On Monday, the morning after The Threesome, I emailed Daniel a brief note, just to say thanks again. When I got home that afternoon there was an email from him: was I free tonight?
It was unlike him. Maybe he felt uncomfortable about last night. But of course I was free.
That night I went over to his place and in his room I settled into the crook of his arm, breathing in the lovely Daniel scent of him. After a moment, he said, hesitantly, “You’re very dear to me.”
Which is the kind of thing that makes my heart catch. “You’re very dear to me, too,” I mumbled. It was a perfect thing to say. It's not You’re hot, though I appreciate that, too. But I mumbled, “You’re very dear to me, too,” because what I wanted to say was, “I love you.” And now I’m not even afraid, and I don’t care if he knows. I just don’t want to scare him off. And, oh, OK, I want him to say it first. You’re very dear to me. I squeezed myself closer to Daniel, and kissed his neck.
I knew there was something else coming, though. “It was nice, last night,” he said. “You know, I wasn’t jealous or anything, seeing you with Jefferson.”
I was surprised; it never would have occurred to me that Daniel would have been jealous, not at all. He loves hearing about my dates with Jefferson. “I wasn’t jealous, either,” I smiled, picturing his face, with Jefferson on top of him, Daniel’s open mouth straining toward Jefferson on Jefferson’s bed… “It was hot,” I grinned at him.
“I was glad I could do that for you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else,” I said, and we smiled at one another in our smug little love-fest. It’s true, though, there’s no one else I would have trusted to ask. Of course, it’s not like the pool of applicants was so large. But still. He wrapped his arms around me tighter, and I cuddled up closer. “Darling,” I said experimentally, smiling, to take the danger out of saying a word so closely aligned with soap-operatic declarations of eternal devotion. I love the word darling, so much better than honey, or love or sweetheart or even baby, which I also find pretty thrilling. “Darling,” I whispered, again, because the very word darling just seems so extravagant and flush with promise and, yes, passion. Darling darling darling.
“There’s just one other thing,” he began.
“Yes…” I smiled.
“Last night… When Jefferson hit you…”
“Oh!” I said. I’d forgotten all about that; that quick slap, my fervent, “No!”
“I mean, it just worried me, because--”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I said; the word just came out. “Daniel.” I kissed him. “It’s OK, really. Jefferson’s really dominant, you know?” I snickered, thinking about how Jefferson had gotten Daniel just where he wanted him, and also how Jefferson looks so non-dominant, all nice Southern manners and formality. “I mean, we kind of argue about it, I seem to fight him about everything,” I said ruefully. “We’re constantly negotiating that kind of thing,” I went on. “But seriously, you don’t have to worry…”
“Are you sure? I--”
“No, Daniel, it’s OK.” I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder. “I really appreciate your concern. Jefferson’s really bossy, isn’t he?” And we both giggled.
And it was my turn to say, hesitantly, “I’m so lucky to have met you.”
“Aw,” he said, embarrassed.
We slid out of our clothes. I felt this fantastic tenderness and longing, I wished I could climb inside his skin. I went down on him, and he on me, but not without saying, “You smell lovely,” which I think was a reference to last night, when I’d said I was afraid I’d smell or taste funny. But the thing that touched me was that he said “lovely.” I say “lovely”; it’s more of a British thing. He had picked up my turn of phrase.
Soon enough, as usual, I was riding him. I bounced up and down on his cock while he squeezed my tits, and then I lay flat against him, arching myself around him, my mouth against his neck.
And then Daniel breathed, “It doesn’t feel like this with anyone else.”
I whispered back, “I know, it doesn’t.”
I love you I love you I love you: the words sang through my skin, out of my pores, and maybe he felt it too. I wanted to devour him, or just cry, I felt such tenderness for him. And, I don’t know, even though Daniel and I haven’t got a future, my feelings for him are so overwhelmingly positive, and I feel so grateful to him, and I feel so lucky to know him that it feels almost beyond love and into a strange platonic adoration. Well, not platonic in that sense. I mean platonic in that it feels almost ideal. That is, I not only love him, but I’m happy that I love him, despite the fact that I have a crush on Jeremy and fantasize about him, and that Daniel has sex with Robin and a crush on Big Chested, Red Haired Girl. Like, oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to bother me so much anymore, even though I am generally quite a jealous and insecure person. Like I’m just happy to know and fuck and play dumb card games with Daniel, because he’s not only nice and fun and sexy but he genuinely cares for me, too. I don’t know why this surprises me. He really is all that.