"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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It happened on a rainy Friday night in October.
I had already planned to stay the night at Josh's apartment for the first time; his two roommates were away for the weekend, one playing a basketball away game and the other visiting his girlfriend at Northeastern, which meant we would have the place to ourselves. It didn't mean we had to have sex. There was no implied expectation, and I knew Josh would be fine if we did nothing more than kissing. But the conversation with Hanna had filled me with newfound confidence. It felt like the right time, so I was going to make it happen.
Josh cooked me dinner. Or he intended to, but he was such an awful cook that I ended up in the kitchen too, teaching him the only recipe I knew from scratch: my mom's cheese sauce. Together, we made the richest, creamiest and most unhealthy mac and cheese, spooning generous helpings into bowls and eating it in front of the TV. Knowing what was coming, I thought I would've been too nervous to eat. But either I felt enough at ease or it tasted just too good—because I managed to finish more than I did most days in the cafeteria.
Later, after a couple of episodes of the Netflix series we'd started watching together, Josh moved to start cleaning up the kitchen, shutting down all my offers to help him. I went to the bathroom instead to change out of my clothes. My pajamas lay bundled at my feet, but I paused once I'd stripped off, staring at my reflection in the lacy black underwear set I'd bought specially for the occasion.
Never before had I taken much interest in lingerie—never before had I had reason to—but its effect on me was unprecedented. My build was slim but boyish, with hardly anything by way of curves, but the scallop-edged cups and high-waisted thong cinched me in and back out again in all the right places. The newfound confidence made me glow everywhere else. It was, I decided, worth every penny of sixty dollars.
Eventually, I tore my gaze away from the mirror and pulled on my T-shirt and shorts. Josh met me in the kitchen with a kiss: one that started soft and gentle but soon turned into the promise of more. I took his hand and led us both to the bedroom.
Self-assurance rained on me like a waterfall once the shirt was tugged over my head, my hair tumbling back down over my shoulders in waves. I savored every part of his sharp inhale as he took in the sight of me.
"Fuck, Morgan," he said. "You're so beautiful."
He was, too, even though it was weird to say it back—and as my layers came away, the more I wanted to see of him in return.
When his shirt came off, it revealed an expanse of chest that was new to me, as well as a marking I hadn't even realized was hiding underneath. Over his pec, there was a tattoo of a wolf: a black-and-white design split down the middle, one half a hyper-realistic drawing and the other a geometric pattern. The overall effect was striking, and I couldn't believe he'd never mentioned it before.
"I didn't know you had this."
His chin dipped, as if he was checking what I was talking about, before he met my gaze with a smile. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Moment of rebellion on my eighteenth birthday. I was kind of the dark and brooding type at the time—a little too invested in all the symbolism. It's supposed to represent a whole load of things."
"Like what?"
He looked vaguely embarrassed, but answered anyway. "Strength. Self-explanatory, really, but I had to grow up fast and I think that made me who I am. Fierce loyalty. To my brother, plus all the people who helped raise us over the years. But also independence. I don't want to be a lone wolf, but... at the same time, I know I could survive on my own if I had to."
I traced my fingers over the design, watching goosebumps form on his skin in the wake of my touch. It came with a sense of power I didn't expect to enjoy so much.
"I like it," I told him, holding eye contact. "It suits you."
From there, he captured my lips with his, dragging us both down toward the bed. His back hit the mattress first and I hovered above him. His feather-light touch trailed across my collarbone, down my back, past the curve of my hips—and then the breathy gasp that escaped my lips pulled an equal one from his mouth.
There was nothing to be nervous about.
Taking it slow was easy; Josh was the one that stretched things out, teasing me, until I was left squirming against him and silently begging for him to go further.
He didn't bat an eyelid when—at the same time he reached for a condom—I took Hanna's recommended purchase out of my bag and asked if we could try using it.
When I climbed on top of him, steadying myself with one hand against the headboard, he looked completely dazed, his eyes drifting up and down my body like I was some kind of goddess.
Hanna was right: afterward, I wasn't a changed woman.
But sometime after that night, things did begin to change.
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A short chapter today, but an important one nonetheless. It's hard to get the balance right between including enough detail and not going overboard, so I hope this feels right for the story. Let me know what you think!
