Chapter 107

Flashbang! Surprise chapter. This chapter was only 3,800 words long, so I made it a bit longer.

Something 18+ about halfway through the chapter, read with caution.

Enjoy.

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Diane waved the strip of condoms like she was posing for one of those fisherman photos with their catch, smiling completely at ease. I, on the other hand, felt the air rush out of my lungs all at once.

I blinked, slowly turning my gaze back to the road.

My brain, which could effortlessly list the diagnostic criteria for paraneoplastic neurological syndrome and classify systemic vasculitis with multiorgan involvement, simply... collapsed for several seconds while I drove.

Driving on autopilot for a few seconds, I finally overcame the initial shock just enough to nod slightly and grip the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure I had heard correctly what Diane had said.

"Tissues and condoms," Diane replied, completely nonchalant.

I swallowed hard. I wasn't prepared for the natural way she repeated it. 

Diane, despite being fairly disconnected from what it meant to be a normal teenager, was usually reserved in front of others when it came to our relationship.

But now, there she was, talking about condoms with the same calm as someone mentioning they had gum in their bag. No blushing, no avoiding eye contact, no hidden innuendo. Just logic. Impeccable and practical reasoning, as if carrying them was as natural as carrying an umbrella just in case it rains.

Perhaps noticing my silence, Diane turned in her seat to face me. "Is it weird that I carry condoms?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"No, no," I replied immediately, "it just caught me off guard," I said, rationalizing that my reaction wasn't fair to Diane at all.

"I suppose your surprise makes sense. I did a bit of research on the matter," she said, in that tone of hers that mixed academic curiosity with an almost unsettling calm, "and it turns out a large number of serious romantic couples don't have sex until a considerable amount of time has passed. Months, sometimes over a year."

I glanced at her sideways, not interrupting. Research, where?

"And it's not because they don't want to," she continued, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "but because they often don't know how to talk about it. They don't know if it's appropriate, if the other person wants it, if they're on the same page. Sometimes they just don't talk about it. And when it's not talked about, it's assumed. And when it's assumed, it's usually misunderstood," she added.

Diane seemed to be quoting whatever research material she'd read, and just like when we were working on the paper, she became increasingly excited as she spoke, her words speeding up surprisingly.

"So I thought that instead of assuming, it would be better to be prepared. Not just physically, but mentally. To know what I think about the subject and why. Because whenever we do take that step in our relationship, I'd like it not to be something improvised, or something that just happens for no reason."

"That's good to know," I said, nodding slowly.

"Yeah, it is," Diane nodded. "Did you know there's a misconception about who takes the first step toward an active sexual relationship?"

"No, I didn't," I answered, much more relaxed about the topic now, seeing how eager Diane was to keep talking about it.

Sitting diagonally to face me. "Oh yeah, it's a really centralized and widely accepted idea that it's always the man who takes the first step in every aspect of a romantic relationship; the first to approach, declare intentions, kiss, propose to formalize the relationship, initiate a sex life… but that just doesn't hold up statistically. Just taking data from Texas alone, if you compare the average starting ages for romantic relationships between men and women and cross it with initial interaction data, there's a clear trend: in over a third of the cases, it's the woman who initiates first contact. Attribution bias distorts how we remember that afterward."

She shifted in her seat, carefully as if to avoid wrinkling her dress.

"Oh, and also," she added excitedly, giving a small bounce in her seat. "I discovered something no one talks about. No one. I had no idea there are dozens of contraceptive methods for women. And for men, for some reason, only three: barrier, surgical, and abstinence," she said, incredulous.

I couldn't help but chuckle, amused. "Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous."

"And surprisingly, despite there being a much larger variety of methods made for women, male condoms are incredibly cheaper than any of them. That's why Mandela gave me this," she added, raising the condoms again.

She paused. Seeming to absorb the very words that had just come out of her mouth.

"I find it curious that something so important is left so far out of everyday conversation," she said seriously, staring out the window for a moment. "It seems like it's only talked about when it's already too late. My mom talked to me about the dangers of early pregnancy and the ever-growing statistics of teenage mothers who have to put their future dreams aside to care for a baby, but she never talked to me about contraceptive methods."

Diane let out a short laugh, almost as if mocking that social irony. A moment later she turned to me, and for a second, her eyes softened.

"I'm not saying any of this because I'm expecting something tonight," she assured me, concerned, apparently thinking she was putting me on the spot.

Sure, the natural way she brought up the topic had surprised me, but that didn't mean the topic itself bothered me. Like Diane had confessed to me so many nights ago after that party, I too, over time, had had my fair share of dreams that involved her. From a purely biological and physiological standpoint, entirely normal.

"I read that it's really important to make it clear to your partner that there's no pressure or expectation because it could lead to performance issues, emotional disconnect, and even accumulated resentment," she explained, once again quoting something she'd read.

Where had she gotten all this information?

"My goal is for us to be able to talk about these kinds of things," she said softly, crossing her arms. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable at any point," she added, with a hint of disappointment on her face. "But I was worried we hadn't talked about the subject all this time. After all, you're the most important person to me," she stated calmly.

Taking her hand, which rested on her thigh, I smiled, genuinely happy.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," I assured her immediately, "you'll never make me uncomfortable. After all, you're also the most important person to me."

Diane exhaled softly, amused by my use of her line.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize this had been on your mind," I said, squeezing her hand.

I knew Diane and her fixation with the small things from wanting to live a normal life using the scientific method as an excuse to counting the average number of words we said in a normal conversation, comparing them statistically and acting to balance them. Looking at it now, it was obvious that at some point the next step in our relationship would start to worry her.

Laughing softly. "Oh yeah, ever since that party we went to, what was about to happen in this very car hasn't left my mind," she said calmly.

Snorting. "Oh… mine neither," I said, once again remembering what happened that day...

Now wait a minute.

"I don't have your memory, so correct me if I'm wrong," I said, smiling broadly, catching Diane's attention, her smile fading as if she immediately knew she had said too much. "I clearly remember you said you had no memory of that specific part of the night," I said playfully.

With her mouth half open, completely silent. Diane had been rendered speechless.

Narrowing my eyes. "You lied?" I asked slowly, surprised. "Diane Adler, you of all people, lied," I declared theatrically, unable to hide my amused smile as I watched Diane's relaxed attitude instantly disappear.

Pressing her lips together, nervous at having been caught in a lie. "I didn't lie," Diane defended herself immediately, "when I told you that, I really didn't remember what happened, possibly because of the veisalgia, it wasn't until I took my nap that I remembered," she added, covering her face, visibly embarrassed.

"So you remembered how you climbed onto my lap, telling me about a dream you had," I said, the memory of that night as fresh as ever in my mind.

"Stop," said Diane, squirming in her seat, still covering her face with her hands.

"I thought you wanted to talk more about these things?" I asked, quite enjoying seeing Diane so embarrassed.

"I take it back, this is embarrassing," Diane replied immediately, I could see her ears were a surprisingly bright shade of red.

Having had enough of Diane's 'suffering.' "It's okay, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," I said, gently pressing her knee.

Removing her hands from her face in a flash. "Oh there is," she exclaimed. "I wasn't in control of my actions," she added with a hint of desperation, "and I almost took advantage of you," she added, frustrated.

Raising my hand. "Wow," I said, genuinely surprised. "That's not how I remember it, in fact, it's completely the other way around," I clarified, amused. "I completely stopped myself from taking advantage of you, like you said, you weren't in control of your actions."

"Uh no," murmured Diane, shaking her head, puzzled. "I was the one who forced myself on you, I even moved your hands for you."

"Yeah, and it took a lot from me to stop it," I said, stopping as I spoke. "You were taking advantage of me," I exclaimed a second later, incredulous, joking. "You're a bad woman," I added, theatrically covering my chest with my free hand.

Hiding her face in her hands again. "Stop it," Diane pleaded, embarrassed.

Unable to hold it back any longer, I burst out laughing, making Diane look at me, puzzled.

"You might be surprised by this, but I was really enjoying that moment," I said, smiling broadly at Diane's astonished expression.

"Really?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, I told you when I stopped us, remember?" I asked. I vaguely recalled what had happened after that, before I carried her back to Meemaw's house.

"No, I only remember… that," Diane replied in a murmur, blushing again.

"Is this another lie?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, exaggeratedly intrigued.

With a light punch to my arm, which I barely registered, "No, it's not," Diane replied immediately.

It was incredibly amusing how Diane could go from speaking so eloquently about sexual health in a relationship to being embarrassed over an episode that clearly hadn't left her mind since then.

The rest of the ride to the restaurant, the conversation shifted to much more relaxed topics, allowing us to follow Bob's directions effortlessly and arrive at the restaurant with time to spare before our reservation.

Outside the restaurant, getting out of my car, I handed the keys to a guy in a burgundy uniform. "Thanks," I said to the valet, who smiled and opened the door on my side.

Following the advice Frank, Dr. Thomas's driver, had once given me on my first trip to Boston, I circled around the car. Before Diane could get out on her own, I offered my hand to help her.

"Thanks," she said, naturally wrapping her arm around mine once she was out of the car.

My car, Diane, and I stood out incredibly in front of the restaurant. With a painfully casual look, the Chevelle seemed even more out of place among the luxurious, elegant cars that flanked it. The same was true of us compared to the other guests, dressed with such refined and expensive taste they were easily thirty or forty years older. There wasn't a single person close to our age, except the staff.

"Should we?" I asked, feeling a bit out of place even before stepping inside the restaurant.

With a sweet smile. "Yes," Diane replied, apparently unaware, or perhaps indifferent to how much we stood out.

Inside the restaurant, it was more of the same. Like at Alessandro's in Boston, everything from the marble floor to the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling screamed luxury in every square inch. There were even gold inlays in the walls forming some kind of ornament.

A host in a dark suit approached us right away, offering a perfectly rehearsed smile. But, with my eyes increasingly attentive to small gestures, I noticed how he subtly inspected us as he walked over.

"Reservation under…?" he asked softly.

"John Duncan," I replied, catching Diane's attention.

"John," she murmured, smiling.

Of course, Diane knew my full name, it was on the authorship of our paper. Aside from that, I never really used my full name for anything, hence her reaction.

The man nodded, surprisingly without needing to look at the elegant notebook he held, and led us through tables filled with hushed conversations, tall glasses, and expensive watches. The general murmur was like a subtle symphony of restrained laughter, silverware against porcelain, and the occasional polite cough.

He seated us at a table next to one of the restaurant's walls, with a view of a beautifully painted lake scene, the painting was easily twice my height in length. Following another of Frank's tips, before sitting down, I pulled out a chair so Diane could sit with studied grace, not letting go of my arm until the last moment.

Before coming in, I had thought about how Diane and I stood out, like we didn't belong in a place like this. Looking at Diane at that moment, seated in the chair with her back straight but looking incredibly comfortable, with a small, calm smile on her face she clearly belonged there.

Just like I had done for her, the man who had led us to the table helped me with my own chair. "Thanks," I said, slightly uncomfortable at the physical proximity with the man.

He nodded politely, not losing that neutral smile that looked sculpted onto his face.

"Your waiter will be with you shortly," he informed us with a slight bow of his head, before disappearing among the tables with the same discretion with which he had arrived.

I watched his figure move away.

"John Duncan, huh?" said Diane, tilting her head slightly toward me with a smile that barely concealed a hint of mockery.

"Sounds better on the phone than PJ," I replied, raising my eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked, curious.

"Well, I don't know if you noticed, but we're the only people at a table under thirty," I said, nodding toward the restaurant around us.

Scanning the place. "I hadn't noticed," Diane murmured, surprised.

"Oh, didn't see that woman over there, she's possibly in her late twenties," I added, spotting a couple at a far-off table. The woman was accompanied by a man who could easily be pushing sixty. I seriously doubted they were father and daughter.

"So we're not the only ones under thirty," Diane murmured, smiling.

"I guess not," I said, much more relaxed now, remembering that I was there for a date with Diane. My thoughts about belonging didn't matter much when she was sitting across from me, smiling so easily.

Thinking about it coldly, it was kind of hard to remember a time when Diane didn't smile constantly, she had come a long way since then.

Just then, the waiter arrived.

With a measured gesture, he introduced himself, placed two glasses of water in front of us, and handed us the menus with refined precision it seemed like his movements were rehearsed. A moment later, leaving us with the promise of returning 'when we were ready to order,' he walked away.

"Thanks," Diane said naturally, without thinking. A moment later, I echoed her.

Opening the menu, I blinked a few times.

"It's all in French," I murmured, as if saying it aloud would magically change the language. Not everything was written in French below each dish, written in neat script, was a short list of the ingredients in English, but even then, it didn't really explain what the dish was.

"Correct," said Diane, flipping through hers calmly.

I looked at her sideways. "You know French?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Diane replied offhandedly. "I also speak a bit of German and Russian."

"A bit?"

I had no idea Diane spoke languages other than English. Though to be fair, it made a lot of sense for someone with her intellect. It was still surprising that after all the time we'd spent together, there were still things I didn't know.

Closing the menu and placing it on the table. "I've been fluent since I was ten," Diane clarified, smiling softly.

"I figured," I said, chuckling.

"The best math books are written in Russian," Diane explained, shrugging.

Makes sense.

Closing the menu, which wasn't much use to me. "Do you think they serve hamburgers and chocolate milkshakes?" I asked, joking.

Softly laughing at my joke. "Do you need help ordering?" Diane asked me.

"Yes," I replied immediately. "I trust your recommendation, order whatever you want."

Diane nodded with a small smile, just as the waiter returned with a notepad ready.

The way Diane ordered was so natural that the waiter even gave her a genuine smile upon hearing her. I nodded politely, though I didn't understand a single word that had just come out of her mouth.

Once he walked away with the menus in hand, I shot Diane an inquisitive look.

"Okay, what did you just order?" I asked, interested.

"For you, a magret de canard with rosemary mashed potatoes and currant sauce."

"Magret de… what?" I asked, snorting.

"Canard," Diane repeated, pronouncing it softly. "It's duck breast. They cook it slowly and the skin turns crispy. You're going to love it."

"Duck," I murmured, nodding slowly. I had never eaten duck, I suppose it couldn't taste that different from chicken. "What did you order?"

"A filet de bar au fenouil. Sea bass with fennel and lemon caviar."

"Filé de… bar... au… funul," I tried to repeat it, exaggerating the pronunciation a bit.

Achieving my goal, Diane let out a soft laugh, which she immediately tried to hide by covering her mouth. "Really close," she said, smiling broadly.

"You're making fun of me," I said, pretending to be offended.

"No, no, I mean it," she assured me, struggling to contain her smile and failing miserably.

"All right then, have you ever eaten filé debar aufun-hul before?" I asked, focusing on butchering the dish's pronunciation even more, a dish I had doubted I could pronounce in the first place.

Doing her best not to smile at my obviously failed pronunciation attempt. "Once, at a colleague dinner at MIT," Diane replied.

Now knowing there were still things I didn't know about Diane, we continued chatting about nothing in particular until the food arrived.

The food turned out to be absolutely spectacular. The duck, which tasted like no chicken I'd ever had before in my life, had a perfect texture, and the combination of the crispy skin and the sweet-and-sour sauce was so good that I occasionally forgot to fake good manners. Diane seemed to enjoy hers just as much, though she ate with delicate movements the entire time, unlike me.

The music, a mix of soft strings and live piano, complemented the ambiance without interrupting the conversation. We talked about nonsense, serious things, the paper, Meemaw and her eccentric advice, and Mrs. Cooper, who had surprisingly become a sort of maternal figure for Diane, at least judging by the way she talked about her.

Without realizing it, more than three hours had passed. The restaurant was still full, but at our table, time had slid by unhurriedly.

We ordered just one dessert, which I ended up eating on my own after Diane took two timid spoonfuls, and for a few more minutes we kept talking, stretching the moment out as long as possible.

Finally, when the plate was empty and the waiter brought us the bill, I couldn't help but frown at the amount. For my still fairly frugal mind, paying hundreds of dollars for a dinner for two was something I never thought I'd do. But knowing I could afford it, possibly for every dinner for the rest of my life, I pulled out my wallet after the initial shock and paid, stopping Diane before she could even try.

"It's not fair for you to pay for everything tonight," she said, frowning. "You covered the gas both ways, at least let me help a little with dinner."

"I told you it's a dinner to celebrate finishing the paper. You helped me without any kind of compensation," I replied, gently forcing the hundred-dollar bill she had tried to take out of her purse back into her hand.

"I have co-authorship," Diane argued, trying, unsuccessfully, to free her hand.

I wasn't trying very hard to stop her.

"That's not enough compensation and you know it," I said, smiling softly.

Anyone else, unless they were investigating a genuinely interesting topic, I'm sure wouldn't have given the same level of dedication Diane did. Having her help was practically like cheating, and anyone would agree to pay any amount after watching her work.

"At least let me cover the tip," she said, glancing at the bills I had already left on the receipt.

Oh. I had completely forgotten you were supposed to leave a tip.

"No, you can pay for the next date," I responded, feigning nonchalance, as if I hadn't forgotten, pulling out another bill from my wallet and placing it on the small silver tray the waiter had brought.

After a few seconds, making a small pout in an attempt to convince me. "All right," Diane accepted, defeated.

Obviously, it was already late at night when we left. The air outside was colder than I had expected. Diane had barely stepped through the door when she visibly shivered. Without thinking twice, I took off my jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

Without thinking twice, I took off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Leaning against my arm. "Thank you," she said with a soft smile, hugging herself inside the jacket, which was several sizes too big for her.

Handing over the ticket the valet had given me when we arrived, we waited at the restaurant entrance for my car to show up. Suddenly, I felt Diane's fingers press gently into my bicep, catching my attention.

Pressed against my side, she seemed distracted as she traced my arms, covered by my white shirt, with her fingers. That's when I realized, probably too late, how tight it was. My arms, now visibly broader than when London had bought the shirt for me months ago, stretched the fabric along with my chest and shoulders.

I didn't want to sound arrogant, but thanks to months of training and a strict diet, I had gained quite a bit of weight… most of it muscle.

Diane, noticing my amused expression, blushed softly, though she didn't stop tracing my arm with the tip of her fingers.

Biting her lip subtly. "John Duncan," she murmured, raising her eyebrows suggestively. A shiver ran down my spine.

A moment later, 'Debbie' pulled up in front of us, breaking the moment. The engine roared as always, drawing attention from the other people outside the restaurant.

Immediately, to keep her warmer, I opened the door for Diane, helping her in with an ease that felt almost rehearsed, then walked around the car to get in on my side after slipping another bill to the valet, who still wore his smile.

On the drive back to Medford, we didn't talk much. Diane put one of her favorite albums on the stereo and shifted slightly sideways, still leaning against my arm, holding my hand.

The drive back, aside from the music, was completely silent. Nothing needed to be said. Diane simply caressed the back of my hand with her thumb up, down, over and over, forcing me to genuinely concentrate on driving and not on her cold, soft fingers against my skin.

The streetlights passed over us in soft flashes. Diane hummed along to some notes in rhythm with the music. And before long, we were home again.

Turning off the engine several houses before reaching our destination, coasting the rest of the way. I parked the car in front of my house easily.

Inside the car, only the streetlamps remained lit. The neighboring houses were all dark, sunk in deep silence.

With the engine off, the music also went silent. Technically, we could have gotten out several seconds ago, but neither of us moved right away.

Several seconds later, Diane was the first to open the door. I followed her closely as we walked to Meemaw's house, and while we climbed the porch steps, our hands still intertwined, something felt different.

Before I could think about it too much, we were already at the door.

Diane opened it and turned to say something, but I didn't give her the chance. I leaned in and kissed her.

It was a long kiss, unhurried. Diane, apparently expecting it too, leaned in to deepen the kiss, holding the back of my neck with both hands. The jacket still hung off her shoulders, but her fingers now closed around my nape with a soft firmness. As if she needed something to hold onto.

When we finally pulled apart, she kept her eyes closed a second longer than necessary. When she opened them, her gaze was unfocused, as if she were intoxicated… or dreaming.

And then, without letting go of me, she brought her hand to the other side of my body, to the arm where I wore my watch, and held it too, checking the time.

"Meemaw won't be back for another hour top," she said, avoiding eye contact, biting her lower lip with a mixture of nervousness and desire that almost knocked me off balance.

Her words needed no explanation.

I didn't think twice either.

I kissed her again, this time with more force. My free arm wrapped tightly around her waist, moving us forward through the door without letting go.

We entered still kissing, guided more by memory than sight, with the lights completely off. I closed the door behind me with a soft click.

We moved slowly through the shadowed house, stumbling slightly amid whispers and soft laughter. The jacket slipped from her shoulders and was left forgotten in the hallway. My fingers found the curve of her waist, and her breath quickened against my neck.

When we finally reached her room, I stopped, mentally preparing myself to ask Diane if she was sure about what was coming. But as I pulled away, I lasted only a fraction of a second before she leaned in again, forcing the kiss to continue.

That was all I needed.

Losing any remaining inhibition, I easily lifted Diane by her waist, immediately catching her by the thighs once her legs wrapped around my hips.

I carried her carefully to the bed, her lips still firmly anchored to mine. The world had shrunk to the space between our breaths. As I leaned over her, her legs still wrapped around my waist, her fingers played at my neck, slowly moving toward the front of my body where they found the first buttons of my shirt, unbuttoning them clumsily and anxiously.

Strangely feeling much more relaxed at that moment than at the start, I held her hands, slowly kissing the side of her face, then down to her jaw, her neck, and collarbone. All with the intention of calming the racing pulse I felt in her wrists.

I pulled back just enough to take my shirt off completely. Diane, eyes fixed on my chest, extended a trembling hand to trace it slowly with the tips of her extremely cold fingers, from the collarbone down to the line of my abdomen. Despite the chill of her skin, her touch contrasted deliciously with my warm body.

Her fingers paused for a second, and when I looked up, she was half smiling with her lip between her teeth, as if she knew just how much that small gesture drove me crazy.

"That's not fair," she murmured, surprisingly teasing.

I laughed softly, leaning in to kiss her neck again. "No, it's not," I whispered against her ear, feeling her immediately tense. "You're beautiful," I said, running my hands down her arms all the way to her waist.

"I'm not talking about that," she explained, breathless, wrapping her arms around my head, pulling me against her neck, which I gladly kissed again.

After a few seconds, Diane let go of my head, allowing my lips, which had been busy at her neck and collarbone, to return to hers.

"It doesn't matter," I said between short kisses. "You're absolutely beautiful," I added, pulling back to look at Diane fully.

Even at night, with only a bit of light coming in through the corners of the curtains in Diane's room, I could see her completely. Her eyes tightly shut, blushing all the way to her ears, a slight sheen of sweat on her face and neck, breathing heavily like she had just run a marathon. Yes, definitely beautiful.

Opening her eyes, intrigued by my sudden distance, she immediately avoided my gaze. "Let me take off my dress," she murmured, caressing her lips softly.

Without needing to be asked twice, and again effortlessly, I helped her to her feet, this time switching places. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stared at Diane, who, trying her best, glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened up slightly, took the hem of her dress, pulled it over her head in measured movements, and let it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a black lingerie set, simple but surprisingly delicate, with small lace details that left little to the imagination.

It was my turn to be completely speechless.

A few moments later, holding one of her arms without making eye contact. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Not fair, you said?" I asked, unable to stop myself from smiling ironically. "I think you're not playing fair," I said, feigning offense, stretching out my hand without getting up from the bed. "How do you expect me to focus with you dressed like that in front of me?"

Finally raising her gaze, Diane smiled softly, her eyes shining with a mix of relief and desire. The previous insecurity in her expression, in the way she held her arm, in how her body seemed torn between retreating or taking the next step, vanished as she took my hand and stepped between my legs.

"I read that… wearing pretty lingerie helps you feel sexier," she said quietly, as if confessing something embarrassing. "So I bought a lot."

Snorting softly, I leaned in, still seated, and kissed her collarbone, just beneath her jaw. "Besides being beautiful, you're incredibly sexy," I said confidently, leaving a trail of kisses down her body, all the while watching her face to make sure I wasn't doing anything she didn't enjoy.

Closing her eyes, Diane tilted her head back slightly, pressing my neck against her body, silently urging me to keep kissing.

When I reached just above her belly button, it became impossible for me to bend down any further in the position we were in. Holding Diane's waist, I stood up.

"I need to take off my pants," I explained, seeing the hesitation in her face.

"Oh," Diane murmured, lowering her gaze.

I really did need to take off my pants, it was starting to hurt.

Laughing softly, Diane stretched up on her tiptoes, reaching for my lips in a practically desperate kiss. She was definitely gaining confidence.

Freeing myself of my pants, I wrapped Diane in my arms, pressing her against my abdomen. Holding her again by the waist, I lifted her and sat down with her on my lap.

Pulling back from the kiss, her arms around my neck, "My bra," Diane whispered against my ear. When I had done it earlier, I hadn't realized how incredible it felt.

Following her lead, after feeling her breath on my neck, I fumbled with the clasp of the garment for a couple of awkward seconds until I finally managed. Diane tensed for just a moment, then exhaled deeply and let the garment slip from her shoulders, dropping it silently to the floor.

Letting my eyes travel over Diane's body, taking mental 'pictures' I knew I'd never forget, I caressed her side, outlining the curve of her breasts with my thumbs, feeling the involuntary shiver that ran through her body. Diane let out a soft sigh, clinging to me even more.

"Can I?" she asked, voice trembling, again next to my ear.

I knew what she meant with her question, and above all, I knew the answer long before she even asked. "Yes," I responded almost immediately, taking even more of her breasts in my hands.

It didn't really matter what she was asking, in that moment, I would've said yes to anything.

In a slow movement that was killing me, Diane ran her hands down my chest, to my abdomen where they lingered for a moment, breathing heavily against my chin.

Finally, when one of her hands slipped under my boxer briefs, it was my turn to tense. A mix of pleasure and surprise from the cold hit me all at once, completely wiping out my ability to think clearly.

Seeking her lips with a bit of desperation, I silently begged her to keep exploring as she pleased.

Pulling back for a second. "Touch me more," Diane asked softly.

I obliged immediately, caressing the smooth skin offered to me without reservation, reaching up to the two pink peaks, feeling how they tightened under my fingertips. The way her body responded, the movement of her breathing guiding the intensity with which I touched her.

Diane closed her eyes and tilted her head onto my shoulder, her warm breath hitting my neck as my hands continued exploring with a mix of clumsiness and reverence. The softness under my fingers, the erratic rhythm of her breath, the slight tremble in her thighs, everything seemed to tell me that what I was doing was right… that I should keep going.

A moment later, her hand, which until then had only been holding me, began to explore me gently. It was my turn to tense, breathing against her neck.

Then, with a smile I hadn't seen before bolder, more confident. Against my strongest desire in that moment, she pulled away from me, reaching for her handbag, quickly rummaging through her things.

From it, she pulled out a strip of silver foil packets.

Tearing one off and studying it for a second, she looked up. "Do you know how to use it?" she asked curiously.

I had a vague idea, mostly theoretical. Since it was latex, I knew you had to be careful with air bubbles. The rest should be like a glove.

Before I could respond or take the condom from her hand, just at that instant, as if the universe had a particularly cruel sense of humor, the house phone rang.

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Horny Police. Bonk!

My first time writing something '+18'. As I've said several times, I'm a regular reader of the romance genre, which is full of it so I more or less know how it should be, but again, this is my first time, so I'd love to hear your thoughts (please VALIDATE me!!!).

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As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, not a fighter, not Magnus Carlsen, not Michael Phelps, not Arsene Lupin, not McLovin, not Elliot, not Capone and not Pauline Réage.

Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:

11332223

RandomPasserby96

Victor_Venegas

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.