But that night was different. Maybe it was the booze, and maybe it was being in a different city, with a stranger she’d never see again, but Abby felt half out of her mind with desire, her brain a humming white blank. She wasn’t thinking about the curve of her belly or the cellulite on her thighs or how her breasts looked different without the benefit of industrial-strength underwire. All she could think was how badly she needed Sebastian to touch her, and when he’d finally, finally, slipped his thumb under the leg band of her panties and brought it up, unerringly, exactly where she needed to feel it, she’d let out a yelp that was loud enough to be shocking.
“Shh,” he said against her neck, his thumb flicking, teasing, rubbing firmly, then lightly, circling her clitoris, then descending down again to trace her lips. “Pretty thing.”
Abby felt her eyes fill with tears, even as her hips arched off the bed. Pretty thing. She felt like she could count the times a man had made her feel pretty, or dainty, or cared for and small on one hand, and still have fingers left over.
Sebastian pulled off her panties and put one warm hand on each of her legs, easing them apart, and then he rested his head on the inside of her right thigh and breathed on her, warm and steady, one long exhalation. When she felt the first brush of his tongue, Abby forgot that she knew words, and when he slipped his fingers inside of her, she forgot to breathe. “How are you so good at this,” she gasped at one point, and felt, as much as heard, Sebastian’s amused hum in response. Abby forgot to worry about how she tasted or how long she was taking or anything, because he seemed delighted to be right where he was, doing just what he was doing. He made her come that way, and then he produced a condom from somewhere and rolled it on, kneeling in front of her, looking unreal in the candlelight, like he’d been carved instead of born.
Abby held her arms out, and he slid inside of her on a single stroke that took her breath away. Sebastian set a slow, almost decadent pace, and for long moments they rocked together, panting, and kissing. Abby tried to get him to go harder, or faster, but Sebastian refused to be hurried, no matter what she did, or how she begged. When she swiveled her hips against him, he’d pull out until he was barely inside of her at all, waiting until she went still, then started again.
Abby could feel sweat gathering at her temples. Her legs were locked around his waist, her arms wrapped around his back, and finally, finally, she could feel his control start to waver. His hips pumped, hard, and her own hips rose up to meet him. Their bodies slapped together, and he was groaning, and she was crying out, thinking she’d never known it could be like this, that she’d never even imagined. She had her second orgasm on her back, which hardly ever happened during intercourse, and then, he’d rolled them, so that he was on his back and Abby was on top of him, with his hands cupping her breasts, his eyes wide open, both of them breathing hard. She remembered how his face and lips and hands had all tasted of her when he pulled her down for a kiss. They finished in that position and fell back, sweat-slicked and breathless, against the pillows. Sebastian looped one of his arms around Abby’s shoulders, pulling her close. She let her head rest on his chest.
“Jesus,” he said.
“Mmm,” Abby agreed. She felt confident she’d remember words at some point, but, at the moment, sounds were all she had. Sebastian disposed of the condom, then pulled her close, spreading the comforter out and letting it settle against them, soft as a sigh. Abby gave a contented hum, and they both fell asleep.
It was still dark when Abby woke up. She was lying on her back with Sebastian curled around her. They turned toward each other wordlessly, mouths meeting, hands roaming. The second time was slower, sweeter, full of pleased murmurs and gentle caresses and something that felt like tenderness. When Sebastian brushed her hair back from her face, when he braced his body up and leaned close to drop kisses on her cheeks and forehead, or gasped “Sweetheart,” with his mouth against her neck, she felt closer to him than to any of the four other guys she’d been with.
When it was over, they flopped back against the pillows again. And then, just when Abby thought things couldn’t get any better, that she’d hit the absolute peak of her sexual experiences, maybe even the peak of her entire life, Sebastian asked, “Are you hungry?”
Trick question, Abby thought. Just as she’d struggled with sex, she’d also struggled with eating in front of guys, with what she’d allow herself, and how much of it, but in Sebastian’s bed, the combination of the liquor and the postorgasmic endorphins buzzing through her bloodstream erased any self-consciousness.
“I’m starving,” she said emphatically before she could overthink it.
Sebastian looked pleased. He got up and padded, naked, into the kitchen. “Stay there,” he said. “Be right back.” Abby snuggled under his comforter, which was not too heavy and not too light, and smelled like fabric softener and Sebastian’s subtly spiced cologne.
He didn’t have a headboard, but he did have a top sheet and a fitted sheet, plus the four pillows pushed against the wall. Points for that, Abby thought and began arranging pillows in her customary fashion, one behind her head, two more parallel to the edge of the bed, a bulwark between her body and the floor. She’d slept that way since she’d been a little girl and had developed an irrational fear of rolling out of her bed in her sleep. Building your burrow, her father had called it. He’d called Abby his little badger. It had been a much better nickname than Flabby Abby.
When Sebastian came back to the room, holding two steaming bowls of pasta that smelled deliciously of garlic and cheese, he looked at the pillows, then at her. “It’s my burrow,” Abby said without thinking.
“Got it,” he said. Abby sat up, and he handed her a bowl. “Pasta alla mamma,” he said. Abby twirled a forkful of noodles. The pasta had a perfect bite, and the sauce was creamy and salty and meltingly rich.
“You just made this?” she asked. “Just, like, went into the kitchen and whipped it up?”
Sebastian looked pleased. “It’s just leftover pasta. You crack an egg into it, and grate in a bunch of cheese,” he said modestly. “Oh, and garlic and fresh cracked black pepper.” He cleared his throat. “It’s actually the only thing I know how to make, besides ramen with an egg. But it’s good, right?”
Abby took another bite and groaned. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked, with her mouth mostly full, because she didn’t want to stop eating. “Or a wife?” She took another bite. “Or a harem?” She swallowed and licked her lips. “Why has no one chained you to her stove and made you cook this every night?”
He smiled, and said, “Do you want to chain me to your stove?” He’d put on pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, and he was almost unbearably appealing like that, so handsome and endearing that Abby couldn’t look at him directly for too long. She contented herself with taking peeks as he climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged beside her, balancing his own bowl on his knee.
“I don’t know,” Abby said. “Are you available?”
Instead of answering, Sebastian twirled her a forkful of pasta from his bowl and offered it to her. Abby opened her mouth and sucked the fork clean. She told herself it didn’t matter if the guy thought she was a disgusting pig. She’d never see him again. She could even ask for seconds! She smiled at the thought, and Sebastian smiled back, reaching out for one of her curls, pulling the light-brown strands straight and letting the curl re-form and bounce against her temple.