22. JACK

Iopened my eyes, for a moment unsure where I was. The morning sun trickled in under the drapes. I was on a bed, not the sofa bed. Finally, a naked form nestled against me, the warmth of skin against skin and legs looped around legs.

Finally, it came to me, all of it, in the single, pin-sharp moment: the night before, Paul and I had made love.

Yes, we had made love – not had sex,not fucked – we had made love. I was married to someone for a very long time. I knew the difference. I knew the connection one has that the others did not necessarily have.

Paul and I had that connection the night before. I looked down at him, cuddling up to me in his sleep, his fair hair, pale skin, and slim body curling into mine. His mouth was against my left pec, his lips just touching the skin. He looked so completely comfortable like that, like we had been lovers for years. He was breathing softly, gently, asleep.

With his soft sleep-breathing pushing in waves against me, I lay there in blissful silence. We had made love a few times during the night after that first electric time.

Now, how did I feel? I didn’t always find it easy to know or name my emotions. But looking at him there, I knew that I was happy.

I lay there like that, with him loosely in my arms, pressed against my bigger body, for a long time. Eventually, I needed to get up. Very gently, I pulled myself away from him, so carefully. Like a dozing puppy, he rolled naturally, facedown, onto the mattress.

Once he was settled, I made my way to the bedroom window. I pulled back the drapes a tiny amount to see the new day. It was Monday morning, sunny, and down below in the street, London was getting ready for a new week at work. People in business attire queued for coffees and talked on cell phones.

As I stood there in the golden light of morning, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. What next? I did not know. It was too soon to start asking what would be next, even if it was sensible for us to do so.

With a smile on my lips, I padded into the living room, softly opening and closing the bedroom door behind me.

Looking around at the disheveled state in which I had left things when Paul had found me at the window the night before, I stripped the linens from the sofa bed. As I did so, I did not know if I would be using them again. Would Paul and I sleep together every night now, making love every night?

Maybe I wanted that.

No, I did want it.

I was thirsty. I went to get a glass of water in the kitchenette and then decided I wanted to go back to bed, even though it would soon be enough time for us to go to work. I wanted to lie beside him naked again, wanted to hold him, wanted him to wake in my arms.

Just as gently as before, I slipped back into the bed. As I did so, quite unconsciously, Paul turned toward me, and his hand idly traced a delicate path up my stomach and chest. He moved a little, and I realized he was waking up.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice croaky with sleep and sex. He opened his eyes and looked up at me from the mattress with his hand still on my chest. “Everything okay?”

I returned his smile.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Actually, more than okay. Everything is great.”

Paul’s gaze lingered on mine.

“Are you okay with what happened?” he asked.

“I’m really okay with what happened,” I said.

Paul’s smile widened.

“Me too,” he said, his blue eyes gazing up at mine.

***

It was his idea that we get up and shower together. He joked that the cubicle was certainly big enough. Side by side, we padded barefoot to the bathroom.

At the doorway, I stood aside for him to enter, and I put my hand on his bare butt as he walked inside. As I did so, he turned and looked at me with those pretty blue eyes.

In the bathroom, the sound of running water from the thunderous showerhead filled the air. Steam filled the cubicle space almost immediately. We stepped inside, the water cascading over both of us.

He splashed water up my chest and swept it, warm, over my shoulders, biceps, and forearms.

“Who would’ve thought we’d be sharing a shower when we got here?” I said as I reached for the shampoo.

Paul chuckled. As the steam filled the air, we moved together under the water. I put the shampoo in his hair and began to soap it up, which made him laugh and then cry out that I was going to get it in his eye.

Turning him toward me when the soap had run clear, I let my fingers brush against Paul’s cheek as I leaned in to fold him in my arms and kiss him.

Eventually, we stepped out of the shower – he said we were going to be late for work, and for once, I didn’t seem much to care. Side by side, we stood before the bathroom mirror, gazing at our naked reflections, our bodies pink with the heat of the shower.

“Look at the size of you,” he said, looking up at my height. “You are twice the size of me.”

I winked at him. We said nothing more but moved back into the bedroom and started to get ready for work. We chatted as we dressed, our movements synchronized so that we became clothed in the same way at the same time.

We made our way to the kitchen, where Paul got the Nespresso machine to hum and churn into life and pour out our morning coffees. But now, as he brought me a cup at the little dining table, it was all so different.

I knew what he was thinking: I am bringing my man his morning coffee.

We sat next to each other, and I turned to him and ran my fingers through his hair.

I found myself drawn ever closer to him, captivated by his sweetness and his sincerity – and our physical connection. I could not ever remember feeling it so completely, that perfect connection with another person, not even with Emma.

It was so strange and so powerful.

He drained his cup.

“Come on!” he said like a schoolteacher. “Work!”

I mimicked a mewling kid.

“Do we have to?”

He laughed.

“No,” he said. “But we’re going to anyway. It’s Monday morning, a new week.”

I got to my feet and, as I did, drank the last of my coffee, too.

“Okay, you’re the boss,” I joked.

And he laughed.

“I’m really not,” he said.