, now
that I can see him naked.
He sits beside me, as silent as I am.
After a minute, he reaches over and picks up my hand, which
is resting on the bed between us. He holds it in both of his.
I don’t pull my hand away—partly because it would hurt him
and I don’t want to do that, and partly because I like how it feels.
Eventually, I decide someone should say something, but I
have no idea what to say. I have no idea what to think. I don’t know if things
are hopelessly wrong between us now…or finally, finally right.
The lingering, urgent question in my mind upsets me so much
I take a loud, shaky breath.
Apparently, that’s what breaks through Nate’s reserve. He
speaks in a voice that’s intentionally gentle, intentionally composed. “I
joined that dating site because you were raving about it so much. I
much, too good.
I’m on birth control, and we’re both healthy. I know it for
sure. There’s no way I can stop at his point anyway. “Nate, now.”
The pressure as he enters me is intense. And it’s deep. And
it fills me in every way. I gasp out, arching beneath him. And I gasp again
when he takes his first thrust.
We don’t speak as we rock together, the covers pushed down
past Nate’s hips. I dig my fingernails into his back and his ass, marking him
in my desperation to get him even closer, feel him as deeply as I can.
His rhythmic huffs intensify as my motion becomes frantic
and rushed beneath him. I can hear myself making odd little sobbing sounds, but
I can’t help it. All the need, all the pressure, all the pleasure is coalescing
into a tension that is about to break.
I wrap my legs around him, squeezing him with my arms and my
thighs.
Nate lowers his face to give me a clumsy, hungry kiss.
I climax against his mouth, my cry of release muffled and my
body shaking helplessly.
Nate’s head jerks to the side and he chokes out, “God, Jane.
Yes.” He fall completely out of rhythm as he comes as hard as I do.
He buries his face in the hollow between my shoulder and throat,
and I cling to him with my arms and my legs. We’re both gasping loudly, hot and
exhausted and replete.
My body feels good. The weight of Nate on top of me feels
good, and natural, and safe. My body is still clinging to him internally,
occasionally spasming around the feel of him softening inside me.
The world is this room—a dark, deep, silent, primal place.
But even in this room, something at the back of my mind is wondering if this is
even right, if this is how we are supposed to be.
Nate is my best friend, my family, my security. He has never
been this .
I smother the thought as soon as it materializes. We need
each other tonight. We’ve loved each other all our lives. And nothing—not pain
or lies or betrayal or the motion of our bodies—will never be able to tear us apart.
I’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow.
Five
Tomorrow comes sooner than I want it
to.
I wake up tangled up in Nate’s limbs—lying on one of his
arms, trapped beneath one of his legs. He’s still asleep as I try to process
where I am and what happened last night. Then I gently try to slide away from
him without waking him.
I pull on my pajama pants, which have been pushed under the
covers, and then I sit on the side of the bed and try to breathe.
It feels like the world is different than it was just
yesterday.
I hear the covers rustle and feel the mattress shift, and I
know that Nate has woken up. He doesn’t say anything. He just scoots over to my
side of the bed, pulling on his pajama pants as he straightens up to sit beside
me.
I watch him as he does so. He was sleeping naked, and I can
clearly see the hair on his legs, the flat skin of his abdomen, his penis and
balls before he pulls the waistband up to cover them. Last night, it was too
dark for me to see his body, and I can’t help but look now—in the light.
I’ve always loved how he looks and that hasn’t changed, now
that I can see him naked.
He sits beside me, as silent as I am.
After a minute, he reaches over and picks up my hand, which
is resting on the bed between us. He holds it in both of his.
I don’t pull my hand away—partly because it would hurt him
and I don’t want to do that, and partly because I like how it feels.
Eventually, I decide someone should say something, but I
have no idea what to say. I have no idea what to think. I don’t know if things
are hopelessly wrong between us now…or finally, finally right.
The lingering, urgent question in my mind upsets me so much
I take a loud, shaky breath.
Apparently, that’s what breaks through Nate’s reserve. He
speaks in a voice that’s intentionally gentle, intentionally composed. “I
joined that dating site because you were raving about it so much. I
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