by Noelle Adams
“Is that good?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“Definitely good.” I smile at him as I reach into the drawer of my nightstand to grab a condom packet I keep there. “I assume you didn’t bring any with you, so I’ve got one.”
“Thanks. Good thinking.” He rips it open and rolls it on. Then he positions himself on his knees between my legs.
I stare at him in excitement, waiting to see what he’ll do. “How do you want me?”
“How do you like it?”
“I like different positions. I come the easiest in doggie style.”
Something flickers across his face. “Then you better turn over on your hands and knees.”
My whole body tightens in response, and I do what he says.
He strokes my bottom for a minute, feeling the soft flesh, the line between my cheeks, and the rippled skin of my inner thighs. He parts my legs a little more and explores until he finds my wet entrance.
I hold myself up on my hands and knees and look back at him.
He’s moving into position, but he meets my eyes for a moment. “Still want this?”
“Oh God yeah. Please. I want you to fuck me hard.”
I never really considered myself someone to get into dirty talk, but it’s really working for me tonight. With Evan.
He lines himself up and starts to edge into me.
I groan and arch my back as the penetration deepens.
“Okay,” he asks, pausing midthrust.
“Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Better than okay.”
“Me too. You feel better than anything.” He pulls out and pushes in again, this time making it all the way inside me.
He feels big and thick and solid inside me. I feel every inch of him. I make more helpless sounds as he shifts slightly and my muscles relax around him.
“How is it? Good?”
I really like how careful he is. How he’s not just using my body as a way to get himself off. “It’s amazing.” I wriggle my butt. “I want you to move.”
He starts to thrust, building up a fast, steady rhythm that’s not particularly hard. It feels good. Really good. My body rocks with the force of his, my breasts and thighs and belly all jiggling deliciously. I huff out a loud sound with every thrust and don’t care if I sound shameless.
After a few minutes, he starts to grunt too. His speed accelerates and so does the force of his motion.
“Yeah! Hard. I like it hard like that.” I urge him on as the pleasure begins to coil again inside me.
He fucks me harder, grunting now like an animal. I look over my shoulder so I can see his face, and it’s tense and damp and twisted in effort and pleasure. So incredibly hot. Almost primal. “Like this?”
“Yeah. Just like that. Hard. I need it hard.”
He gives me what I need, so hard we’re shaking the bed and bumping the headboard against the wall. The rhythmic sound of it turns me on even more.
My elbows buckle, and I bury my face in a pillow, sobbing as an orgasm starts to crest.
“That’s right. You’re going to come so hard. I can feel you, baby. Let it go. Let it go.”
His voice is oddly soothing. It makes me feel safe enough to let go completely. The pleasure breaks, and I turn my head to gasp and then cry out loudly.
He keeps fucking me, and I keep coming, sobbing as the pleasure wracks my body. Then finally he reaches forward, hold of the headboard to brace himself, and grabs a fistful of my ass cheek with his other hand. He rolls his hips and jerks against my bottom, letting out a long, primitive sound of pleasure and dominance. Then he’s coming too with hard jerks and loud huffs of sound.
He falls down beside me afterward, holding on to the condom so he doesn’t lose it. We pant together, trying to recover ourselves.
I’ve had good sex before. Plenty of good sex.
But it’s never been like that.
I wonder if he feels the same way.
I turn my head to look at him, and he smiles.
I smile back.
He definitely enjoyed himself. I’m not going to regret anything.
I’ve been wanting to do that with him for a long time.
Five
IT’S A FEW MINUTES before we find the energy to get up.
Evan moves first, hauling himself to a sitting position with a soft groan and then lifting himself to his feet from there. He pads into the one bathroom in my little house, barefoot and naked. I hear the toilet flush. I hear the water running in the sink. Then he appears and leans down to grab his underwear from the floor and pull them on.
I watch him. I still love the sight of his body. It’s strong and graceful both. Not bulky. There’s no spare flesh or excess muscle anywhere. He said earlier that his body was purely practical, and he was partly right. He’s aesthetically pleasing—very much so—but his body also looks made for use.
He doesn’t do any sort of extra grooming—other than keeping his hair short and shaving his face every day. He’s got dark hair on his chest, arms, and legs. And his groin. My eyes linger there as he pulls up his underwear.
He smiles at me—that little smile that seems to be his most natural expression. “You’re staring.”
“Admiring your body.”
“If you’d drop the sheet, I could admire your body too.” He grabs his pants and pulls them on.
I’ve pulled the covers up to my shoulder. After sex is over, I don’t like to lie around naked. “Then I’d be cold.”
He gives a huff of amusement as he pulls on his golf shirt. “I guess we couldn’t have that even if it would give me something good to look at.” He’s dressed except for his shoes when he steps over to the side of the bed, leans down, and kisses me full on the mouth. “Thank you.”
I was thinking about grabbing his head and deepening the kiss, but his words bring me to a sudden stop. Thank you? He’s telling me thank you? “Um, you’re welcome.”
He straightens up, his smile fading slightly as he studies my face. “I had a really good time.”
That’s a little better. “So did I.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He hesitates, like he’s thinking about saying something more or kissing me again. But he doesn’t. He gives a weird little nod instead. “It’s late. I better get going.”
“Okay.” Is he planning to call me? Does he want to do this again? Can’t he give me some sort of clue? “I’ll see you Monday then?”
“Yes.” He does another of those stiff nods. “Monday. Thanks again.”
Thanks again.
I’m sitting on my bed with a sheet still pulled up over my naked body as he leaves the room, leaves the house. I hear the front door open and close.
I process what just happened, and my eyes get bigger and bigger. My shoulders get tenser and tenser. My stomach clenches into a knot.
What the hell?
Thanks again.
I grab a sleep shirt from my dresser and yank it on as I hurry out into my living room to grab my phone. I pull up my text history with Jennifer and type out a new message.
I had sex with him, and he said thank you. Thank you!!!
It’s a minute before she responds. WHAT!
All he said afterward was thank you, and then he left!
You had sex with him?
Yes and it was good, but then he said thank you and left!!!
Oh. Oh my.
I KNOW!
Jennifer is responding. I see the dots on the screen. But I can’t wait. I add, This can’t be good.
I don’t know. Don’t jump to conclusions. Do you want me to ask Marcus?
No! Then I change my mind. Yes.
I wait for a minute until she texts again. He doesn’t know. He said, well he’s polite. Could mean anything. See how he acts on Monday.
I snarl at the phone. That’s a lot of help.
Sorry. I wish I could interpret guy speak better.
I’m usually better at it myself, but Evan has me all upended. I groan out loud in my living room and tap out, No. It�
��s fine. Thanks for your help. I’ll wait and see what happens.
I hate waiting.
I hate not knowing.
I hate wondering if a guy likes me as much as I like him.
But I have that same knot in my gut that warns me that a guy who really likes me would make it clearer.
I really feel like I’ve been blown off.
I’VE DEFINITELY BEEN blown off.
I know it for sure on Monday morning.
I’ve spent Sunday trying to talk myself down from jumping to conclusions, but he doesn’t call, and as the time passes, that deep sense of foreboding intensifies.
This isn’t good.
This can’t be good.
I’m not inexperienced with men. I’ve dated a lot. I’ve signed up with every decent dating app that covers this area. I usually know immediately when a date is promising and when it’s a flop.
But I’m completely clueless with Evan. Maybe because I had such a good time with him. I want him to feel the same way, so maybe I’m reading hope where there isn’t any.
Any hope I have dies an instant death when I come into the office on Monday morning. I get there at seven thirty because I’m so jittery about seeing Evan again.
He smiles and says good morning. He asks me if I had a good Sunday. He comments on my getting to the office earlier than normal today.
And then he turns back to his computer to work on his lesson plans.
I sit down heavily in my desk chair. It rolls slightly, and I have to stabilize it. I look at Evan’s back—the line of his shoulders, his straight back, the way his suit jacket fits him perfectly.
He’s blowing me off. He has to be.
He doesn’t want to have sex with me again.
It hurts. It can’t help but hurt even though I lectured myself about being reasonable.
I feel rejected in an incredibly personal way. Being dropped after sex always feels that way. Sex is deeply personal whether people want to acknowledge it or not. But this feels worse. Because it feels like I shared more than my body with Evan.
I gave him something of myself on Saturday night, and he doesn’t want it.
My throat hurts, so I swallow over it. I fight to keep my eyes from growing blurry. I’ve always been an emotional person, and it’s hard to hide it now.
But I have to. I can’t let him know he hurt me. We’d never be able to make it through the semester, the rest of the school year. We have to share an office, and we have to get along well enough to work in the same space.
So I have to be a mature person here and not make a big deal about it.
It feels like a big deal. It feels terrible.
But I’m a grown-up. And being a grown-up means accepting that the world isn’t always what we think it should be. People aren’t always what we want them to be.
This is a blow, but I’ll get over it.
This is definitely why people advise against getting involved with people you work with.
This is terrible.
I turn on my computer and review my notes for class. Twenty minutes later, I leave the office with nothing more than, “I’ll see you later.”
At least class will hold my attention and I can forget about Evan for a little while.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE HE just said thank you,” I say in what can only be described as a soft wail. “Thank you!”
Jennifer smiles sympathetically. When my ten-o’clock class was over, I’d stopped by her office instead of going back to mine, hoping she’d have a few minutes to talk. “And he didn’t say or do anything this morning?”
“Just normal small talk. It was like the sex never happened. I mean really. Am I an escort or something, providing him a service that he thanks me for?”
“Now come on. He didn’t treat you like that, did he?”
I settle my emotions enough to be honest. “No. He didn’t. He did say he had a good time. But leaving with a thank-you after sex is a pretty crappy thing to do. I understand he doesn’t want to keep seeing me. But how hard would it be to say he had a good time but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to keep doing it? I wouldn’t be happy, but at least I would feel like I hadn’t had a door slammed in my face. Thank you.”
I’ve been standing up in front of her desk, but she gets up and grabs her purse. “Let’s take an early lunch. This is more than a quick office conversation.”
I’m grateful for the gesture and glad for more delay before returning to my office.
As we leave the administration building and start walking toward the dining hall in the student center, Jennifer says, “Remember how things were with me after Marcus and I had sex the first time?”
“Yes, I remember. You were a wreck because he wasn’t making another move. But it’s not the same thing. He told you he’d be happy to do it again if you wanted. If Evan said that, I’d be just fine. He didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything like that. What’s wrong with the man?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Guys are hard to read.”
“But they’re not. They’re usually not. Usually it’s plenty clear if they’re interested or if they’re just along for the ride.” I rub my face with my hands and admit, “I guess it’s clear this time too. He doesn’t even want to be along for the ride with me. Maybe I’m not good enough in bed for him.”
“Oh my God, Beck. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Fine. I am good in bed. At least I know the sex was good on Saturday night. But maybe he doesn’t like the look of my body.”
“Did he act like he liked the look of it?”
I force myself to remember clearly. Then I give a slow nod. “He seemed to.”
“Then that’s not it either. Don’t start to tell yourself lies just because he’s got you all in knots. You’re beautiful. You’re passionate. You’re amazing in every way. If he doesn’t want things to continue with you, it’s not because you’re not good enough.”
I give her a wobbly smile. “Yeah. Thank you. I know you’re right. I just feel...” I make a wordless burst of sound.
“I know that feeling well.”
“I know you do. I think all women do. But I think I need to start being reasonable and admitting that he just doesn’t like me enough.”
We’ve reached the building and are opening the doors when someone comes up behind us. “Who doesn’t like you enough?”
It’s Katrina from the library. She’s evidently heading to lunch too.
I give her a resigned smile. “A guy I slept with who hasn’t said anything to me since.”
“Oh shit,” Katrina says, making a face. “I’m sorry.”
I give Jennifer a significant look. “See? She agrees with me. It’s a bad sign.”
“Maybe,” Jennifer says. We’re all stopping in the lobby before entering the dining hall. It’s early, so it’s not very crowded yet. “The thing is, you still don’t know. So if it’s bothering you this much, the best thing to do is to talk to him.”
“I can’t—”
“I know it feels like you can’t. But I’m speaking as someone who made a complete mess of things because I was too afraid to confront them head-on. It would be different if he was someone who isn’t in your everyday orbit. You could just forget about him and move on. But he is in your orbit. You’re going to see him every day. I really think you need to get things settled—just for your own peace of mind.”
Katrina whispers with a quick intake of breath, “Are we talking about Dr. Jones?”
I scrunch up my face as I nod sheepishly.
“Oh my God! You had sex with your office mate, and now he won’t call you back?” Katrina’s blue eyes are very wide.
I make a little sobbing sound and cover my face dramatically. “How is this my life?”
Katrina and Jennifer are both sympathetic, but they laugh at my outburst.
It actually makes me feel a little better.
EVAN IS OUT OF THE office when I return from the dining hall. I have no idea where he is. He usual
ly eats lunch at his desk.
Maybe he’s just in a department meeting or in the bathroom.
I shrug it off and try to focus on rereading a chapter of a book I’m supposed to teach about at one o’clock.
Early American history feels very unimportant to me right now.
He doesn’t show up before one, and I head off to teach my last class of the day. He’s not in the office when I return. I sit for a few minutes and decide I’ll work from home for the afternoon. I’m not getting anything done as it is.
I’m getting my stuff together when he finally shows up. He stops in the middle of the floor, glancing over at me as I stuff some books in my bag.
“You leaving?”
“Yeah. Going to get some reading done at home.”
“Okay.” He stands for a minute and I wait, thinking with a catch of my breath that he might be about to say something.
He doesn’t. He sits back down at his computer and clears the screensaver to show a document he left open.
I stare at the back of his head, breathing heavily.
I stand up and hook my bag over her shoulder.
I’m going to get out of here. It’s just too painful.
Then I remember what Jennifer said.
Maybe I should say something. Having it settled—whatever that means—has to be better than this.
I come out from behind my desk and stop near his. “Um.”
I expect him to turn from his computer, but he doesn’t. “Did you need something?”
Did I need something?
“I guess not,” I mutter, unable to hide the resentment from my voice. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
I’m leaving the office when I hear him say, “Beck, wait.”
I don’t wait. I’m so upset I could throttle him.
To my surprise, he follows me. He catches up to me in the hall. “Beck, wait a minute. Wait a minute. What’s the matter?” His eyes are dark and urgent. They’re searching my face.
“What’s the matter?” I repeat in a harsh whisper. I’m about to let him have it when a couple of students walk by.
