Page 75 of Hold the Pickle
Our lives are a long string of cats, showers, meals, and sex.
I finally get my shot at assisting in an advanced procedure at the hospital, and I feel considerably more doctor-like.
Nadia comes up with the clever idea of a pickle breaded in crumbled spicy Cheetos, named the Hot Pickle, which becomes a colossal hit after making the rounds on social media.
We discover we both love 80s sitcoms and spend hours cuddled with the cats watching theGolden GirlsandCheers.
One night, as I’m running my tongue along the side of her waist, searching for any spot I haven’t yet tasted, I look up to see her, watching me with those warm eyes and something expands in my chest.
Before my thinking brain can jump in and slow me down, I find myself saying, “I love you.”
Her eyes widen.
My immediate reaction is to try to take it back. This was too fast. It’s only been a few weeks since we first slept together, only a couple of months since we met.
As my brain frantically tries to come up with a way to play off the words, Nadia reaches out to press a warm hand on my shoulder. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s been tender between us for a long time. Since the cats, maybe?”
The adrenaline starts to drain. Maybe I didn’t screw up.
“I think so.”
“Have you been in love before?” she asks. “Or is it bad luck to talk about exes when we’re naked?”
“Only if I’m inside you when I answer.”
She laughs.
I sit against the wall, my legs straight out on the bed. I drag her body over to mine, arranging her knees on either side of my thighs.
Then I grasp her hips and yank her body toward mine, sliding inside her with a swift, powerful stroke.
She sucks in a breath. “Shit,” she says, and I smile that I’ve brought her to cursing. It’s rare.
“Still wanna know?” I ask.
“Maybe not yet.” Her voice is jagged and raw.
I hold on to her hips, rocking her against me. I set the pace, but then she lifts her body up and slams it down on mine. I love it when she takes control.
She grabs both my wrists and pins them against the wall. Her breasts shift in front of me, tantalizing and soft. The sight of her naked and in charge makes me outrageously hot.
She moves faster and faster, and I close my eyes, feeling the hard slam of her body as it connects to mine, the friction as Imove inside her. She presses hard on my wrists as she grinds down, rotating in tiny circles on my lap.
Damn. We’re ridiculously compatible. We read each other’s minds. Although sometimes, we can completely surprise each other.
Her voice rises in its keening cry. My name is mixed with other garbled words.
I love this. I feel it when her body clamps down on mine. The tightness threatens to set me off, but I hold back a little longer until that specific point in her cry that tells me she’s hit her max.
She gets there, and my control is lost, my whole body suffused with the intensity of filling her.
Nadia collapses against my chest, and I hold her tightly now that my arms are on my own again. We breathe against each other for a moment, and then she says, “You’re still inside me. Have you been in love before?” It’s almost as if the conversation never paused.
It’s an easy answer. I wrap an arm around her neck. “No. You are my first.”
I decide not to ask her the same question. I don’t want to know the answer. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m in the now, and this present moment is all about Nadia.
The cats have come to understand when we’re available and when we’re not. Since the room has quieted, the bed thumps with the arrival of six sets of paws, two grown and four tiny.
