We had taken separate cars to the restaurant, and I drove on the way home. That helped me keep my mind off wondering whether things were going to be good or weird when Jonathan and I were alone again.
Was it better to be proactive about it? Ask him about whether it was my imagination he looked a little jealous when he came home and found her there? Or was it better to let it drop, don’t embarrass him with it and work harder to make him happy? But my way of making him happy, or making it up to him would have been sex. But I had questions about that. I should let him make the first move, I thought. Except he thought I was the one who dictated when we did or didn’t have sex. That was the thing. If it were up to me, the answer would always be yes, let’s have sex. It was hard for me to imagine not wanting to, unless we were really having a terrible fight. I mean, even when Ziggy and I were at our absolute worst, I never stopped wanting him.
So much for keeping my mind off wondering. Having to drive kept it to a dull roar, though.
Once we got into the house I found myself pouring a glass of ice water. “Want some?”
I poured two glasses and handed him one. My fingers touched his when I did.
I blurted out, “Does it have to be complicated?”
“Figuring out whether to have sex or not. I mean, just tell me if you’re too tired or too wrapped up or… or you know what? You don’t have to give me a reason. I don’t want to take it for granted. I get it now. I did really make the assumption that… that we’re…” Ah, damn words, why are they so hard to make sound the way you want?
He sipped. “We’re lovers, Daron. It was a reasonable assumption to make.”
“Okay. But there’s a difference, maybe, between a vacation to Mexico and… and… whatever this is we’ve got going on here.”
He gave me that “you’re being adorable again” smile, put down the water glass, and kissed me. I put mine down without looking and miraculously did not spill it. The kiss was very tender. Maybe that made me even hornier than a rough one would’ve. I don’t know.
And what went through my head at that point was this: Please don’t say no just to make a point. Please say yes, please say yes. Please Jonathan please.
Part of me wanted to prove that I didn’t need to have sex every single day to survive. Part of me wanted to prove that rational, mature human beings weren’t ruled by their dicks.
That part of me was completely drowned out by need. What would I do if he said no? At that moment I wasn’t rational enough to cook up good answers like, oh, jerk off in the bathroom.
He didn’t say no. Thank god. Slid down the front of me and pulled open my jeans and worshiped what stuck out with his tongue. Reminded me so very much of a caterer at a hotel not that far from here.
I pulled free of him before I could come, trying to ask him what he wanted, trying to ask what he was thinking since I didn’t know, trying to figure it all out, but I couldn’t get any words out, and so I let him coax me back into his mouth and finish me off.
When I finally got words back, we were in bed, cuddling. “Are you sure?”
He nuzzled me. “I’m sure.”
Except I wasn’t sure he’d known what I meant. “I mean, was that enough for you?”
“I’ll make love to you in the morning, when I’m recharged,” he said. “All right?”
“Only if you want to…”
“Daron. I want to. In the morning.”
“Okay. I don’t understand it, but I don’t have to. I’ll just accept it.”
“There’s this thing called delayed gratification,” he said.
“Oh. Is that what it is?”
“It’s a luxury to know I can wait and that you’ll still be here in the morning.”
“I suppose I can imagine that feeling.” I was drowsy with post-orgasmic haze.
He was drowsy with just being tired. “I’m going to wake up next to you, and be thrilled all over again that it’s you lying here next to me, and then I’m going to roll over and have my way with you.”
And it was.