Third Life

by Noelle Adams

  I see something then. Something I didn’t before. Something that only glanced over me briefly when we first started to kiss.

  The man is the epitome of cool and controlled. He’s being careful with me and making sure this is what I want.

  But he’s also hungry.

  He wants this. Needs it. I can see the reined-in urgency in his expression as his eyes devour my face. His pupils are dilated, the darkness swallowing up a lot of the blue.

  He wants me.

  He wants me a lot.

  “What are you waiting for?” My voice is surprisingly composed, given the mind-blowing revelation I’ve just had. “I thought I was the one who’d never had a one-night stand before.”

  My teasing comment breaks the tension in his gaze. He gives a huff of amusement and reaches for the condom packet he laid on the nightstand.

  My heartbeat has accelerated. My skin has flushed hot. I’m breathing fast. Slightly uneven. But it’s as much excitement now as nerves.

  I’m about to have sex. With an amazing man who really wants me. I know it’s not going to be anything more than that, but I’ll have this one experience to take with me through all the days, weeks, and years that follow.

  He rolls on the condom in a matter-of-fact way. Nothing that feels weird or artificial or tawdry. Then he reaches over, parts my legs, and climbs on top of me, settling between them. “This okay?”

  “Good for me. I’d rather you do most of the work.”

  He gives me a kiss before he adjusts my legs around his hips, bending them up and spreading me wider. Then he uses a hand to move his erection into position at my entrance.

  I’m holding my breath. I can’t help it. I can feel the tip of him nudging at me. It feels so strange.

  He begins a thrust, pushing into me a little bit and then withdrawing and entering again at a different angle. He keeps doing that, and each time he goes deeper. He meant what he said about not being rough. He’s careful. Almost gentle. He keeps checking my expression—I assume to make sure I’m comfortable—until he’s fully penetrated me.

  At first it feels fine. Strange but good. But as he goes deeper, it gets really tight. I’m very wet. Very aroused. It doesn’t hurt or anything like that. But it’s so much. And it’s entirely new. I suck in a loud breath and dig my fingernails into the back of his neck as I process the sensation.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, soft and hoarse. His body is really tight, tense, like he’s holding back something strong. “Is it not working for you? You want me to try something else?”

  “It works. It’s working. It feels good.” I couldn’t tell you why, but I still don’t want him to know that this is my first time. Even now, I want him to think my response is because of something else. I roll my hips and let out my breath, some of the tightness easing as I relax. “I’m still a little nervous, but it’s working. Don’t pull out or anything.”

  “Okay.” I can tell he’s trying to sound casual, and he does a pretty good job. But he takes a sharp breath and jerks his head to the side. His arms are supporting his upper body up, and they’re starting to shake just slightly.

  “You okay?” I reach up to stroke his hair, feeling ridiculously fond.

  He laughs raspily, but then his features twist dramatically. He keeps his eyes averted. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m just about to lose it, and I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Really what?”

  “You’re about to lose it?”

  He meets my eyes again, his narrowed in that disapproving way he has. “Yes, I am. Why do you sound so surprised? You’re really hot and really gorgeous, and I’ve been turned on for a really long time now. Plus you’re really, really tight. I can’t remember the last time I was so close to losing it.”

  Something silly blooms inside me at his slightly aggrieved words. “Seriously?” I breathe out again.

  He rolls his eyes and kisses me slowly. Says against my lips. “Yes, seriously. I wish you weren’t so surprised. Someone should have made you understand how sexy you are a long time ago.”

  I want to believe him, so I do. The pleasure of it washes over me, filling my chest and warming my body.

  But I don’t have time to preen for very long because he starts to move his hips. He begins gently, just rocking into me as he sustains the kiss. It lasts long enough for me to fully relax, my body softening around his and my arms wrapping around his neck. I can feel the beginnings of an orgasm, but it’s faint. Not nearly strong enough to make me urgent or unsatisfied.

  It feels good. Everything feels good. I’m having sex, and I’m enjoying it.

  Maybe I’ll even be good at it once I figure out what I’m doing.

  Eventually Richard breaks the kiss, and his tempo accelerates. Now that he’s raised his head, I’m able to see his face. I like it. It’s not just handsome. It’s human. He’s flushed and sweating a little, and he occasionally bites his lip or glances away, like he’s fighting off too much pleasure.

  It’s intoxicating. That he’s responding this way to me. I’m trying to move my hips with his and figure I’m doing okay. He keeps pushing one of my knees up higher, and it lets him sink a little deeper.

  Not deep enough to hurt. Just enough to really feel.

  “How you doing?” he asks breathlessly after a little while longer. “Any chance of you coming?”

  “Maybe.” I roll my hips and try to assess the state of my body. I feel the ache of arousal at my center, but I’m feeling too many other things at the same time, so it’s hard to focus just on that. I let go of his neck with one hand and squeeze it between our bodies so I can rub my clit.

  “Oh shit,” he gasps, jerking his head to the side again as his hips speed up. “I can feel you getting tighter.”

  “Uh-huh.” That’s what I say. It’s all I can say. I’m rubbing my clit like crazy, and it’s pushing the pleasure forward in a cresting wave. “Uh-huh.”

  He grabs my thigh and shifts his position slightly. Whatever he does allows him to fuck me harder and faster.

  I cry out at the intensified sensation. My whole body is shaking with the force of Richard’s thrusts. The bed is shaking. That deep shuddering inside me is shaking too.

  And it’s all about to release.

  “Fuck. Fuck, baby. You better come soon.”

  “Uh-huh.” I’m saying it again, and I hear myself doing it. I have no idea how people manage a lot of wild, dirty talk during sex because I can barely get anything coherent out. I arch up suddenly, rubbing my clit desperately as the tension finally breaks inside me.

  My orgasm is hard. Much harder than anything I’ve ever managed on my own. I sob messily as the sensations spasm through my body.

  He makes a loud, wordless exclamation as he jerks clumsily a few final times. Then I feel him coming too. I feel the shaking of his contractions. I see the flood of pleasure on his face. He’s pushing into me hard, and it aches.

  Aches good. Deep. Real.

  When he’s ridden out the last of his climax and I’ve collapsed back onto the bed, he pulls out carefully. He stays still for a minute, poised on his knees, one hand holding the condom in place.

  I don’t know what he’s doing. What he’s feeling. Why he isn’t moving.

  “Okay?” I rasp.

  “Yeah.” He lets out his breath in a rush. Then he turns to me and smiles. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

  I grin up at him like an idiot. “I thought so too.”

  He goes to the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash up, and I do a quick check of the sheet.

  I’m sore. Really sore. But I didn’t bleed.

  He won’t know. He doesn’t have to know. This is just a night. I don’t have to strip myself naked before him.

  It can just be what it is.

  When he returns to the bed, he’s cool and poised again but still smiling. “What did you think of your first time?”

  I freeze. “My first time?”

  He frowns
in confusion. “With a stranger. Your first one-night stand.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Of course. It was really good. Way better than I ever dreamed it would be. And that’s thanks to you. I really appreciate you being so thoughtful and careful.”

  He gives a half shrug. He’s gotten under the covers beside me, and he’s turned on his side to face me. “Any decent guy would do that.”

  “Maybe. I hope so. But a lot of guys aren’t decent. So thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Although I don’t know why you should thank me when I had an incredible time.” He glances over at the clock. “It’s not even midnight. Your one-night stand doesn’t have to be over yet.”

  I bite my bottom lip. I’m way too sore right now for more sex. I’ll have to tell him.

  “We can get something to eat if you want. More champagne?” He reaches over for the phone on the nightstand with a questioning look.

  I giggle in relief. “That sounds great. No reason for the one-night stand to end before the night is over.”

  As he calls down to room service, I lay in a pleased, sated sprawl.

  It’s strange. I thought once this happened, I would feel like a different person. Like I’d have a different life. And part of me doesn’t recognize this woman who’s in bed with a man like Richard.

  Most of me I recognize, however. I’m still Gillian Meadowbrook. Smart and focused and invisible to most of the world.

  But maybe not to everyone.

  And maybe not all the time.

  Richard sees me right now, and I’m going to enjoy that reality until morning.

  Three

  IT’S LATE THE FOLLOWING morning when I finally wake up. I don’t know exactly what time it is, but it’s bright in the room.

  Richard’s room. I never made it back to mine last night.

  I stretch out under the covers, feeling pleased and leisurely and even enjoying the slight pang of soreness between my legs when I move in a certain way. The bed still smells like Richard—and a little bit like sex. His side is rumpled but empty, with the indentation from his head still left on the pillow.

  I’ve just noticed this when I hear his voice.

  He’s at the door of the room, out of sight of the bed, and he’s talking to someone. I’m too drowsy to figure out who it might be until he suddenly appears from the short entry hall, wheeling a room service cart.

  “Ah!” I say, sitting up at the sight of food. And particularly that pot of coffee.

  I drank a lot of champagne last night. Not enough to make me feel terrible this morning, but I have a little hint of a headache, and my mouth is overly dry. Fortunately, it’s nothing that water and coffee won’t take care of.

  Richard smiles when he sees me awake. He put on a pair of gray sleep pants after we had sex last night, and that’s all he’s wearing right now. His hair is slightly ruffled but not too much of a mess. He needs to shave.

  He looks absolutely scrumptious.

  His scrumptiousness is not enough to distract me from the coffee he’s pouring. I do have my priorities in order.

  “How do you like it?” he asks.

  “Just a little cream.” I accept the mug he hands me and try to get a look at the cart of food. “What did you get?”

  “All kinds of things. I didn’t know what you’d like for breakfast or even if you eat breakfast.”

  “I do eat breakfast.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, glancing down at myself in surprise when I remember that I’m wearing nothing but one of Richard’s T-shirts (it’s a very nice black one—thick and soft and expensive) and my panties since I had no desire to go around naked or try to put back on my skirt and top last night. “I like almost all breakfast foods, unless it involves salsa. I don’t do salsa first thing in the morning.”

  He laughs softly as he starts taking the covers off plates. “No salsa. But I’ve got eggs and bacon and sausage and a yogurt parfait and some pastries and fruit and—”

  I make a little squeak of pleasure when he takes off the last cover. “A waffle!”

  “Yes. A waffle.” His eyes move from the food to my face. “So I did okay?”

  “You did great. I better run to the bathroom first though.”

  While I’m in there, I splash water on my face and finger-comb my hair. It’s definitely still me—regular, vanilla me—looking back from the mirror, but I don’t look too bad, considering. One cheek is a little pinker than the other from the way I was sleeping.

  We fill our plates and take them with our coffee back to the bed by mutual agreement. It’s cool in the room, and I’m just wearing a T-shirt. I’m definitely getting back under the covers.

  We eat for a few minutes in silence as we both check our phones. I’ve got a few work messages and a text from Ashley, wanting to know if anything happened last night.

  I tap out a quick reply. Yes. Mission accomplished. All good!

  She replies almost immediately. Yay! Wow! Tell me all about it when you get home!

  I will.

  I set my phone down and glance over to see that Richard is tapping something on his phone too. I’m tempted to ask what it is, but if I do, he might ask me about my messages, and trying to skirt around Ashley’s question might be a bit awkward.

  So I mind my own business and enjoy bacon and half a waffle. It’s already ten thirty in the morning. I never sleep this late. We stayed up late last night, however, talking and laughing and drinking champagne. I was afraid he’d want to have sex again and I’d have to explain I wasn’t up for it, but he didn’t suggest anything. Maybe he was letting me take the lead. Or maybe the sex we’d had last night was enough for him too and he had no plans to go all night.

  I don’t know exactly how old Richard is, but he’s no spring chicken (as my mother used to say). He’s obviously very good at sex, but he probably doesn’t have the going power of a twenty-year-old.

  “So when do you need to get going today?” he asks while I’m distracted by these thoughts and my food.

  I look over, momentarily blanking on what he’s asking.

  “You said you were here for work? Do you have any appointments today or...” He trails off with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh.” I feel my cheeks warming. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t stop them from doing it.

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “This was a work trip, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “It is what I told you.”

  He reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Gillian. Did you plan this whole trip just to have a one-night stand?”

  I snicker. Nod a couple of times. It’s impossible to be embarrassed by the admission when he’s looking at me that way.

  “So it was some kind of sex-cation?”

  His dry tone makes me giggle. “Exactly. A sex-cation. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing in the world is wrong with that.” He sets his mostly empty plate on the nightstand and rolls over to face me. “So you don’t have any plans for the day?”

  “Nope. What about you? You were here for work for real, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah. But it fell through yesterday.”

  “It fell through?”

  “It happens occasionally. I think I have a job, but it doesn’t work out. So I don’t have any plans for today either.”

  “Oh.” I slant him a quick glance, wondering if he’s suggesting what I think (hope) he’s suggesting. “That’s good.”

  He pauses, as if he’s waiting to see if I’ll say anything else. When I don’t, he asks lightly, “So if you want to extend our one-night stand to a one-weekend stand, I’d have no objections.”

  “Really?” There’s a slight squeak of surprise in my voice, and I know he’ll hear it.

  He does. Shaking his head, he reaches over to my face again, this time to brush his fingertips along my cheekbone. “Only if you’re interested. I know stretching it out past one night wasn’t in your plans.”

  “It wasn’t. But since we b
oth have nothing better to do...”

  We smile at each other. I might have even kissed him, but I’m still holding my plate and have several more bites of waffle to eat. I decide to focus on that instead.

  After a minute, Richard asks out of the blue, “So you’ve really never had casual sex before?”

  “No. I really never have.” I check his face and see that he looks relaxed, genuinely interested, and slightly debauched with his bristles and bare chest. “Is that so strange?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I’d bet a lot of people haven’t had one-night stands. Not everyone takes sex lightly.”

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right. When you have a lot of casual sex, you start to think everyone is like you, since the people you’re with have the same attitude. But the truth is most people who take sex seriously are at home and not in bars looking to hook up.”

  I’m smiling as I put my plate on the nightstand and pick up my coffee mug. “Exactly. Just because you only sleep with women who like casual sex doesn’t mean that everyone is that way.” A question forms on my lips, one I’d normally hold back with my natural reserve. But I don’t this time. “Do you only ever have casual sex?”

  “Pretty much. For a really long time. I travel a lot. I’ve never put down real roots. And my job is such that I don’t have room in my life for much else.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” I don’t know where I find the courage to ask a question like that of this man. Maybe just because he looks warm and rumpled right now—not the slick stranger from yesterday.

  “Yes. I have. A very long time ago.”

  “Who was she?”

  He gives me a sidelong look. Assessing. Like he’s trying to decide the purpose of this questioning. Whatever he sees in my face must reassure him because he answers easily enough. “We fell in love in college. We got married.”

  I should have assumed there was a good chance a man his age would have been married before, but it never even crossed my mind. My eyes are wide, and I prop up more on the pillow. “You were married? For how long?”

  “Six years.”

  “What happened?”