For Lucy

Red lipstick.

Tawny hair pulled into a low sophisticated ponytail.

Cheeks kissed pink from the cold wind outside that day.

“You implied I’m a nerd. A virgin nerd. What did you want me to do?”

“I asked if you’re a virgin. I never said the word ‘nerd,’ and you could have just said no. Or yes. Because either way, I don’t care. I’d be flattered to be your first.”

I fisted my hands. “Well, you’re not my first, so don’t be so quick to feel flattered. And for that matter, you’re not my second or third or—”

“Jeez! Okay. You’re not a virgin. I get it. You have lots of sex with lots of women. Good for you. But how was I supposed to know that when I haven’t been one of those women?”

“Maybe I just wanted to wait until you knew I didn’t want you to just be another woman. Maybe I wanted to make sure you knew …” I ran my hands through my hair, feeling stupid and nothing short of a train wreck of jumbled thoughts.

“Knew what, Emmett?” she whispered.

I lifted my gaze from the floor to meet hers as I dropped my hands from my head in defeat. “I wanted you to know that you matter. And that sex wasn’t the goal … wasn’t my endgame with you.”

A slow grin crept up her face. “Did you take off work today just to tell me this?”

I nodded even though I didn’t exactly “take off” work—called in because I was a lovesick fool might have been a more accurate description.

Tatum pushed off the pillar and sauntered toward me, resting her hands on my chest, head angled back to look up at me. “Can we start over?”

My eyes narrowed.

She wet her lips. “Our conversation last night. It started with me telling you in the most suggestive way possible that my roommates will be out of town this weekend. In fact, they’ve already left. Maybe you can pack a bag and stay over this weekend?”

I liked the way she hit the reset button, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still bothered by the virgin conversation. As much as I needed to let it go and forget that she ever asked me, I couldn’t do it.

Taking a step back to remove her hands from my chest, I shrugged off my hoodie, leaving me in a white Nike tee.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing me carefully.

With one swift move, I removed my T-shirt and tossed it onto the wood floor next to my sweatshirt.

“Emmett …” Tatum said with a nervous timbre to her voice.

I slid my hand along her jaw and cupped it while stealing her breath with a hard kiss. Her hands grabbed my arms to steady herself.

Wanting her so completely in that very moment wasn’t planned.

Like we weren’t planned.

“Emmett …” She pulled away just enough to make eye contact as we exchanged labored breaths from that kiss. The look on her face conveyed concern and a healthy respect for common sense. I returned the same look.

But …

Our hands had other ideas as we kissed again.

As I pulled her sweater over her head and shoved her bra straps down her arms so I could see her breasts—so I could taste them.

As her fingers curled into my hair while her back arched.

As she kicked and wiggled out of her boots, and I removed her tights.

As she gathered her skirt in her hands, pulling it up to her waist, and I slid her panties down her legs.

“Emmett …”

Emmett … Emmett … Emmett …

She chanted my name, making me feel like a god, as I backed her into the shiny pillar.

“I’m not a virgin,” I said as I slid my fingers between her legs, reveling in the way her eyelids moved in slow heavy blinks.

She tried to speak, but the only thing that fell from her lips were sharp breaths.

We kissed until we couldn’t hold back any longer. I pushed inside of her, gripping the back of her legs. It wasn’t slow and beautiful—maybe someday we’d try that.

It was hard and fast.

Desperate.

Uncontrolled.

It was the best sex—in my humble opinion.

“Don’t … stop …” she begged.

Stopping wasn’t my intention, but after a long month of not doing this with her made it impossible to slow down.

Then …

I was done. Efficient Emmett. However, I tried to keep going for her. I didn’t say the words, “Okay, but only because I love you and really want to worship you for eternity,” but I thought them.

At twenty-two, I was still a bit of a novice at sex and definitely in the habit of looking out for myself in the pleasure department. Unfortunately, keeping pace at fifty-five miles per hour with a deflating tire wasn’t the easiest thing, so I eased her to the floor on her wobbly legs, dropped to my knees, and did “really good” things to her.