Page 26 of The Trade

As we step inside, my guest meticulously removes his shoes, placing them neatly near the door. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

I offer him a half-smile. “Of course.”

After several long, awkward seconds pass by, his hesitance is apparent. Taking the initiative, I grab his hand and guide him toward my room.

Once we’re tucked inside, he sits tentatively on the edge of my bed. I position myself, straddling him with a knee on either side of his thighs. But the silence is heavy as his arms hang limply by his sides.

I lean in, my voice soft yet firm. “You can touch me, you know?”

He wraps an arm around my waist, nervously pulling me closer. I lean back in to kiss him. His lips are gentle and warm, but the kiss doesn’t spark anything inside of me.

It’s nice, though. It’s fine.

I trail my kisses down his neck, nipping softly against his pulse point. Within seconds, he pulls back.

“Sorry, could you not kiss me there?” he asks. “I don’t want to risk a hickey.”

“Oh,” I murmur, disappointed but understanding. “Sure.”

We lie down together on the bed, and I run my fingers through his hair, lightly tugging at the silky strands, bringing our mouths together in a hungry kiss.

“Not so rough,” he whispers against my lips.

Oh. My. God. I change course, writhing against him instead. His hands, seemingly encouraged by my movements, tenderly map out the curves of my body. Sitting upright, I strip away my top and swiftly unhook my bra.

Focusing on him now, I make short work of his shirt, my fingers moving toward the button on his jeans next. But his hand intercepts mine.

“Hold on,” he says, voice straining with desire. “Let me take care of you first.”

Surprised, but certainly not against it, I relax while he explores even lower. One hand moves to rest against my hip as he drags my shorts down, his trembling fingers trailing across my flushed skin.

“Is this fine?” he asks, uncertainty tinging his voice.

I offer back a breathy confirmation. “Mhm.”

His fingers, though still shaky, slowly make their way toward my center, awkwardly exploring until one finally ventures inside me. Then he begins a tentative dance, moving it in and out, side to side.

The sensation is . . . strange. Oddly reminiscent of my last visit to the gynecologist.

“You okay?” he checks in, concern shadowing his face.

“Yep, maybe just—” I pause for a moment, carefully guiding his hand until it settles over my favorite spot. “Try right there.”

“Yeah, okay,” he complies willingly, his touch tracing slow circles around my clit.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

Leaning into his touch, my nose nudges against his chest. As soon as my lips graze his skin, however, his movements stop.

“That’s a little distracting,” he says. “Try not to kiss me while I’m doing this.”

“Um, okay,” I consent, but already, I can feel his fingers wander away from the promised land.

Oh, Jesus Christ. With my eyes squeezed shut, I realize I’m left with only one option. Yes, God help me, I’m going to fake an orgasm for this guy. I hold off a few more seconds before releasing a series of breathy moans.

“Did you come?” he asks, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazes down at me. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, as if he found pleasure in watching my little . . . performance just now.

“Uh-huh,” I mutter in response, hastily pulling my shorts back up.

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