e laughed, a bit unsteadily. “Oh, Lucien. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”
“Well, probably you wouldn’t have had to leave your parents’ anniversary.”
“From what you’ve said, that might not have been a good thing.”
“See. You’re making progress.”
There was a pause. “I’m afraid I still can’t quite bring myself to think about it properly. I’m not as fearless as you.”
“I’m plenty fearful, as you well know.”
“It never seems to hold you back.”
I caught his wrist and kissed his palm. “You’re giving me way too much credit. I was a total mess before I met you.”
“Your flat was a total mess. It’s not the same.”
“Y’know”—I smiled up at him—“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you about whether I suck or not. You just keep believing I don’t.”
“I’ll never believe you’re anything less than remarkable.”
Oh fuck. I’ve never been good at this stuff. “Me too. I mean, only like, I think you are. Not that I think I am. I mean, not in a low self-esteem way. Like, that would be really arrogant. Look, can we have sex now?”
“Ever the romantic, Lucien.”
“It’s how I express myself. It’s part of my unique charm.”
He snorted, but let me lead him into the bedroom anyway. Where I undressed him slowly and, for some reason, couldn’t stop kissing him. And he gave himself up to me, moment by moment, and I lost myself in the rhythm of his body and the hunger of his touch. I came to him like I thought I’d never come to anyone—forgetting to hold back in the need to make him feel as safe and as cherished and as special as he made me. I held him, and he clung to me, and we moved together, and, okay, I gazed into his eyes. And I whispered to him, telling him…stuff. Embarrassing stuff about how much I cared about him and how wonderful he was to me. And I…and we…and.
Look.
It’s not the sort of thing you talk about, okay? It was for us. And it was everything.