Strong Enough

Not that it had taken very many of them. The whole thing had happened so fast, my head was spinning.

I turned around and leaned back against the counter, staring at the sink where we’d washed the dishes. It had been killing me how close he was standing, so close that I’d started to wonder if he was doing it on purpose. When he’d put his hand over mine, I’d been even more confused—straight guys didn’t touch each other that way, did they?

Then his words. Sometimes I don’t know what I want. I don’t have the best gaydar in the world, and English isn’t my first language or anything, but at that point I was pretty sure he was telling me he was attracted to me. It had both thrilled and terrified me—I wanted him like crazy, but what if I was wrong? What if I made a move and he was offended? What if he was just being American and opening up about his personal problems and it had nothing to do with me? Being Russian, I was used to people being indirect, but this was more than casual conversation. The stakes were high.

So I’d pulled my hand away. If he wanted me, he’d have to show it.

And he had. I’d almost had a heart attack when he grabbed me by the arms. But the way he’d kissed me, as if he were suffocating and I was fresh air, left no room for doubt—he felt it too, that thing between us. Whether he was gay or straight or something in between, it was there, and oh my God it was hot.

So what was Derek’s problem? What could he be upset about? Was it guilt? He’d said Carolyn wasn’t his girlfriend, although even so, he might feel bad for fooling around with me behind her back or something. Derek was such a good guy, that could totally be it. I hadn’t noticed any hot chemistry between them tonight, but that might have been because I hadn’t wanted to.

It was also possible Derek felt bad because I was a guest in his home, and he was doing so much for me. Maybe he was worried I’d felt pressured to repay him with sex or something. It was ridiculous, and hopefully it had been obvious to him how much I’d been into it, but I could see him feeling that way.

Or maybe he was horrified by what we’d done. Maybe it disgusted him. Maybe he was upstairs right now scrubbing away the evidence and begging God to forgive him.

I hoped not, but no matter what, it was clear that he was not okay with what had happened.

Upset by the thought, I turned off all the lights and went upstairs, glancing at Derek’s closed bedroom door but going straight into the guest room, making as little noise as possible. When I was undressed and lying on my back beneath the blankets, hands behind my head, I wondered how tomorrow would go. What he’d say. How he’d act.

In my gut I felt it would be best to let him take the lead, and then follow it. If he wanted to pretend it had never happened, fine. We didn’t need to talk about it. Nothing had to change, either, and I hoped he wouldn’t want me out of the house just because things had gotten heated between us. It wasn’t that big of a deal. We could go back to the way things had been before he grabbed me. Brush it off. Remain friends. It’s not like I wasn’t used to keeping my sexuality to myself, and I hadn’t expected anything to happen with Derek in the first place.

That said, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

I’d do more than that.

Fifteen

DEREK

Guilt. Shame. Anger.

I lay on my back, staring at my bedroom ceiling and drowning in anguish.

What the fuck had I done?

You shot twenty years’ worth of repressed desire and sexual frustration down another guy’s throat, that’s what. And then you left him kneeling on the kitchen floor without saying a word.

It was all my fault. I was a terrible person.

I shouldn’t have grabbed him. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have let him touch me that way. I shouldn’t have liked his mouth on me. I shouldn’t have lost control. I shouldn’t have had the best orgasm of my entire life with another guy.

But I had. I’d never felt anything like it.

Why was that? It’s not like I hadn’t had good blowjobs from women before—at least, I’d thought they were good. But Maxim took it to an entirely new level. It had almost been like an out-of-body experience. Was he really that good? Or was it the thought that made it so mind-blowing? The idea that I’d finally given in to a forbidden desire just this once, and I’d never have it again?

Either way, I couldn’t deny how powerful it had been. How intense. The fucking walls had trembled.

Weak. I was so weak.

How had I let this happen?

It’s not like I was gay. I was attracted to women, too. And I wanted a traditional family—a wife and kids. I didn’t want a fucking boyfriend. That was ridiculous. Was I supposed to bring a guy home to my parents? To client dinners? Company picnics? Corporate fundraisers? Was my father going to turn over his business to someone he saw as less than a man? Less than himself? Less than perfect?

Fuck no. And I’d worked too hard to give it all up.

If only sex with women was more satisfying. Maybe that was my problem. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, but somehow, no matter how beautiful or eager or passionate the woman was, no matter how willing she was to please, no matter how rough she let me get, I was always left feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Like there was supposed to be more, and somehow I was missing it.

Like the walls were supposed to tremble.