I assault her mouth this time and there’s nothing slow about it. Our lips meet over and over and over. My tongue paints wet fire all the way across her jawline and down her neck. Her hands are everywhere. Five seconds they’re in my hair. Three seconds they’re resting on the small of my back. For far too few seconds they’re inching the fabric of my shirt up around my lower torso, until she suddenly pulls away and a desperate moan passes from my sensitive lips.

“Spence…”

“Uh-huh,” I manage, still breathing heavily, “yeah?”

“Can we slow down a little bit, maybe?”

Um…yes?

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” she says, walking towards the bed, “because you have to try this wine.”

And that familiar crawl of insecurity made its way through my body all over again. I watch her as she skillfully pops the cork and pours the bottle’s contents into the identical flutes.

“Something’s wrong,” I say plainly. I had gone through many words and even sentences in my head, but for whatever reason those are the ones that hit the air.

“Something’s wrong?”

She looked concerned.

“You’re like…stalling or something.”

“No.”

“Yeah you are.”

“Spencer…”

“And it’s totally fine if you don’t want to do this. I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“No one pressures me into doing anything I don’t want to do, ok?”

I nod, though I’m not quite sure how true that statement is.

“Spence, I just want to see you, you know? I want to take my time. We have all night, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She sits down on the bed, gesturing for me to sit beside her and I do.

“Will you look at me please?”

I turn my head so that I’m facing her.

“I want this,” she says, grabbing my hand and sliding in beneath her shirt. Everything stops momentarily and all I can concentrate on is the sensation of moving over hot skin and soft lace. She finally brings my hand to rest on her heart.

“You feel that, right?”

Her heart was beating hard and quick against my palm, and I swallowed back the last bit of fear that had been inhibiting me. I nod in response.

“Well then trust it,” she says. And then her mouth is on mine again. Her tongue is convincing me of her sincerity as it chases mine over and over. Her lips are the definition of soft and the sensation of her teeth biting my lower lip sends a pool of want right where I need her most.

“I do,” I say, pulling her loose-fitting top up and over her head, “I trust it.”