Page 109 of Better Hate than Never

“Really?” I ask, biting my lip when his hand splays across my bare skin, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my leggings.

“God, yes. You don’t need dozens of partners to know how to be a good lover, Kate,” he says roughly. “You just need to listen and learn, to trust and talk and try. You’ve done all of that. You’ve been an incredible lover to me.”

I blush hot and fast. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No.” He teases his hand up my ribs, his knuckles grazing the edge of my breast. “I’m not.”

Christopher searches my eyes as I look at him, my body tense with worry, my mind spinning in countless negative fantasies of how I might mess this up with him.

Slowly, he eases up on his elbow, then peers past me toward what I recognize is his bathroom, dark subway tiles winking against the faint glow of a nightlight. I catch the edge of a big soaker tub, the silhouette of unlit votive candles scattered across its edge.

“Do you like baths?” he asks.

I glance his way, my heart racing. A bath sounds heavenly. I gotso hyperfixated on my editing that I didn’t have time to shower when I realized I was running wildly late for my parents’ house and Sunday dinner. Soaking in sudsy water, scrubbing my hair, relaxing until my limbs are loose and heavy, sounds perfect. “I love baths.”

“Then I’ll draw you a bath. Get you a glass of wine if you want, let you relax.”

“A bath and a glass of wine sounds nice,” I tell him.

He presses a soft kiss to my temple. “Good.”

My eyes slip shut as I drop my head into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “That I’m so nervous. That I’m making us slow this down.”

He pulls back and cups my face, holding my eyes. “I never want you to say that to me again, Kate. We take whatever time we need. There’s no slow or fast. There’s what’s right for us.”

“You don’t... mind that? You won’t need—”

“I need you. However I can have you.” I must look skeptical, because he says, “I told you, I’ve gone the past six weeks without it, and I’ll go as long as you need me to.” He stares at me intently, stroking my cheek with his knuckles. “I got tested last week, so you know. My results were negative for STIs.”

“I haven’t had any partners since my last checkup,” I tell him. “I was negative, too.”

“Birth control?” he asks. “We can use condoms.”

“I got the shot this week,” I tell him, blushing when he smiles, satisfied that I was clearly planning ahead, like him. “I’m set for three months. I have a reminder in my calendar for when I need to get my next one.”

“We can still use condoms,” he says quietly. “Whatever you want—”

I shake my head. “I don’t need them.”

Silence holds between us as he stares down at me, his hands caressing my skin, calming my nerves, then he eases back from the bed and lifts me up with him, until we’re both standing, our arms around each other.

“Now what?” I whisper, excitement crackling through me.

He presses a kiss to my temple, breathing me in. “Now I fill the tub with water, pour you a glass of wine, and do whatever you want me to.”

A mighty flush warms my cheeks. “Oh.”

His smile is soft and affectionate as he sways me in his arms. “The bath will take a little to fill. And the wine’s downstairs. But we can start that last part now, though.”

“Telling you... what I want? What about what you want? What you need?”

Christopher stares down at me, his eyes searching mine. He dips his head and presses a kiss to my temple, my cheekbone, my cupid’s bow. “I have everything I want—you in my arms, and what I need... well, I just need to make you feel good. Tell me how you want it, what you want, anything.”

“Kiss me.” I don’t recognize how breathy my voice is. How unsteady I am. “Now. Please.”

His eyes spark. Then his mouth meets mine, sweet, velvet-hot strokes of his tongue, so delicate, cherishing, they make my eyes scrunch shut against a prick of tears.

Gently, he glides his hands down my waist, to my backside, and rubs it affectionately. My mouth falls open, a desperate, needy sound croaking out.

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