Not that he seems to notice. His eyes are glassy again, staring at the way my black panties stretch around my hips like he’d like them burned into his retinas. I am tempted to put my jeans back on. “What?”
“They’re not purple.”
“I don’t . . . Oh. I went home and changed. And . . . is this considered a pitch meeting?” I still should have worn something nicer. Maybe a matching bra. Problem is, if five hours ago someone had told me I’d end up in Erik Nowak’s bedroom by the end of the day, I’d have blamed a fever dream and handed them some Advil. “And it’s not purple, it’s—”
“Lavender,” he says with the bare twitch of a smile, and then I don’t have to think much anymore because one of his thighs slides between mine and he’s walking me backward to his bed. There is a down comforter under my back, and a pretty intimidating erection I still cannot bring myself to look at against my stomach, and hundreds of pounds of Danishness above me. Erik is eager, and determined, and clearly experienced. He groans into my neck, then my sternum, muttering something that could be fuck, or perfect, or my name. The way he’s been thinking about this all day during meetings, all fucking day. His hands slide under my top and travel up: soft kneading, more groans and a few soft fuck, Sadie, fuck, a light pinch on my nipple and greedy bite through the fabric, and it feels perfect, scary, exhilarating, new, filthy, right, good, wet, embarrassing, exciting, fast—all these things, all at once.
Then, in the next breath, they all dissolve. Except for one: scary.
Erik has hooked his fingers in the elastic of my panties, taken them off. He’s kissing down my hip bones, full lips pressed into my abdomen, and I know exactly what he’s planning to do, but I cannot stop thinking that he’s . . .
He is really very big. And his forearm is laid out across my stomach, pinning me to the bed, and I met him—shit, I met this guy this morning, and even though I did briefly google him to make sure his real name wasn’t Max McMurderer, I don’t know anything about him and he is much larger and stronger than I am and am I even good at this? and he could do whatever he wanted with me he could make me and I feel hot I feel cold I cannot breathe and—
“Stop! Stop stop stop—”
Erik stops. Instantly. And I instantly squirm out from underneath him, dragging myself to the headboard, legs drawn up and arms around them. His eyes are on me, once again light blue, once again seeing. What is he going to do? What is he—
“Hey,” he says, pulling back on his knees as if to give me even more space. His tone is gentle, like he’s approaching skittish, injured wildlife. A good chunk of my panic melts, and . . . Oh my God. What is wrong with me? We were having a good time, he was being perfectly fine, and I had to go and be a fucking weirdo.
“I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t know why I’m freaking out. You’re just so big, and I barely ever— I’m not used to this. Sorry.”
“Hey,” Erik says again. His hand reaches out to touch me. Hovers above my knee. Then he seems to think better of it and pulls it back, which makes me want to cry. I ruined this. I ruined it. “It’s okay, Sadie.”
“No. No, it’s not. I . . . I think the problem is that I have only ever done this with my ex, and I . . .”
“I see.” His face turns stony in an impersonal, scary way. “Did he hurt you?”
“No! No, Oscar would never. It was good. It’s just he was . . . different. From you.” I laugh nervously. I hope I don’t burst into tears. “Not that it’s bad. I mean, everybody’s different. It’s just that . . .”
He nods, and I think he gets it, because his expression clears up. Which in turn helps me feel a little less anxious. Like I don’t need to be huddled away from him as though he’s a contagious rabid animal. I take a deep breath and scoot up closer, toward the center of the bed.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Why are you sorry?” He seems genuinely puzzled.
“I just didn’t think this would feel . . . scary. I figured I’d be way cooler. Smoother, I guess.”
“Sadie, you . . .” He exhales and reaches for me again. This time he doesn’t stop and pushes back my hair, tucking it behind my ear like he wants to see my face in full. Like he wants me to see him. “You don’t have to be any way. I didn’t bring you here so you could perform for me.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Right. You brought me here because I propositioned you, and then—”
“I brought you here because I wanted to be with you. I’d have kept on walking around the city till dawn if that was what you wanted. So, here’s the deal: we can spend the night fucking, and I won’t lie, I’d greatly enjoy that, but we could also play Guess Who?, or you could help me give my brother’s cat his flea medication, since it’s a two-, maybe three-person job. Any of the above works.”
I really, really don’t want to tear up. Instead I let myself fall back onto the bed, my head on his one pillow. “What if I wanted to play the FIFA video game?”
“I would ask you to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not own any gaming console.”
I laugh, a little watery. “I knew you were too good to be true.”
“I used to have a Game Boy in the ’90s,” he offers. “Maybe my dad kept it.”
“Partial redemption.” We’re both smiling now, and my fear of him liquefies, like snow in the sun. Only to ice all over again in another form: fear of not having him. “Did I fuck this up?”
“Fuck what up?”
I gesticulate in his direction, then in mine. Us, I want to say, but it seems premature. “This . . . this thing.”
He lies down next to me, facing me. He purposefully left a few inches between us, but of their own volition, like vines twining around tree trunks, my legs travel across the sheets and tangle loosely with his. This time the contact is not scary, only right and natural. He’s still big and different and a little awe-inducing, but he’s not on top of me, and I feel more in control. Like I could step away whenever. And I know now that he’d let me. “Maybe I can unfuck it up?” I ask hopefully.
He sighs. “Sadie, I want to tell you something, but I’m afraid you won’t like it.”
Oh no. “What is it?”
A pause. “You are a brilliant engineer who knows the Premier League stats of the past three decades off the top of your head. Physically, you are the uncanny combination of every single feature I’ve ever found attractive—no, I will not expand on that. And you saved me on your phone as Corporate Thor, even after I gave you my full name.”
“I wasn’t sure about the spelling and—you saw that?”
“Yup.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “This is it, Sadie. I don’t think there’s any fucking this up.”
A million hopeful fireworks explode in my head. My heart squeezes in my chest, heavy and sweet. Okay. Okay. “So I have not turned you off sex forever?”
He huffs out a laugh. “I doubt me not wanting to have sex with you is something we’ll ever need to worry about, Sadie.”