Our clothes had come off slowly. My bra and skirt were somewhere across the room near his pants, and I had no idea where he’d tossed my underwear. We lay together naked.
“You weren’t wearing any.” He swatted my bare bottom lightly. “Anyway, I don’t think you’re the kind of woman who would be interested in men because of money. You’re too . . . good.”
“I don’t think anything we just did is in the good girl’s handbook.”
“Agree to disagree,” he chuckled, stroking my hip.
“Anyway, you said it feels empty. How do you mean?”
“I work long hours and come home to an empty place. I don’t even have a cat. I worry I’ve missed a step along the way.”
“Yeah?”
“It gets lonely, is all. I always pictured my life with someone, really with them, you know? Like having a real partner, a family, all of that.”
I bit my tongue. Even after everything we’d just done, this conversation felt too intimate.
In that moment, I also wanted to confess everything. How I was lonely, too, and why I’d been closed off for so long. I wanted to tell him about being scared I was broken, because no one’s touch had ever done the things that his had. That I knew exactly what he meant when he talked about feeling empty, and how scared I was of not having my job as a refuge. I opened my mouth, but I held back. He’s not a stranger anymore, but he might as well be.
“I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this. I guess you’re just easy to talk to,” he said after I’d been silent for a moment. “Tell me a secret. Why did you want a one-night stand? That seems out of character.”
A tingle swept across the back of my neck, and I winced, remembering the last time I’d been in this room. “It is unlike me.” I buried my face in his chest, the warmth of his arm at my back.
The urge to share everything bubbled up inside me again, but I pressed my eyelids together, commanded my head to take back control from my heart, and told him the part of the truth that didn’t make me look so helpless. “I wanted to get out of my rule-following life and do something a little wild.”
“I’m not complaining.”
I pulled back so I could look up into his face, and in that moment realized I didn’t know the answer to the question that suddenly overtook me. “Do you think, or . . . um? Is this a one-night stand?”
“I hope not,” he said in a low voice, brushing hair off my face again, a gesture I was quickly coming to adore. “This is night number two, so it’s a mathematical impossibility.” His mouth twitched as if he was about to say something else, but he nodded instead, and we lay in silence once more. The unspoken addition to his sentence was that whatever this was had an expiration after a few more days when he flew home. That’s what I’d wanted, but a sudden wave of loss settled over me.
“Why did you talk to me in the bar?”
“I was intrigued by the pole dancing conversation. Is that woman okay?”
“Seems to be on the mend. I guess I should thank her.”
“Me, too.” He laughed before his index finger tipped up my chin. “That was part of it, but look at you. You’re gorgeous, and when I heard you on the phone and knew you were funny, too . . .” He paused his sentence with a kiss dropped on my lips. “I had to say something.”
We lay together in silence. His breathing slowed, and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep by the time he finally spoke. “Tell me something else, Naya like a papaya.”
“I’m scared of butterflies.” I shuddered at the thought.
He chuckled. “Butterflies?” His breath caressed my ear.
“All bugs, but butterflies are the worst.”
He walked his fingertips up my ribs like a spider, and I smacked his hand. His low rumble of a laugh reverberated against my back. When his hand crawled over my hip, I scurried to a sitting position.
“Hey!” I squealed.
I couldn’t get enough of his body heat, and that drowsy, surrounded feeling of being next to him. The wheels in my head wanted to turn, to analyze the situation and look for exit strategies—old habits died hard. But he wrapped his palm around my ankle, stroking upward over my calf, and the wheels stilled. I didn’t want to escape. I didn’t want to move an inch.
“Do you mind that we haven’t . . .” I let my voice trail off into the air. I’d arrived at the hotel planning to take a leap, to have sex with my handsome stranger. His fingers inside me had been so intense, I’d nearly doubled over with the physical pleasure, but also with the weight of the connection coursing between us. I wasn’t sure how he knew it was hitting me so hard, but he hadn’t pushed or prodded or made me feel guilty. I wasn’t used to someone waiting for me. Still, I worried I’d let him down.