(Now) Kinsley: The Seventh Date

I pulled up in front of Damien's house and fought down the mix of nerves and excitement that were bubbling up, threatening to overcome me.  I tried to reason with myself that it still might not happen today.  I had never waited this long for sex, and it definitely turned it into something really...complicated.  On one hand, it felt a lot more important and the build up was insane.  On the other, the build up was insane.  What if it sucked?  What a let down.  And then all this time and anticipation, wasted.

As I walked up the sidewalk to his house, he pulled open the door and grinned at me.  I couldn't help but smile back, and some of my nerves dissipated.   He pulled me into a tight hug.  "Hey baby," he said softly into my ear, before pulling back to kiss me.  "I'm glad you're here.  You look great."  He took the bottle of wine I offered him. 

As he opened it and poured us each a glass, we discussed what to order for dinner.  When we finally settled on something, he called and placed our order, then led me to the couch.  We sat with our wine and he asked, "Did you have a good week?"

That question out of anyone else's mouth would get an answer of, "Yeah, it was fine, how was yours?"  But he looked at me expectantly and curiously and I knew he actually cared.  "It was slow," I said.  "Which is weird, because we're getting close to the deadline for return extensions.  Normally we have a lot more people scrambling in now in a panic.  I'm sure now that I've said that, next week will be insane."

He chuckled.  "I suppose it's too much to hope for that people are planning ahead better suddenly, huh?"

"Definitely," I replied with a smile.  "Tell me about yours."

"Busy.  Paperwork busy, though, not case busy.  Now that summer is over, things usually slow down a little as far as cases, at least for a couple months."  We chatted easily until our food arrived, and then we ate.  After eating, he poured us each another glass of wine and we went back to the couch.  He didn't even bother with the TV.  We just sat and talked, and it was so comfortable, so familiar.  When I had finished my glass of wine, he took the empty glass from my hand and set it on the end table, along with his own almost empty glass. 

"Come here," he commanded softly, his voice husky.  I moved over to him, and he kissed me.  My lips parted automatically for him as his fingers moved into my hair.  He eased me backwards until I was laying across the couch.  I felt him, hard against my hip.  My hand moved to stroke him through his jeans, but I was suddenly self-conscious, not wanting to push too far if he didn't want to.  He sensed my hesitation and immediately stopped kissing me, looking seriously down at me.  "Do you want to stop?" he asked me.

I shook my head.  "No," I said firmly.  "Do you?"

He brought his lips back to mine, then trailed kisses from my mouth to my ear.  "No," he whispered.  "Not tonight.  Tonight I want as much of you as you'll give me."  Jesus.  Normally, I'd think that was such a lame and cheesy line, but for some reason, in this moment those words practically made my panties fall off all by themselves. 

I gripped his shirt in my fists and kissed him hard, and he kissed me back hungrily.  "Bedroom," he growled, standing and pulling me to my feet.  This was a totally different side of the quietly confident man I had gotten to know, and I liked bossy, demanding Damien.  I liked knowing that it was me that caused him to be bossy and demanding.  He led me to his bedroom and pulled off my shirt as he was kicking the door closed.  Next was my bra, then my pants.  He backed me up to the bed but I stopped him.

"No fair," I quipped, starting to unbutton his shirt.  He yanked it off over his head instead and stepped out of his jeans, leaving us both in just our underwear.  Then I was laying on my back across his bed.  He flicked his tongue across one nipple, while his fingers teased the other, gently pulling on it and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.  I groaned and arched up against him, desperate for more.  His hand slid down my stomach, across my hips, down one thigh and up the other, touching me everywhere but where I needed him to.  Finally, he tugged my underwear to the side and slid one finger, then two, inside me.  I moaned and gripped his arms tightly as he moved them, slowly at first, then faster.

"Please," I breathed.  He looked at me, dark eyes smoldering.  "I need..."  But I couldn't manage to say anything else.

"This?" he asked, pressing his thumb against me.

"Yes," I gasped as I came violently, arching up nearly off the bed.  I was still dazed and sensitive when he slid down the bed and dragged my underwear down my legs.  I barely managed to lift my hips to help him.  I felt his lips travel up my thigh, until he gently nipped the very top of my inner thigh.  Then his mouth was on me, teasing, licking, and sucking, and I was incapable of forming any sort of lucid thought. 

I was coming down from my second orgasm when I heard a drawer slide open.  I opened my eyes and looked at him.  My eyes traveled his sculpted body before landing on his hand.  He held up a condom.  "Do you want to keep going?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I replied, blinking to try to clear my head.  "But I'm going to need a couple minutes to recover first."  He chuckled and laid down next to me, drawing his hand up my hip, stomach, and chest to stroke the back of my neck.

"Take as many minutes as you need," he said, kissing my cheek.  I turned my head so our lips met and we kissed lazily for several seconds before I sat up and pushed him onto his back.  He lifted his hips so I could roll his boxers down and off.  I stroked him several times before taking him into my mouth.  "Jesus, Kinsley," he groaned, his hands fisting in my hair.  

After maybe 30 seconds, he used his grip on my hair to tilt my face gently up towards him.  I stopped and looked at him.  "You need to stop, I don't want to finish like this."  I nodded, and he pulled me back up towards him.  He had the condom on in seconds and was on top of me.  He kissed me as he pushed into me and I moaned against his mouth.

After all the buildup, it didn't last long, but it didn't matter.  The second round went much longer, and by the time we finished the third, I was wondering if I'd be able to walk in the morning.  Finally, we were both spent.  He tried to pull me into a spooning position but I involuntarily stiffened.  Physical touch that wasn't leading to sex was another strange area for me.  He withdrew his arm immediately, leaving just his hand on my hip.  I rolled over to face him and nudged him onto his back.  I scooted up against his side and dropped my head onto his chest.  There, that was much more comfortable for me.  He tentatively wrapped an arm around my back and when I relaxed into him, he brought his other hand up to my shoulder, stroking down my arm.

"Not used to cuddling after sex?" he teased me.  Coming from anyone else, I would have been affronted, but since it was coming from him, I laughed.

"No, I'm not," I admitted.  "I think I could get used to it though."  His hand continued its slow, lazy path up and down my arm, and my eyelids grew heavy.  "You know," I mused sleepily, "Maybe there is some value in waiting awhile and not just jumping into bed."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, his hand pausing before continuing its descent down my arm.    "Why do you say that?"

"Because that is easily the best sex I've ever had."

He laughed softly.  "I'd hazard a guess that we can attribute maybe 25% of that to waiting a little bit."

"And the other 75%?" I asked curiously.

"That probably has more to do with that 'strange effect' I have on you."  I could hear the smirk in his voice, and I blushed remembering my drunken confession a couple weeks before.  "And maybe a little bit of the strange effect you have on me."  That soothed my burning cheeks and I smiled against his chest. 

I laid there until I could barely keep from falling asleep.  Then I sat up and stretched.  "I should get going," I said.

He sat up too, and looked at me in confusion.  "You can stay," he offered.

"Thank you, but I'm going to go home," I replied.  Now he looked confused and slightly hurt.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as I pulled my clothes back on.

I looked up at him and nodded.  I was trying to figure out how to explain why I didn't want to stay.  Once I wrestled my shirt back over my head I sat down on the edge of the bed.  "I'm great, better than I've been in a long time," I assured him.

"Then why are you leaving?" he asked, standing and pulling his jeans on.  I was impressed.  That question could have easily come out as a challenge, but instead it was pure curiosity.

I was still struggling to figure out how to explain it to him, about how there was nothing more vulnerable than being asleep next to someone you hadn't known for long, and that was terrifying to me, when I was hit with a sudden inspiration.  "You know how you wanted to move slowly physically?  Because sex is important, and intimate, and you wanted it to be part of a more meaningful relationship this time?"  He nodded.  "To me, sleeping next to someone is even more intimate than sex.  It's allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable with them.  And I've never shared that with any guy."

I could tell by his face that he was processing this information.  I gave it some time to sink in, then I took a deep breath and plowed forward.  "I want to share it with you, but I'm not ready."

His face softened when I told him that and he nodded again before standing and walking over to me.  He pulled me to my feet and stood, holding my hands in each of his.  "You've never spent the night with a guy?" he asked.  I shook my head.  I was anxious.  Did he think this was weird?  Did he think that there was something wrong with me?  That something awful had happened to make me this way?  Troy did--my last "relationship", in college.  I was always having to justify not spending the night.  I never, not in four months, trusted him enough to stay.

"I understand," he said softly.  "I hope I'll be the first....when you're ready."  I was relieved, so relieved that he didn't think I was crazy.  Or if he did, that he didn't say so out loud.  He smiled at me.  "Thank you for explaining," he said. 

"Thank you for not telling me I'm a crazy person," I said back, grinning, desperate for a joke to lighten the intensity of what had just transpired.

"There are plenty of things you do that are crazy," he teased, "but this is not one of them."

He walked me to the door, and I almost didn't leave.  The sight of him in just his low slung jeans made me want to shove him up against the wall and fuck him senseless.  Again.  At the door, he turned to me and said, "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"I have plans tomorrow with Olivia and Lauren," I reported with disappointment.  "Sunday?"

"Sunday works.  I'll call you tomorrow and we'll figure out what we're going to do."  He glanced at the clock, then turned concerned eyes back to me.  "It's late.  Let me know that you made it home, please?"

"I will," I promised.  "Goodnight, Damien."

He kissed me tenderly, pulling away just before I would have insisted on staying for just 15 minutes more, and said, "Goodnight Kinsley."