I wasn’t the most experienced person in the world, when it came to sex, but from that moment on I knew I was in the hands of an expert. Seth’s kiss was perfect: not too hard, not too tentative, not too much tongue and no teeth whatsoever. I kissed him back, my lipstick forgotten, my hands reaching up around his shoulders, feeling the breadth of his back and the softness of his cotton shirt.
Expertly, one-handed, he undid the few tiny buttons of my top, and I felt the fabric sliding off my shoulder and his lips move from my mouth to my neck, then down to my chest. I unbuttoned his shirt too, not so expertly, needing two hands, and felt the heat of his skin, smelling shower gel or cologne or deodorant and something more primal that was pure man.
I slipped my feet out of my shoes and felt the plushness of the rug between my toes, then lost myself again in his kiss, feeling the softness of his lips, the scratch of his stubble, the silkiness of his chest hair under my fingers. His hands brushed against my breasts and I felt my nipples almost painfully hard against the lace of my bra. I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me, and we both laughed, breaking off the kiss.
‘Come on.’ He helped me to my feet, which was just as well because I was sure I wouldn’t have been able to stand otherwise. He unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs, then gently lowered me back onto the sofa and pulled them over my feet, kneeling on the carpet in front of me.
My bare thighs looked slender and pale against the cream velvet; my skin was very white against my black lace underwear. I could see myself through his eyes and, for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt potently sexy, desirable, desired. He unhooked my bra and bent his head to kiss my breasts, and I closed my eyes again, losing myself in the sensation as his lips found my nipples and his hand moved lower to ease my pants down over my hips. I felt like my whole body was melting, becoming boneless, liquid with pleasure.
He was kissing my thighs now, his hands easing my legs apart so he could see me, open me for his tongue. I heard myself gasp with pleasure, then almost cry out as his mouth found the perfect spot.
It had been so long – too long – since I’d last been given an orgasm, but in the next hour I more than made up for lost time. Seth brought me to the brink over and over again, then let me slip over it once, twice and a final time before he even took off his jeans. By then I was limp with longing, and when he slid his cock into me I legit thought I’d arrived in heaven.
I know, right? A bit of a fuss about what was, after all, just a shag (well, three shags, strictly speaking – Seth didn’t exactly stint on the orgasms for himself either). But as shags go, that night was right up there. It was a Michelin-starred dinner of shags, a shag Oscar winner, the kind of shag that would earn Olympic gold. It really, really was that good.
It was almost midnight when we finally admitted defeat, too satiated and sore to attempt round four. We’d moved to Seth’s bedroom by then, and I was lying in his arms, both of us sweaty and panting and entirely satisfied.
Reluctantly, I eased myself out of his arms.
‘I should really go,’ I said.
‘Sure? You could stay.’ He smiled at me, one arm behind his head instead of a pillow, because we’d knocked them all to the floor.
I shook my head. ‘I have to get home to my cat. And I’ve got work at seven in the morning.’
He stood up and pulled on his jeans. ‘I’ll order you an Uber and see you out.’
He waited until the cab came, one warm, strong arm around my shoulders, and when we said goodbye he gave me one last, lingering kiss that felt like – and surely must be – a promise.
My elation lasted all the way home. I slept like I’d necked a handful of Xanax but woke up in the morning feeling alert and rested. I actually found myself singing in the shower, and I skipped downstairs to the kitchen and was