In one week, Thomas and I have been on three more dates. Am I pushing it too fast? Maybe a little. Every time I see him, I tell myself I'd say no the next time and make him wait a little to see me again. A man has to work for the woman he wants.

Every time he calls me, though, I don't have what it takes to resist him, and I agree to see him again.

There's something about him that gets me every time. He's handsome and charming, overwhelmingly so. Just looking at him makes me melt into my panties. But there's also a deep side to him that reveals itself now and then, a side that intrigues me. There's so much more to Thomas than cultivated masculinity and charm.

Tonight, he's in my apartment. It's the first time I've let him up. It's the first time I let anyone up into my personal space, actually.

I’ve cleaned up my apartment before his arrival. My mother’s old couch was covered with a colorful throw to hide the scratch marks of a cat she once had. I swept the floor, and I washed the few dishes in the sink. The bedroom door is closed to hide all the clothes I hadn’t folded before Thomas arrived.

Thomas looks comfortable in my space. It's strange having a man up here. I assume his home is much more luxurious than my modest apartment. He obviously has a lot of money. I have no idea where he lives, though. He hasn't once asked me to come home with him. A part of me is relieved. I don't want that pressure of sex looming over me. But I'm curious about the life he leads. He's tight-lipped about his life, his parents, and his past. Everyone takes a different amount of time to open to someone. Maybe he is just more closed off than most people.

I'm not going to push him. It still doesn't stop me from being curious, though.

"You’ve lived here since you started school?" he asks. He’d mentioned that he’d had an apartment since he’d left boarding school.

I shake my head. "I was in a dorm the first year. I didn’t like it. There was too much going on and not enough privacy. I’m more serious about my studies than some of the others. I prefer being alone."

Thomas nods slowly, looking around. His hand moves on the couch, reaching for mine. I let him take it.

His eyes, dark and smiling, turn to me again.

"You’re different than any other girl I’ve met here," he says. "It’s a good thing," he adds when I feel shy.

I smile. "I’m glad," I say.

Thomas brings my hand up to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" he asks.

I blush. My cheeks are flaming red. I can feel it. I dip my head, feeling shy.

"You always look like you’re not used to someone telling you how fantastic you are when I compliment you," he says.

I shrug. "I just don’t pay that much attention to myself," I say.

"You’re very modest."

I chuckle. "That’s a nice way to put it."

"Let me pour us some wine," Thomas says, getting up. He brought a bottle of wine with him. It's a nice gesture.

"What wine is it?" I ask.

"Pinot Noir," he says from my open plan kitchen. "Cork screw?"

"Bottom drawer."

Thomas pulls open the bottom drawer and rummages through it for the cork screw.

"It’s a very light red wine," he adds, assuming I don't know. I don't.

"That sounds nice. My affinity for wine has grown since you’ve introduced me to something real." I smile at him. "On a student budget, the options are very limited."

"I can imagine," Thomas says. I have the feeling he can't imagine it. Everything about him screams class and money. From the restaurant he’d taken me to on our first date, to his car, to the clothes he wears—Hugo Boss, Italian loafers, a Rolex watch that peeks out from beneath his sleeve. All of it speaks of wealth.

Thomas doesn't know what it is to even consider box wine.

"I’m glad I could educate you," he says.

"I never thought that wine would be something I learned more about," I say. "I guess you never know what you’ll learn."

"Or who you’ll meet," Thomas says. He opens my cupboards. "Do you have wine glasses?"

I shake my head. "I don’t, unfortunately. Like I said, I don’t really drink wine as a rule."

Thomas nods and reaches into the cupboard, retrieving two cups.

"I have normal glasses," I say.

Thomas shakes his head. "I prefer cups if you don’t have wine glasses. Otherwise, it just looks like grape juice."

I smile and shake my head. Does it really matter?

"I like the unpredictability of life," he says. "I like it when something is different than I expected it to be. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" I ask, taking the cup he hands me. I smell the wine before sipping it. When I taste it, I like what I find.

"This is nice," I say.

Thomas nods. "I thought you might like it. Pinot Noir is always a good place to start when you don’t know if you like wine or not. The bold wines can get a bit much, without a proper introduction."

"You didn’t answer my question," I say. "You said most of the time. When don’t you like it being different?"

He shrugs.

"I think a better way to say it is that I like unpredictability. And chance. For instance, you’re very unpredictable. I never know what you’re thinking. I never thought this was what I would get when I saw you at Starbucks."

I smile at him. He leans toward me. Since our first kiss, he hasn't kissed me again. I shiver at the thought that it'll happen again.

His hand slides onto my cheek. His touch is feather light and he moves slowly, like he's being careful not to scare me away. Thomas closes the gap between us, leaning in. His eyes slide to my lips. I wait until he's only inches away before I close my eyes and give myself to him.

His lips brush against mine, chasing shivers down my spine. The kiss is firmer, more insistent. It lights a fluttering heat inside me.

Thomas caresses my cheek with his thumb, rubbing small circles as he kisses me. He guides me, opening his mouth against mine so I do the same. He slides his tongue into my mouth and tastes me. His tongue swirls lazily around mine, and every thought I have slips away until it's just him and I in a surreal bubble.

Thomas slides his hand down my neck. He thumbs my collarbone before moving even further still. His hand is large and warm. Strong knowing fingers move onto my chest, and I gasp. He heads toward my breasts.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice warns me that this is headed somewhere I've vowed not to go. I ignore it. My stomach erupts in butterflies. The heat from his skin washes through my body and pools between my legs. The skin on my breasts tingles in anticipation.

When his hand lands on my breast, my nipple tightens and I moan softly. I haven't been touched like this before, and it's pure pleasure. My hands tremble slightly, and my breathing is shallow, but I want this.

I want more. So help me, I want more.

As if he reads my mind, Thomas lifts his other hand and places it behind my neck. He pulls me closer and presses his body against mine as best he can while sitting down. He massages my breast more eagerly, moving his body against me in a way that makes me think of dark, dirty things.

Slowly, his hand slides down my back, following my spine, until he reaches the bottom of my shirt. His slips his hand underneath my shirt. His skin is scalding on mine.

His fingers trace my spine all the way to my bra strap, and he unclasps it.

I'm not sure how to respond. The gesture is so personal, invasive in a way, but I still have my shirt on. We aren't doing anything serious, are we?

Thomas carries on kissing me for a while, doing nothing else. I relax again, letting him take over.

We kiss for a while before he moves his hand down again. This time, he pulls the shirt up. I stop kissing him and swallow. Thomas takes the opportunity to work the shirt over my head and drops it on the floor. I sit in front of him, my bra unclasped, barely hidden from his view, breathing hard.

"You’re beautiful," Thomas whispers. He moves slowly, peeling the bra straps from my shoulders and letting it join the shirt on the floor.

I'm naked from the waist up. I feel vulnerable. The air in the room causes my nipples to tighten, and goose bumps break out over my skin. I cross my arms over my chest.

Thomas shakes his head. "Don’t cover up," he says. "It’s pure perfection."

To drive his point home, he kisses me again. Slowly, I drop my arms. He lifts his hand and places it on my breast again, massaging me. He takes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it, tweaking, tugging. I moan into his mouth. Whatever he's doing to my nipple is a direct line to my arousal.

I shudder. I want more. Still, more.

In a bold move, I reach for Thomas’s shirt. It's a button-up short sleeve shirt with a collar. He's always impeccably dressed. I undo the buttons one by one. The shirt slowly opens to show a chiseled chest. A smattering of chest hair covers his pecs. I reach for it and run my fingers through it.

Getting rid of his shirt had been much less significant than having mine removed, but I feel better now that we're both topless.

Thomas moves, half-standing, toward me. He guides me backward so I lie on the couch, and he covers my body with his. He lies on top of me, holding off his full weight so that he doesn't crush me, and kisses me again. His hand finds my other breast, and he massages it as before.

My hands are on his back. I feel the muscles ripple beneath the skin as he moves.

Thomas slides his hand down to my jeans and unbuttons it. He slips his hand into them and touches my sex. I gasp and jump at the sudden sensation of fingers on my most private part.

"It’s okay," he says softly. He pushes his fingers into my slit. "God, you’re so wet." He groans against my lips.

Things are moving quickly, and my mind is racing, unsure of how to respond. The sensation of his hand between my legs is overwhelming. I shiver. My body wants things it's never wanted before. I want Thomas to show me everything. I never thought in a million years that it would come to this, but here we are, on my couch, his hand in my pants. I'm aware of his erection pressing into me. He grinds himself against me, and there's no mistaking how he feels about what's happening.

"You can touch me, too, if you want," he says, as if he knows I'm focusing on his arousal. He shifts to the side so I can reach him. I move my hand hesitantly to his belt and then lower, touching him. He's hard through his pants, his erection prominent and large. He groans encouragingly.

I undo his buckle and unzip his pants, doing the same as he’d done to me. It's the only way I know what to do. Follow by example. I put my hand into his pants and wrap my fingers around his stiff length. He moans when I do it, jerking slightly.

He's hard, smooth like velvet, and slick with lust. I pump my hand up and down, testing it, knowing what should be done without thinking about it.

"God, Nicole," he groans.

He nuzzles my neck. I squirm beneath him, struggling to keep my head straight with what he's doing in my pants.

"Are you on the pill?" he asks.

I freeze. He's serious. He wants to sleep with me. This is real.

I yank my hand out of his pants and shake my head.

"We shouldn’t do this," I say.

Thomas lifts his head. "No, no, it’s okay," he says. "I have a condom. You don’t have to worry."

I keep shaking my head. I press my hands against his chest to push him off me. He lifts slowly, reluctantly.

"We really shouldn’t do this," I say. "Any of it." I wriggle out from underneath him and sit up. I reach for my bra on the floor and put it on, covering up at least a little. With my breasts covered up, I feel more in control.

"Don’t do this, now, Nicole," he says.

I shake my head. "I’m sorry," I say. "We really should stop."

Thomas looks confused. I guess it's my fault, leading him on like that. For a moment, I just stopped thinking.

"I’m sorry," I say.

Thomas shakes his head and opens his mouth as if he wants to speak, but he says nothing. I swallow hard. My hormones and my emotions are all over the place.

"I think it might be better if you leave," I say. I want him gone. I need to pull myself together.

"You’re kicking me out?" he asks. "Did I do something wrong?"

I shake my head. "I just need a bit of distance. Please."

He hesitates before nodding.

"Right," he says and gets up. He picks up his shirt and puts it on, buttoning up the bottom half of the buttons. We walk to the door together. I scoop up my shirt and pull it over my head.

"I don’t know what just happened," he says, turning to me.

I shake my head. "It’s not you. Really. I’ll talk to you later, okay?"

He nods, but he doesn't look like he believes me. I feel bad but this–no sex until I'm in love–is important to me. Thomas doesn't say anything else. He kisses me on the cheek and leaves my apartment. I close the door behind him and turn around, leaning against it with my back.

It had been so close. Sleeping together had almost happened. Sex had been too easy, if I hadn’t stopped myself.

What does it mean? I nearly gave up the one thing I’ve wanted to save for whoever I was in love with. Had I gotten this close because I was starting to fall in love with him?

I cover my face with my hands.

How the hell am I supposed to know?