I’ll never look at a detachable showerhead the same way again. Or bathroom counters. And I’ll never forget the look on James’ face as he undressed me before the mirrors, forcing me see myself through his eyes. Every imperfect part of me was made perfect, first by his gaze, then his hands, and finally his mouth. Every slick scar, narrow or thick. Every swirled crease of the burns on my side.

He worshipped them all.

We didn’t even make it to the shower, the first time. He took me from behind, my hands gripping the countertop, my body exposed to daylight and mirrors. Each time it became too much and I closed my eyes, he begged me to open them, coaxing with hands and words until finally, that sweet darkness swept away my fear.

I embraced the sight of our bodies together, allowing myself to accept the truth in his eyes. His lack of revulsion or pity. His passion and tenderness, and a need so vast it’s both freeing and terrifying.

Over the next hours, he keeps his promise to not speak of the future. Even when we finally make it to the bed, and the sharp edge of passion melts into something infinitely softer and deeper.

Face to face, our breaths mingle as our bodies surge together in perfect concert. My legs around his hips, my fingers on his waist, I watch his beautiful face in wonder as he finds release. And for a moment his eyes reflect the words he wants to say, but I shake my head, pressing my face to his throat until the moment passes.

We sleep for a time, curled tightly together, but eventually Rufus’ whining outside the bedroom rouses us.

“He’s going to the pound.”

I cuddle into his chest, laughing soundlessly. “He’s probably hungry.” My stomach growls loudly. “Oh wait, that’s me.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Me, too. Lord, what time is it? I feel like we’re in a vortex.”

Turning in his arms, I look out the window to see a sky dark with clouds. “Sometime between noon and six p.m., I’d say.” Stretching languorously, I shimmy back into his heat.

He thrusts against the curve of my ass, stirring slightly. “Poor boy can’t keep up with his lady’s demand,” he whispers into my shoulder.

Rufus’ whining intensifies.

“Saved by the dog,” I say, turning to smile at him.

He kisses my nose. “I’ll take him for a quick walk. But only if you promise you won’t do something rash like sneak out when I’m gone.”

I yawn. “That sounds exhausting. I’ll make us something to eat instead. And by that I mean, where do you keep your delivery menus?”

He chuckles. “Kitchen drawer closest to the living room. I’ll leave my cell and card on the counter.” With a final kiss, he scoots off the bed and walks naked across the room to his dresser.

Not until he says my name twice do I look up and see his smug grin. I shrug. “You have a spectacular ass.”

He shakes his head chidingly, but his eyes sparkle as he tosses clothes in my direction. “I was going to offer you some boxers, but I’ve changed my mind. No underwear for you.”

I comply without resistance, and when man and dog are gone, I dress. Another pair of drawstring pants and a soft, long-sleeved shirt that I know he picked for its thinness. Glancing at myself in the full length mirror, I smirk at the clear outlines of my breasts and nipples.

“Prick,” I whisper affectionately, and head downstairs to find the menus.

The afternoon passes like a dream. We feed each other Chinese food and share the gelato I spied in his freezer. As the storm outside progresses, we light candles and a fire and snuggle together on the couch.

We chat about inconsequential things. Countries and landmarks I want to visit (most of which he’s seen), the last book we read (Neil Gaiman’s newest for both of us), and what superpower we’d like to have. He chooses teleportation, and I decide on being able to speak all languages.

At length, he sets up the chessboard with its beautifully handcrafted pieces on the coffee table. He then patiently teaches me the fundamentals of the game, which I barely absorb because I can’t stop staring at his mouth.

We play a few times; I lose.

“Checkmate,” he says, smirking. “You haven’t learned a thing, have you?”

“Nope,” I admit, leaning into the corner of the couch and traveling my foot up his thigh. He catches it before I make it to his crotch. Grabbing my other foot from the floor, he draws them both into his lap.

I relax, thinking I’m about to enjoy a foot massage. The next thing I know, he’s mercilessly tickling the soles of my feet, and I’m laughing so hard I’m crying, shrieking, “Stop, stop! I’m going to pee my freaking pants!”

When he finally takes pity on me, it’s only because he’s laughing too hard to continue. I throw a couch pillow at him. He tosses it away and hauls me into his lap. Straddling him, looking down at his grinning face, I’m reminded of a detail from our first and only bout of cybersex.

I whip my shirt off. His grin sharpens, arms flexing to draw my breasts toward his mouth. His tongue flicks one nipple, then the other, and his breathing deepens.

“Exactly where I want them,” he murmurs, gaze rising to my face. “I don’t want you to leave. Ever.”

Warmth surges in my heart, spreading fast to my belly and lower. I trace his lips with my index finger.

“I know, but after this you’re taking me home. And you’ll have to wait a whole week to have me again.”

He stills, eyes bright. “Sundays?”

Biting my lip, I whisper, “Okay?”

His smile is all the answer I need.

* * *

Pouring rain provides sufficient cover for my walk of shame—only I don’t feel any shame, just deep and abiding contentment.

After a last, lingering kiss that I feel all the way to my toes, I lift his borrowed raincoat over my head and run into my building. Thankfully, there’s no one around to see me wearing men’s pajamas and emerald green ballet flats, carrying a rumpled Halloween costume under my arm.

Having texted Claire ahead of time to make sure she’s home, my knock is answered almost immediately. When we’re inside, she looks me up and down, smiling and shaking her head. I grin sheepishly and she finally laughs, pulling me into tight hug.

“Harlot,” she says happily. “Tell me everything.”

I flop onto the couch. “I’m still processing. But holy hell, Claire, he’s experienced.”

She giggles. “I knew it! And I’m so glad, I can’t even tell you.” She drops to the cushion next to me, her smile slowly fading. “I don’t want to be a downer, but there’s something you need to know.”

Heartbeat tripping, I sit up. “What?”

She winces. “Someone saw you walking together to his car. Holding hands.”

My stomach nosedives. “Who?”

“Griff heard it from Kirk, who heard it from someone else. I think it was a faculty member. Maggie Something-or-Other?”

Dread crystallizes. “No,” I whisper, grabbing fistfuls of my hair. “No no no! Where’s my phone?”

The sympathy on Claire’s face is overwhelming. “Plugged in by the coffee maker.” I jolt to my feet and beeline for the kitchen. Claire follows. “Before I forget, I talked to your mom this morning. I told her you were in the shower and would call her back.”

“Thanks,” I say distractedly, grabbing my phone.

The first thing I see is a text from James.

Maggie saw us—I’ll take care of it

Claire peers over my shoulders. “Oh, well that’s good, right?”

I laugh humorlessly. “Not really. My entire academic career in the hands of one of his ex-lovers.”

Claire sums up my emotional state with a succinct, “Ugh.”

I don’t write James back, too sharp-edged at the moment to say anything remotely positive. Instead, I toss down the phone and scrub my face with my hands. As the situation sets in, panic cycles in prickly waves through my chest.

Then Claire asks softly, “It was worth it, though, wasn’t it?”

Memories of the day rise in a bright collage. His breathless moans as I fulfilled his carnal wish for my mouth on him. Fingers teasing my hair and skin as we lay curled together in bed. His debauched imagination, his salacious whispers in my ear. Learning the different languages of his laughter and smiles. The way his eyes lit up when I rolled on the living room floor with Rufus, scratching his belly until his legs twitched.

My anxiety melts away.

I look at Claire through my fingers. “So worth it. But I’m so sore.”

She laughs in delight. “I’ll bet. Oh honey, I’m so happy for you. Not just because you got laid. You look happy. Glowing. And in the scheme of things, no one gives a shit. Professors and grad students getting together is the worst kept secret in history.”

I grimace. “You’re probably right, but it could still make the next eight months of my life torture. If it blows up, what professor is going to want to write me a recommendation? Ack, I can’t even think about it.”

“Don’t. Just enjoy the afterglow.” Giving me another hug, she says, “I have some reading to do. Don’t forget to call your mom back, okay?”

“I won’t. Thanks, Claire. By the way, what was the cover story you gave Griffen and Brad?”

She pauses at the kitchen door and winks. “Aunt Flo, of course.”

I laugh. When she’s gone, I pour myself a glass of water and wander into my bedroom to call my mom. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a voicemail apologizing for missing her. And asking if we can move our call day to Saturdays.

Sundays belong to James.

I shower almost regretfully, washing traces of our final union from my skin. After drying off and pulling on pajamas, I throw his clothes in my hamper. Then I change my mind and grab the shirt, tossing it near my pillow.

Once in bed, I open my laptop and review my assignment calendar for the week, but the words quickly blur. Even though it’s barely nine o’clock, I power down my computer, turn off the bedside light, and snuggle under the covers with my phone.

His shirt tucked under my cheek, I text him.

I miss you

I wait a few minutes for a reply, but my heavy eyelids close before it comes.