Zach opens the door before I’ve even knocked.

He must’ve been waiting for me here in the foyer.

“Thank God, you’re back,” he says as I step in.

He makes a move to take me in his arms but stops, censoring himself.

I fold my arms over my chest and stare into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Uma,” he says, dropping his head to his chest. “I’m so very sorry about the things I said… the way I said them.”

I don’t respond.

His expression is pained when he lifts his head. “If you don’t feel safe with me in the house, I’ll pack a few things and go to the hotel down the street. I can sleep there every—”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “Stop talking nonsense. I’ve never felt unsafe around you.”

“You… haven’t?” He searches my face.

I shake my head for emphasis. “Not once, not for a second. That’s not why I ran.”

“Why then?”

“I needed to get away from you so I could think clearly.”

He draws a long breath. “Did you manage?”

“Yes.”

His eyes drill into mine with a mixture of anxiety and hope in his dark gaze.

“You see,” I say, turning aside so I can say my piece without losing my nerve. “My parents want me to marry Giriraj. My mentor—Noah’s mom—wants me to marry her son. I was raised to look up to my elders, and it’s hard for me to ignore their wishes and give myself permission to… to…”

He puts his fingers under my chin and tips my head up. “What do you want, Uma?”

“Something else,” I mutter, running out of courage to name what that “something” is.

“Let me guess. You want to have sex with me.” He smirks as if anticipating I’ll laugh at his ludicrous proposition.

“Yes,” I say.

“Uma—”

“Those things you said you wanted to do—”

“I’m so sorry I spoke to you like that,” he cuts in. “You must be disgusted and mad at me.”

I take a fortifying breath. “Those things… All those things… I want them.”

His jaw slackens.

Tilting his head to the side, he peers at me, eyebrows drawn. I hold his gaze. Slowly, the expression on his handsome face changes from disbelief to acceptance and then to delight.

When he takes my hand and presses it to his lips, he looks positively gleeful. Closing his eyes, he kisses every inch of my palm, his lips hot and soft. I cup his jaw, enjoying how his stubble prickles my skin.

He leans his head into my touch. “Aren’t you scared of the consequences?”

“I want you more than I’m scared of the consequences,” I say. “No matter what happens, no matter who I marry one day—if anyone at all—I want you to be my first.”

Zach opens his eyes and stares. “Uma, there’s something else you must consider before we become lovers.”

Please don’t say you’re thinking of getting back together with Colette!

“My life is complicated,” he says. “I have a kid, an ex… I’ve been alone so long I can’t tell lust from feelings anymore. If you expect a proposal—”

“I don’t! The only thing I expect from you is that you’ll make my first time unforgettable.”

He pulls me to his chest, and I revel in its breadth and warmth, in the powerful beat of his heart.

I wrap my arms around him.

He yanks the hair stick out of my bun. “I must’ve been a saint in my previous life to deserve this.”

I nearly melt with pleasure when he tangles both his hands in my hair and rubs the back of my head.

“I want you so much,” he says. “More than you could ever know. It’s been driving me mad.”

His mouth descends on mine in a hungry, blistering kiss.

With no visible effort, he lifts me off the ground and slings me over his shoulder. I gasp in surprise. Holding me tight, he runs up the narrow staircase to his bedroom.

Once inside, he sets me down, flips on the light, and shuts the door.

My limbs begin to quiver with anticipation. I know that the first time is supposed to hurt, but I also know Zach will do everything to minimize the pain.

He’ll take care of me.

Returning to me, he removes my T-shirt, and stares at my breasts.

I’m wearing a lacy bra—one of the several I own now. Last weekend, I bought a few of these bras and matching panties, telling myself it would be inane to leave Paris without stocking up on French lingerie.

Except I knew deep inside, I was buying them for Zach’s benefit.

He palms my breasts, rubbing my hardened nipples through the sheer material.

I love it.

Long moments later, Zach pulls off his shirt, too.

I study his bare chest, touching the hairs that have grown around his nipples since I’d seen him in the swimming pool. They trail down to his belly button and disappear under the waistline of his jeans. My hands slide over his hard abs and the expanse of his muscled chest. The shape of him, the taut muscles beneath his skin—so different from me, so heady, so right.

With his gaze still latched onto my breasts, Zach slips a hand under the top of my jeans. He pauses for a moment as if to ask if I mind. I draw my zipper down in response. He pushes my jeans down over my hips, leans down a little so he can reach between my legs, and touches me through my panties.

I gasp with pleasure.

Whispering my name, he cups me more fully and begins to rub while his other hand returns to my eager nipples.

So good.

As pressure builds, my panties get wetter and wetter. He pulls the crotch aside and brushes my most sensitive spot with the tips of his fingers. My breath hitches at the exquisite intimacy of that touch. As he pushes harder, rubbing and circling, my eyelids slide shut and my head tips back. I whimper, moan, and tense as a shock of pleasure rips through me, making my legs quiver.

I grip him for balance and realize he just gave me my first ever orgasm. By simply touching me. With my underwear still on.

Er… not for much longer.

“I have to see you,” Zach says, unclasping my bra.

Within seconds, I’m naked. For the first time in my life, I stand completely bare before a man. Why am I not feeling shy? Why am not hunching with shame or using my hands and arms to cover my nudity?

His gaze.

It rakes my body, up and down, hungry and awed at the same time. It makes me feel like I’m the four-armed goddess Lalita, playful and confident enough never to be body shy. And if he goes on looking at me like that, I’ll expect him to drop to his knees and worship me.

Zach’s lips part. “You’re so beautiful.”

And then he drops to his knees.

I stare at him, incredulous.

Gripping my hips, he rains kisses on my stomach while his hands roam my back, my derriere, my thighs. When his mouth reaches the triangle at the juncture of my legs, I stiffen, shame finally catching up with me.

“Let me,” he says against my belly, his voice coarse. “Please let me taste you.”

And just like that, the shame vanishes, giving way to the thrill of anticipation.

He nudges me to sit on the bed. “Lean back.”

I do as I’m told while he spreads my knees. He plants a kiss right in the center of the wet mess between my legs and pulls back while his fingers stretch and open me up.

For a long moment, he just looks at me in the bright light of the overhead light. If someone had shown me this picture just a few hours ago, my reaction would’ve been “no way.” I couldn’t possibly let anyone do this to me, take so much from me.

But here I am, letting him.

“So beautiful,” he says before kissing me again.

This time it’s more than his lips. His tongue, even his teeth get involved, licking, nipping gently, suckling, and driving me toward madness. I let myself fall on my back, relinquishing the last shreds of modesty and control.

I’m at his mercy.

I’ve never given this much to anyone.

Yet my body aches to give him more—to give him everything. My hands are in his hair as I writhe and push against him until I peak.

Zach moves his tongue a little faster, and I come again, my thighs trembling and more wetness gushing out of me.

When I’m able to see again, Zach is towering above me, his eyes hungry and dark.

I sit up and tug the zipper of his jeans. “Take them off.”

He strips immediately.

I leer. His body is as gorgeous as it was in the swimming pool back in August, except this time, there is no Speedo to cover his manhood.

His substantial manhood.

He chortles. “I’m flattered you’re so impressed.”

Shrugging, I try to school my features into a worldlier expression. Except, a worldly person wouldn’t be wondering what I’m wondering now.

I look up. “Has it grown bigger since… um…?”

Something like embarrassment flickers on his face.

“It just seems…” I huff, frustrated with my inarticulateness. “It looks larger than when you flashed it on the couch.”

He strokes my head. “Uma, please know I’m not in the habit of flaunting my dick in such a cavalier manner. I was hoping the sight of it would scare you away.”

“You gambled,” I shrug, channeling my inner Lalita, “and you lost.”

He grins. “So you weren’t appalled?”

“I may be a virgin, but I’m a twenty-three-year-old twenty-first-century virgin.” My lips quirk. “I have a good knowledge of male reproductive organs.”

His arches an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“I’ve read lots of educational articles on the topic.”

“With pictures?”

I nod. “I’ve also seen a couple of… er… instructional videos on the Internet.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Of course, you are. I bet you’ll be even gladder to hear what I’ll say next.

“If I remember correctly,” I say and pause, cocking my head, “there was something else you wanted to do before deflowering me.”

The look of shocked excitement in Zach’s eyes is priceless.

“You mean…?” He glances at my mouth.

I nod.

His expression is a mixture of elation and disbelief. “You sure?”

I nod again.

With my gaze trained on his proud member, I inch closer to him at the edge of the bed. My hands shake a little when I touch his throbbing hardness. I run my fingers up and down, trying to remember how the woman in the video Priyanka and I watched went about it.

I look up. “Will you tell me if I’m doing it wrong?”

He nods, his chest heaving and his eyes filled with feverish keenness.

I lay my left hand on his muscular ass and wrap my right hand around the base of his erection. So far so good. He watches me.

You can do this, Uma.

Wetting my lips, I kiss the slick tip and drag my tongue around it. He moans. I lick some more, tasting salt. He grits his teeth and takes my head between his hands, guiding me gently. Before I know it, my lips are around him, and I draw the crown into my mouth. A few moments later, he begins to push in, going a little farther with every thrust, and I take him as deep as I can.

“Oh God, Uma,” he rasps.

Funny how the act that looked so gross when performed by porn actors in the video, doesn’t feel that way when it’s me doing it to Zach.

“Ouch,” he says suddenly.

I freeze, looking up in panic.

He smiles and strokes my cheek. “Try not to scrape your teeth too hard against it. Men’s cocks are… sensitive.”

I move to draw back so I can promise him I’ll be more careful, but he uses his hand on my nape to hold me in place. I raise eyebrows in question.

“Your lips around me—it feels too good to let go,” he says.

For the next ten minutes, I embark on a sharp learning curve, making dramatic strides in the art of “giving head” as he put it earlier. What I lack in experience I make up for in zeal. Zach pushes in and retreats, his thrusts measured in comparison with the fierce onslaught I remember from the video. He makes sounds. Sometimes it’s a moan, other times a growl, and other times an encouragement.

He says, “Oh, c’est bon, mon chaton.” So good, my kitten.

I almost purr.

At one point, I go beyond what feels comfortable—and gag.

“Easy,” he says, wiping my tears with his thumbs. “One thing at a time. You aren’t ready for that yet.”

I promise myself I will be soon. If I can’t figure it out on my own, I’ll ask him to teach me. I want to be able to pleasure him in a way a savvy French woman would.

Better than a savvy French woman would.

Who knew this act could be so arousing? Empowering, even. Every time I do something to deserve his praise or a groan of satisfaction or even a small grunt of approval, it feels like a victory. All shyness, all hesitation… gone. What’s left is desire. Discovery. A sense of connection.

And a burning, aching, pulling void between my legs.