Page 61 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
It’s not that I don’t know about orgasms—I’m a grown woman, after all. But to have one requires sexual desire, and I’ve never felt sexual desire before, let alone sexual pleasure. I even thought I wasn’t capable of it, that it happened to other people, and because I didn’t know what it felt like I didn’t miss it. I can’t miss something I’ve never felt.
But all that has changed now.Everythinghas changed. And I have Ulysses to thank for that. I knew what he was offering me, what he wanted to show me and that it would mean giving myself over to him sexually. And, yes, I was nervous about it. A deep part of me was afraid that John was right—that I was an extinct volcano after all—and that Ulysses would touch me and I’d feel nothing.
But I wasn’t afraid enough to refuse him. I wanted to know once and for all if it was possible for me to feel pleasure. I wanted to know if I was the problem.
Sitting in his lap was awkward at first and I wasn’t sure how or where to sit or what to do with my arms or my legs. It was very helpful of him to adjust me, though being so close to him was overwhelming. He was so hot, his thighs hard beneath my rear, his chest hard beneath my head. I tensed up, not sure what to expect, but then he took a sip of his Scotch, lowered his head and kissed me.
I knew what to expect, since he’d kissed me in the car, but this…was different. His kiss was slower, with a sensuality to it that stole my breath. Then he let me sip the Scotch from his mouth, which I swear made it even more alcoholic, and that went straight to my head. He tasted so good, the perfect glass to drink from, and the whisky only made it hotter. I found myself relaxing as he put his hand on my throat, which I found unbearably erotic. It felt like a claim, and in that moment I wanted to be his more than I wanted anything in the entire world.
Then he touched me, stroking my body as if he was mapping me, moving down to the hem of my skirt. I knew a moment’s anxiety that perhaps this was all in my head—that this lazy, slow build of anticipation would disappear as soon as he touched me further—but it wasn’t and it didn’t.
His fingers were on my thighs, caressing the sensitive skin there, and I could feel the pressure between my legs growing, the needy ache becoming more intense. Then he stroked me over the cotton of my knickers and it felt like an electric shock, only to become something sharper as he slid a finger beneath the cotton and over my slick flesh.
Even thinking about it now makes me throb, as if I want him to touch me again. The pleasure was incredible. I’d never felt anything like it. And when he pushed a finger inside me…
John never had patience for foreplay, and in the end I told him not to bother, since it never worked for me. He didn’t protest and I didn’t mind since it only drew the whole process out longer. But now my eyes have been opened. Now I know that I can feel desire, and not only that, but physical pleasure too. I can have an orgasm. The problem was never me but, as Ulysses pointed out, it was that I just didn’t have the right partner.
Perhaps it should be galling that it’s he who ended up being the right partner. He with his arrogance and his entitlement, his crossing of boundaries. But for some reason it’s not galling at all, and I think it’s because he listened to me when I told him about John. Because he was gentle and slow, and when I looked up into his golden eyes I saw they were glowing. That he got as much pleasure out of touching me that I got from being touched. There was reverence in that touch, especially towards the end, and I can see that reverence in his eyes now as he looks down at me.
‘Yes,’ I say, answering his question, even though it probably doesn’t need an answer. ‘I think I do love it.’
His mouth curves, his smile a blaze of sunlight bathing me in warmth. ‘You were never the problem, my Katla,’ he murmurs with rough heat. ‘What you are is a revelation.’
He means it—I can see the conviction in his eyes—and it makes me feel even warmer. I’m so relaxed it’s as if all my bones have melted.
‘I’m not sure I am,’ I say, being truthful since I’ve never before been told I’m a revelation to anyone. I’ve certainly never felt like one. My mother found me frustrating, my interest in numbers baffling and my uninterest in the things that she liked selfish. As for John, he preferred me doing what he said, and taking care of him and his needs to the exclusion of my own. So, no, I was hardly revelatory to anyone.
Ulysses’s gaze searches mine. ‘What makes you think that?’
Do I want to tell him about my past? About my mother? Do I want to give him more details about my marriage? Part of me wants to, but another part is wary. Honesty compels me to give too much to people and I’m not sure I want to give this man any more. He can have my sexual pleasure, but nothing else.
‘Let’s just say John was less than…complimentary,’ I say, which is nothing that Ulysses doesn’t already know, but it’s not everything.
That smile of his, it’s not lazy or seductive this time, but genuine, and it makes the warmth in my chest press hard against my ribs. He’s beautiful when he smiles like that. ‘He was an idiot, then,’ he says. ‘I think when you came under my hand I actually saw God.’
I’m already feeling hot and his plain speaking makes me feel even hotter. It also makes me realise that he is hard; I feel him pressing against me. He’s also like a furnace, throwing out heat. I’m getting distracted by his rich, masculine scent and by the shape of his mouth. Already I can feel my hunger for him growing, but this time I want more. I want to be able to touch him, give him the same pleasure he gave me.
I reach up and touch his face with my fingertips. His skin is rough with the dusting of a five o’clock shadow along his jawline, but very warm, and he doesn’t move as I brush my fingers over his carved mouth. His lips are warm, and they feel soft against my skin.
‘You are aroused,’ I tell him. ‘Shall I—?’
‘No,’ he says, cutting me off before I can finish. ‘That was just for you.’
I don’t like that. John didn’t bother reciprocating during sex, and while I was fine with that, because I didn’t want anything from him, I’m not fine with it when it comes to Ulysses. He gave me everything and I want to give him that in return.
I look directly into his burning gaze and hold it. ‘You told me that nothing would happen between us unless I asked. So I’m asking. Again.’
‘Katla…’
‘What? I don’t want to do this if only one of us gets what they want. That’s what happened with John and I don’t want to do the same with you.’
He’s clearly not happy with this. Lifting a hand, he shoves it through his black hair and frowns. ‘I was trying, for once, to do an unselfish thing.’
‘Is that why you gave me an orgasm?’ I ask, annoyed. ‘So you can feel good about yourself?’
His eyes flash, but whatever temper was there vanishes, and a rueful expression takes its place. ‘How do you manage to do that?’ he asks. ‘Here I am, congratulating myself on being unselfish for a change, and now you’re telling me that not letting you give me an orgasm makes me the selfish one?’
‘Yes. In that it’s all about what you want,’ I point out.
