But I still had questions. Or rather, I had one. In the morning, though, I’d ask her.
9
Nina
Even the shower felt new.
The hot water streaming over my skin was a fresh sensation.
Like I was feeling it for the first time.
I raised my face to the spray, letting it cascade over my cheeks, my shoulders, my belly.
The water traveled down my skin, like it was forging a new path over a new person.
This was crazy.
I was still me. Still irreverent, passionate, introspective me, the woman who loved watching the world go by through her lens, the person who craved facts and information, the friend who was there in a heartbeat when needed.
I was still that woman, wasn’t I? I was still a businessperson, a neighbor, a friend.
But I was someone else now too.
Someone who knew.
Someone who knew sensations, desires, firsthand, with another person.
I didn’t know much. I barely knew a few things about the way bodies tangled together, and how touch could turn to more.
But I’d started to explore that land. I’d pushed open the door to a secret club last night and sneaked inside. The club of mutual pleasure.
I’d been giving myself orgasms for years. The landscape of my nightstand bureau was mapped with mountains of vibrators, hills of batteries, and valleys of late-night fantasies. My Amazon account was privy to my personal habits—how many toys I obtained every year, how frequently I replaced them. I had quite the impressive collection.
But none of my toys had given me what Adam gave me.
Freedom from my own hands.
Freedom to let go. To surrender to another’s touch. To the things I’d craved most.
Adam gave me the chance to give in to pleasure, to turn the keys over to another person. And it was wondrous.
As I remembered his filthy words, his firm commands, and his adherence to my written wishes, a hot shiver raced through me, but it was chased by something else.
By a quick burst of unexpected emotion. My throat tightened, and I was entirely unsure where this feeling was coming from. A feeling of something like . . . gratitude? Was that it? Was I simply grateful that Adam had administered my first non-solo O?
As I spread cherry body wash over my legs, I shook my head, the answer to my question coming quickly.
No, it wasn’t gratitude. It was something stronger.
This kernel inside me felt closer to hope, too much like a wish for something beyond the bedroom.
That was a problem.
That wasn’t what last night was about.
Hell, that wasn’t what my list was about.
My list was a road map to and through pleasure, and only pleasure. It was a chance for me to learn a new language, one that had been impossible to speak when I was with clients, having private conversations. And it was my opportunity once and for all to move beyond my mind. To take all the desires in my head and explore them so they’d stop gnawing at me.
I rinsed my body, turned off the shower, and dressed, listening to another episode of Ask Aphrodite. A listener had wanted to know the hostess’s best advice when it came to communicating with a lover. Turned out to be the perfect wisdom for me too.
After drying my hair and applying blush and mascara, I turned off the podcast and took a deep breath, ready to face Adam in the bright light of morning.
Adam, my friend.
Adam, my neighbor.
And Adam, my very temporary lover.
That was all, although we weren’t done with that role. We had more erotic hills to climb, and I hoped we’d summit them without more of these pesky morning-after questions.
Still, would everything be different for us in the light of day? Could we still be us?
I wasn’t sure, but I had to try, and that required more honesty. We’d always been honest and open as friends, so nothing should change now that we were temporary lovers. We’d stay honest, and that meant the question of why would need to be answered sooner rather than later.
Surely he was curious. I’d be curious too if I were him. Rather than waiting for him to ask, I chose to tackle it head-on, recalling Aphrodite’s most recent words.
The key to communication is facing your fear. Why are you afraid of what your lover might say when you reveal yourself? Ask what scares you. Are you afraid he or she will judge you? Will look at you differently? These are normal worries, but facing them is brave, and moving past them can give you the keys to your future. So let me leave you with this: Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. Talking is sexy. Sharing is sensual. You don’t have to reveal everything, but intimacy comes from honesty, and when you can speak truthfully, you just might find yourself reaching new levels of connection.
I wasn’t sure it was intimacy I sought so much as knowledge. But both went down the same path. The path of truth.
With my shoulders squared, I left my bedroom, resolute that we’d be the same and I’d talk to him as I always had.
Once I entered the living room, my nose lifted and I inhaled the most fantastic scents.
Breakfast. Adam’s omelets. Fresh mushrooms and eggs and slices of avocado. And coffee. The rich aroma of a cup of morning joe.
It was heaven.
My mouth watered as I turned into the kitchen to find him at the stove. He wore only jeans as he cooked.
I blinked.
Why wasn’t this on my list? This was a fantasy I hadn’t known I had. This handsome man shirtless and making food for me.
I stared at the lean muscles of his back, his toned biceps, and his sinewy forearms as he folded the eggs, singing under his breath.
He flipped the omelet then brought the spatula to his mouth, crooning softly about being hooked on a feeling.
A smile took over my face. That song.
I loved that song.
Loved even more that Adam was himself the next day. Singing in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe . . .” I sang softly, offering the next line in the tune.
He spun around, but his frown of confusion quickly turned into a grin as he handed me a second spatula. “Duet?”
“But of course.”
I joined in, singing in harmony about lips as sweet as candy. We cruised through the song, hitting some notes, missing others. And as we reached the lyrics about good love, I told myself it was just a song. They were just lines. We were having a blast.
And it was everything I wanted as he finished making our breakfast while we rocked out karaoke-style in my kitchen.
Talk about not weird.
The sheer normalcy of it lubricated the path to my admission. As soon as we sat down to eat, I jumped off another cliff.
10
Nina
“It’s because of my sister,” I said.
He tilted his head, his eyes waiting for me to say more. “Ella?”
“Yes. She’s a single mom. As you know.”
“I do,” he said, then took a bite of the mushroom omelet.
I took a bite too, chewed, then spoke again. “And don’t get me wrong. Her son is the coolest eleven-year-old I know, but . . .” I heaved a sigh. “She had him when she was seventeen.”
He nodded. “Right. I sort of did the math the few times we’ve visited her,” he said, since he’d met my sister and her kid, and my parents too. They lived nearby.