At my back, I can feel his impressive, hot length press, throb, and strain. Practically unimaginable after the night we had, I recall the three times we ‘did it,’ and my body starts to come alive as well. There was the first time, David lavishing me with attention and literally making love to me. Then, after he made me profess that I was his, the intense, almost desperate, ‘fuck.’ And finally, there was the one when I woke up at five-thirty and saw his beautiful body there in the early morning sunlight and decided to have a little surprise fun by straddling him and ‘riding’ him to an incredible orgasm since I was his, after all.

I wasn’t new to sex. Not by far. I’d lost my virginity when I was fourteen. “Thanks” to Kenny Jensen in the flatbed of his dad's pickup truck after our sophomore year Homecoming Dance. Since then, I’d had some partners, but what David and I did… that was not sex. It was a connection. It was beyond physical. Beyond words. I had never felt that way before.

I peek one eye open and see that it’s nine-forty-five in the morning. And now I realize I have to pee.

Carefully, I lift David’s arm, but when he feels the movement, his arm tightens, and he holds me to him. “Mn-nnn.”

“But I have to pee,” I whisper.

“Gah. Fine,” he mutters, releasing me.

“Wait,” I say realizing what day it is. “It’s Monday! Don’t you have to get to work?”

“I’m taking a personal day. I’m yours all day,” he says with a slow smile. “My boss will understand.”

Hearing ‘I’m yours’ again makes my heart flutter.

“Go, before you pee in my bed,” he says with a smirk. “Then I have to go.”

I quickly walk into his bathroom painfully aware that David is watching my bare backside the whole time.

I’d been in the bathroom in the middle of the night, so it was dark with a small motion sensor night light, and I hadn’t noticed the entire room. Like the rest of the apartment’s decor, it’s modern and comfortable with hints of old-world like distressed dark woods, but lightened and polished with marble, glass, and copper. I crave a bath in his giant aged-copper tub in one corner or even the luxury of the shower with two heads from the ceiling and sprayers on the walls. I duck into the small closet that houses the toilet and take care of business, my mind still trying to process the past twelve hours. Hell—trying to process the past five days. Or even the past two months since I won the lottery.

I finish up and exit the ‘toilet room’ and am surprised to see that the shower is running. David is brushing his teeth in all his naked glory. He spits and rinses his toothbrush as I stand there wishing I felt as confident naked as he seems to be.

“I was hoping you hadn’t fallen in,” he says with a wink, then pointing at the shower, says, “I kinda need to clean up.” He waves his hand over his belly, and I can see remnants of last night’s and this morning’s sexcapades. “Be right back,” he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead then heading to the toilet room. “Oh, I left a toothbrush for you on the counter.”

While he’s taking care of business, I brush my teeth. I can't believe I'm standing in such a luxurious penthouse bathroom, in the nude, brushing my teeth. When did my life turn into something that could have been in a movie?

David exits the toilet room and washes his hands then kisses me with his minty mouth, long and deep.

“C’mon,” he says with a quick tug to my hair. “I’m gonna wash this hair.”

We step into the glorious sprays that surround us. True to his word, David washes my hair with strong, confident fingers. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world.

I grab the bar of soap and lather up David’s body, taking special care with his abs where he had pointed out the dried cum necessitating this shower. Then I lather his beautiful cock and, with no great surprise, the monster grows and stiffens in my hand. I rinse it lovingly, then drop to my knees to give it an ‘extra special cleaning.’ David’s hands grip my head, and he guides me slowly and deliberately, his hips thrusting into my mouth, yet careful not to go too deep and gag me.

But before I can get him off, he pulls me up and turns me so that my back is to his chest, and his hands get to work stimulating my clit and bringing me perilously close to orgasm. Sensing I’m close, David bends me over and has me put my hands on the corner seat of the shower, and he sinks into me from behind in one swift stroke.

We’re both moaning, our voices echoing off the walls and glass. David has me coming in no time, then lets himself go, spasming into me, filling me with his release.

He cleans me up, then himself. Afterward, he wraps me in the fluffiest towels I’ve ever touched and then lends me one of his cotton bathrobes.

He makes us coffee, and we have a light breakfast, or I guess brunch, of toast and berries on his balcony.

“What would you like to do today?” David asks.

I spot the giant Ferris wheel I’d seen on the tour I took of the city when I first moved here. “Let’s do that! Let’s go to Navy Pier.”

David smiles at me and says, “Anything for you. Besides, it’s one of my favorite places.”

“Just one thing,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“I need to get some fresh clothes. Can we stop at my place first?”

“Of course.”

While Talia dresses in some of my clothes, I rummage through my closet to come up with what to wear to go to Navy Pier. No doubt there will be people that’ll recognize me there as was the risk yesterday at the music festival. I settle on a t-shirt from a Thirty Seconds to Mars concert and an old pair of torn jeans. Normally, I wouldn’t wear them in public but rather save them for a grungy job like helping my dad work on his old ’63 split back Corvette, not going to the Pier, especially on a date. But I don’t want to draw attention to us and have my cover blown.

I know I should just tell Talia, but I still have this suspicion that she’s hiding something. I just want to know what it is. She seems impressed with my home, yet she’s not making any indication that she is ‘marking her territory’ or has designs on the home or my money. She’s asking to go to Navy Pier on a date for crying out loud.

A date. Is that what we call what Talia and I are doing? I feel like we’re way beyond dating. Truthfully, I could see us growing old together. I have a sharp pang to my chest realizing we won’t be able to have kids. She could carry kids, but they won’t have a piece of me. I consider what the doctor had said when I had the sterilization surgery—that a reversal procedure is possible, but the further I get from the surgery, the less likely success would be. He’d offered freezing my sperm suggesting that there could be testing in the future that could test for genetic defects, but I summarily dismissed that idea as well.

I shove these thoughts out of my head wondering why I’m thinking of kids with a girl I met literally days ago. I shove a pair of sneakers on my feet, grab a Cape Cod baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses and meet Talia in my living room. She’s decked out in one of my Stanford t-shirts and a pair of my old sweatpants. All of it is ill-fitting on her svelte frame, yet she’s more adorable than ever.

“Well, that’s certainly a different look,” Talia says taking in my get up.

I send Chip a quick text letting him know I’m taking the Maserati and headed to Talia’s apartment, and then we leave. As we pull out of the garage, I don’t miss Chip in the SUV right behind me. I hope Talia does.