foyer, his hands shoved into his pockets. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks. Tell me—when you come to the home of a one-night stand uninvited, is that stalking?”
Michael laughed. “You’re the lawyer in training but I’m not a one-night stand.”
I arched an eyebrow. He cupped his hand around the bottom of my coffee cup and raised it to my lips. “Drink.” I took a small sip. The coffee made my mouth taste even worse.
“We didn’t have sex last night,” he said.
I slapped Michael’s chest hard. My hand stung. I shook it loosely. “You could have told me that hours ago.”
He shrugged. “This was more fun.”
I turned to walk away, muttering, “Asshole,” but he grabbed me by my waist, pulling me into his arms. I dropped my cup and a thin trickle of coffee began to spill onto the beautiful wooden floors, something exotic the original owner said when my father bought the place for me. Michael pulled his fingers through my hair, stretching my face taut. He kissed me so hard I felt his lips in my spine. It was the kiss of a stranger and I wanted it and I wanted him. I have always played hard to get because other people terrify me but right then, I didn’t have the energy for my usual nonsense. I reached for his waistband, drawing myself into his body.
Between kisses, I said, “I look and smell hideous right now.”
My eyes were dry and sore. My head continued to throb dully. Everything was fuzzy and distant and then it wasn’t. Michael started pushing me back toward the staircase. He bit into my neck and fumbled with his jeans, trying to shove them down with one hand while he pulled my pants down with his other hand. The edge of a step dug into my back painfully. I ignored it. Then he was inside me and I gasped as he opened my body, a sharp ache spreading up through my stomach and down through my heels and he was shoving his tongue into my sour mouth, groaning loudly while he fucked me steady and hard. His hair brushed my forehead and my neck and I arched into him like I was hoping to conjoin our rib cages. He showed me how little I knew about him.
When he came, he pressed his sweaty forehead against mine, slowly turning his head from side to side. He said, “God, I’m going to marry you,” and I gasped softly and sank into the mild panic he inspired. He continued moving inside me, breathing hotly on my face, inhaling my ugly hangover sweat, and the earnestness and inappropriateness of his words and his mouth on my neck and his fingers between our bodies and my thighs nearly made me come too.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to sleep. Michael’s body grew heavier on top of mine. I had to push him off me, finally, because the pressure of the step digging into my back became too much. I started crawling up the stairs. I said, “Are you coming?” He looked down at his cock, hanging half stiff, coated with a thin layer of blood. I blushed, said, “I must have started my period.”
I wouldn’t tell him he was my first until our wedding night, when finally, in our room, I shouted, “Jesus, just rip it off,” after endless minutes of his awkward fumbling with my dress. Michael calmed himself; he was patient, found a way through the silk to my skin. We did not make it to the bed. Even though we were tired and drunk, we fell to the floor and just before he entered me, I grabbed his chin, was reminded again of the weight of the rings on my finger. I said, “You are the only one.”
He smiled softly, kissed my chin, said, “You’re the only one too, babe.”
I grabbed his chin again. “No. I need you to hear me. You are the only one.”
Michael paused. His body trembled against mine. He drew his fingers down my face and paused at my lips, sliding his thumb into my mouth. “Seriously?”
My face warmed. I looked away.
He shook his head. “Mireille, you are utterly impossible. You should have said something.”
“I just did.”
“Miri, if I had known, I would have waited, I would have been
“Thanks. Tell me—when you come to the home of a one-night stand uninvited, is that stalking?”
Michael laughed. “You’re the lawyer in training but I’m not a one-night stand.”
I arched an eyebrow. He cupped his hand around the bottom of my coffee cup and raised it to my lips. “Drink.” I took a small sip. The coffee made my mouth taste even worse.
“We didn’t have sex last night,” he said.
I slapped Michael’s chest hard. My hand stung. I shook it loosely. “You could have told me that hours ago.”
He shrugged. “This was more fun.”
I turned to walk away, muttering, “Asshole,” but he grabbed me by my waist, pulling me into his arms. I dropped my cup and a thin trickle of coffee began to spill onto the beautiful wooden floors, something exotic the original owner said when my father bought the place for me. Michael pulled his fingers through my hair, stretching my face taut. He kissed me so hard I felt his lips in my spine. It was the kiss of a stranger and I wanted it and I wanted him. I have always played hard to get because other people terrify me but right then, I didn’t have the energy for my usual nonsense. I reached for his waistband, drawing myself into his body.
Between kisses, I said, “I look and smell hideous right now.”
My eyes were dry and sore. My head continued to throb dully. Everything was fuzzy and distant and then it wasn’t. Michael started pushing me back toward the staircase. He bit into my neck and fumbled with his jeans, trying to shove them down with one hand while he pulled my pants down with his other hand. The edge of a step dug into my back painfully. I ignored it. Then he was inside me and I gasped as he opened my body, a sharp ache spreading up through my stomach and down through my heels and he was shoving his tongue into my sour mouth, groaning loudly while he fucked me steady and hard. His hair brushed my forehead and my neck and I arched into him like I was hoping to conjoin our rib cages. He showed me how little I knew about him.
When he came, he pressed his sweaty forehead against mine, slowly turning his head from side to side. He said, “God, I’m going to marry you,” and I gasped softly and sank into the mild panic he inspired. He continued moving inside me, breathing hotly on my face, inhaling my ugly hangover sweat, and the earnestness and inappropriateness of his words and his mouth on my neck and his fingers between our bodies and my thighs nearly made me come too.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to sleep. Michael’s body grew heavier on top of mine. I had to push him off me, finally, because the pressure of the step digging into my back became too much. I started crawling up the stairs. I said, “Are you coming?” He looked down at his cock, hanging half stiff, coated with a thin layer of blood. I blushed, said, “I must have started my period.”
I wouldn’t tell him he was my first until our wedding night, when finally, in our room, I shouted, “Jesus, just rip it off,” after endless minutes of his awkward fumbling with my dress. Michael calmed himself; he was patient, found a way through the silk to my skin. We did not make it to the bed. Even though we were tired and drunk, we fell to the floor and just before he entered me, I grabbed his chin, was reminded again of the weight of the rings on my finger. I said, “You are the only one.”
He smiled softly, kissed my chin, said, “You’re the only one too, babe.”
I grabbed his chin again. “No. I need you to hear me. You are the only one.”
Michael paused. His body trembled against mine. He drew his fingers down my face and paused at my lips, sliding his thumb into my mouth. “Seriously?”
My face warmed. I looked away.
He shook his head. “Mireille, you are utterly impossible. You should have said something.”
“I just did.”
“Miri, if I had known, I would have waited, I would have been
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