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Or maybe it’s the rest of me that needs adjusting to the fact that Wes is inside me rightnow.
My moan tangles with his tight exhale because, holy shit, he feelsamazing.
He gives me a moment to get used to him – or maybe he needs the moment, I can’t tell because we’re both panting and tense and shaking – before he starts tomove.
He finds a rhythm, his face buried in my hair. The heavy breathing matches his thrusts, both accelerating until all I can do is hangon.
Pleasure builds inside me, along with urgency, as if all of this is a preview of somethingbigger.
He moves over me, and the outline of his profile is barely visible in the dark. His hair falling over his face, brushing mine. The light sheen of sweat on his skin, the sounds he’s making, the tension in his back under my hands tell me he’s getting closetoo.
It’s so different from last week because it’s about him as much as it’s aboutme.
It’s that Wes is the one who’s part of me, who’s slowly unraveling over me, inside me, withme.
It’s Wes who’s as wrapped up in this moment as I am, which only makes me more in awe ofhim.
Ofus.
And that thought has a warning tingle starting in the back of mybrain.
You’re still friends. You can walk awayanytime.
Somewhere in our childhoods, maybe grade two or three, we’re told by the world that lies are ugly. That the truth is always better, cleaner, purer, more virtuous. That the truth sets usfree.
But lies can be beautifultoo.
Wes groans into my neck, and I dig my nails into his back as if what I’m feeling will fade as quickly as themarks.
As I come and he follows me over, we’re as beautiful as a lie canbe.
Because I’m falling in love with Wes Robinson, and I can’t do a damn thing aboutit.
20
Wes
Astreamof polite curses drifts from the tiny form in the labkitchen.
“You okay?” I ask, coming up behindCarly.
She whirls around, knocking into her coffee. “Oh. Yeah. Just a case of the Thursdays. Is that a thing? It should be a thing. Been overworked and drinking too much of this stuff. But I was reading one of your papers over the weekend. It’s amazing how much you’ve produced. You’re what, thirty-two?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Wow. And you have another paper you’re finishing. It must be all you can thinkabout.”
It’s not all I can thinkabout.
Because Rena and I? We hadsex. At myapartment.
Yes, I’m saying it as if I deserve a medal because I’ve done something momentous, but at the same time, I feel as though I would give it back because I’m honored just to have beenconsidered.
This must be what Oscar nominees feellike.
The only reason I let it happen was that it was unscripted and earnest. It wasn’t about getting off; it was about sharing more moments together. Like the ones we’d shared earlier on thebalcony.
So, I let her kissme.
