I internally groaned. I’d quite literally scared him out of the shower with that kiss, one that didn’t need to happen. No one was around to witness it. It wasn’t a show for anyone. And we were done with tonight’s… lesson.
I’d done it just because I wanted to.
Embarrassment licked at my neck, but panic rose on its heels at the thought of Clay leaving while I was in the shower. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want him to go. Not yet.
“Clay!”
I grabbed the curtain and fisted it back just in time to see him wrapping his lower half in a towel. He turned, running a hand through his damp hair, the vision like a book cover and a Ralph Lauren ad all at once.
“Yeah?”
I swallowed. “Stay?”
A soft smile spread on his lips as he exhaled. “Yeah.”
I smiled back, hoping he saw the relief that brought me before I closed the curtain again. I slathered myself with body wash, careful as I cleansed between my legs, and cringing a bit at the red that rinsed down the drain when I did.
But once I was clean, the hot water running down my back, my body completely sated and sore… I covered my mouth with my hand, shaking my head as another smile bloomed like a rose on my swollen lips.
I had my first orgasm.
And all I could think was that I couldn’t wait for the next one.
Giana
The next morning, I hummed quietly to myself as I peeled up the edges of an omelet with my spatula, the first bit of the morning sun streaming through my apartment.
Clay was still asleep, his body comically too large for my bed. I snuck another look over my shoulder at his hair-dusted calf sticking out from under the covers and over the end of the mattress, one arm under his pillow, and bare back golden in the morning light. He was frowning even in his sleep, like he was studying game film.
I smiled to myself as I turned back to the stove, folding the omelet in the skillet.
He’d stayed the night.
We were both exhausted after the rainy game and our lesson, so not too long after our shower, we passed out. It was more comforting than I expected, having him there beside me as we both tried to stay awake through another episode of the documentary, but failed miserably. I watched him doze before giving myself permission to do the same.
I was happy he stayed.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew better than to catch any sort of feelings with Clay, even after all those chemicals were flowing and telling me I should cling to the person who just made me feel that amazing. We had a deal. I’d literally begged him to do these things to me, to take my virginity and show me what to do so when it came time with Shawn, so that I wasn’t so unprepared I lost him before I even had my chance.
Still, that soft side of me relished in having Clay be the one to do it, in having him stay the night after, like he actually cared about me.
It was better than what most of my friends experienced in high school with their first times, that I was sure of.
A loud buzzing on my windowsill in the bedroom sounded over the sizzle of the omelet, and Clay groaned, his gargantuan arm reaching out blindly until he swiped his phone off the ledge. He glanced at the screen, then peeled himself up to sit, frowning at it.
He looked up at me next, but I turned back before his eyes met mine, trying to give him privacy.
I wondered if it was Maliyah.
I also wondered why my stomach did a violent high dive to the floor when I considered if it was.
“Hey, Dad,” he answered gruffly, and I peeked over my shoulder again just in time to watch him tug on the last of his shirt. He gave me a tight smile, disappearing into the bathroom.
Something in me relaxed a bit, and I plated the first omelet before starting on the next.
The conversation was a bit muted when he was in the bathroom, especially when he ran the faucet, too. He clearly didn’t want me hearing him, so I did my best to ignore it, to focus on cooking and not on the little glimpses I could make out.
Yeah, I miss them, too.
You know, you could all come here for a game.
Right. Busy. I understand.
The faucet and light both clicked off at once before he emerged with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, his t-shirt wrinkled from being thrown to the floor mid-sleep.
“Mornin’，” he said.
“Good morning,” I echoed back. “Here. Breakfast,” I said, sliding the still-steaming omelet onto the kitchen bar. “Coffee’s over there.”
He yawned, brushing past me and reaching up for a coffee cup in the cabinet above the maker. It was like he lived here, like he already knew where everything was.