His mouth was everywhere the soap wasn’t and when he finished lathering, he held both my wrists in his hands and slid his body against mine, increasing my arousal exponentially until I was brainless.

“Repeat after me.” Martin’s voice was low, impatient and demanding, his tongue licking water droplets from my jaw as he released my wrists and smoothed his hands down my sides to my hips.

“I, Kaitlyn…”

“I, Kaitlyn...”

He lifted me as though it were the easiest thing in the world. My hands came to his shoulders and enjoyed how they bunched as he flexed his muscles. He spread my legs wide and rubbed his hardness against the yielding slickness of my center.

“Want you, Martin...”

“Want you, Martin—”

I sucked in a sudden breath as he pushed inside me, his face at my neck sucking and biting and licking.

“To take me in the shower…”

“To take…me…in…the shower…”

Everything about this act felt more crucial than I’d remembered, so much more necessary on a base and instinctual level.

“…and make love to me for hours.”

“To…to…”

I couldn’t finish. I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to feel. I glanced down at him and our bodies where they joined. I enjoyed the sight of our connection—his hard against my soft, my legs spread wide to accommodate his size. I watched my wet breasts moving up and down in time with his rhythm, bouncing in his face; his rigid and sculpted body curved toward mine as I arched away from the wall. It was the sight of us together—of me with him—that made me feel sexy, overwhelmed by how crazy hot we looked.

I wondered if we could install a mirror in the shower.

Aaaaand, with that thought I came—assaulted by water and steam, the slick sliding of his body with mine, and the realization this was the first of many happy—and sexy—memories.

***

When we crawled into bed it was because we needed sleep. But instead of sleeping, we found ourselves facing each other naked, cuddling and touching, and discussing plans for the future. These plans ranged from the various trips we wanted to take together, to various places we wanted to have the sex—he wanted to christen all the showers in his apartment, meanwhile I wanted to lay claim to his desk at work—to a new gaming store that had opened in Times Square. Martin insisted he’d take me the next time we were in the city. We discussed that my father was visiting at the end of February and where we should take him for dinner.

“Don’t worry,” Martin squeezed me, “I’ll be nice to your dad.”

I let my amusement and confusion show on my face. “Well, I should certainly hope so.”

He gave me a wry look. “You know what I mean. I’ve been practicing.”

“Being nice?”

“Yes.”

I rolled my lips between my teeth because his features held an expression of extreme consternation and I didn’t think it would be wise to laugh at him. “How’s that going for you?”

“It’s been...difficult, but sometimes good.”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah, like that annoying girl you work with at the coffee shop.”

“You think Chelsea is annoying?” I was surprised. I’d never met anyone—especially a man—who thought she was anything but wonderful.

“She’s vain and irritating. In fact, she reminds me of my mother, always expecting strangers to adore her.”

I felt my eyebrows jump at his accurate—albeit simplified—description of my co-worker. Perhaps Martin’s tendency to value perceived goodness and genuineness stemmed from his disdain for his mother.

After a beat Martin surprised me by changing the subject. “Do you want to perform at the benefit your parents were talking about? Yes or no?”

I hesitated, took a moment to trace my index finger over the line of his collarbone. “Kind of. But I don’t want to do it because my parents think I need to be more impressive. I like playing in my little band. Just being around music every day is a dream come true. I don’t need accolades and attention.”

“But you saying no just because your parents think you need to be more impressive is allowing them to dictate what you do. If you’re saying no because of what they think, that’s just as bad as saying yes because of what they think.”

I frowned at him and his sensible words. Stupid sensible words.

Meanwhile he smiled at me like he knew what I was thinking, and he knew I knew he was right. His smile turned smug.

“Fine,” I admitted finally. “You’re right. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No. I already knew I was right. I was hoping for something more like, Oh, Martin, you are a sexy genius. I can’t live without you and your big…head.”

I couldn’t help my sudden laugh, though I did smack him on the shoulder. He continued his smugly smiling ways and leaned forward to give me a kiss.

“Seriously though, do it if you want to do it. Or don’t. But make the decision based on what you want to do, not to avoid or cater to someone else’s expectations.”

I nodded, feeling my chest flood with warmth and affection. He really was my mirror. He was on my side. We were a team. We moved in unison, toward a common goal, and it was a beautiful thing.

Martin’s hands hadn’t quite settled on my body. He’d move them every so often—from my hip to my thigh, from my thigh to my breast—like he was taking full advantage of his all-access pass. It had the byproduct of warming me up.

Apropos of nothing, I pushed, “But getting back to having the sex on your desk at work, what days next week are you free for lunch?”

He gave me a funny look, like he thought I’d been bluffing earlier. “You really want to do that?”

“Yes. Do you have walls or blinds?”

“Walls facing the rest of the office, but windows to the outside.”

“Good.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Technically, you have—”

“Ha, ha.”

“But, actually…nothing. I just like the sex. I like the sex with you. I like how sexy it makes me feel. I like the making out and the foreplay, and the orgasming. I like thinking about it and planning our next encounter. And, even though I am a girl, I don’t think that makes me weird. I think it means I have a healthy sexual appetite, and I’m in love with the man I crave. I refuse to apologize for it.”

His mouth hooked to the side. “I’d never ask you to apologize for it.”

“Good. Because I won’t.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed on me, like he was in deep thought, but his smile never wavered.

Then he said, “In the closet.”

I waited for him to explain. When he just continued to look at me, his eyes heated with meaning, I prompted, “What about the closet?”

“Let’s make love in the closet.”

“But we’ve already done that.”

“No. I mean all the closets. Every closet we can find.”

I grinned. “Every closet?”

“Yes.”

I threw my head back and laughed, thinking of all the closets in the world and how I’d struggled to avoid them, to avoid indulging my fears and reclusive inclinations, now that I’d found the courage to follow my heart. Little did I know following my heart would bring me right back to the closet.

But this time I would be with Martin and we would be making love. Or maybe we wouldn’t.

Maybe we’d just be sharing a private moment alone.

Maybe we’d be hiding from the world—just a little—but that was okay.

Because the world could be unpleasant and overwhelming. A demanding place full of uncertainties and expectations and fears. I was coming to realize retreating, hiding from the world on occasion, was not a bad thing to do, as long as I didn’t do it too often or because I was afraid of living my life.

Sharing a closet with Martin—closed away from everything else but our mutual love, respect, and devotion—might be a very healthy thing. We were a team, a perfectly situated pair of sidekicks.

And sharing a closet with my sidekick sounded like paradise.

~THE END~