"Yes. Yes, I am."

The smile on his face as I said those words was indescribable. Pure joy was all I could see. That scared me, I didn't realize that I had the power to make him so happy with something as mundane as sex. But the concerns would have to wait, I had already committed.

Arthur's lips found mine again, his hands found my waist, and he slowly steered us to the bed. As we reached its edge, I spun us around and made him lie on his back while I climbed on top of him.

We kissed some more, my mouth occasionally drifting to his neck but never to his ear, as it seemed to be something that made him freeze. He tentatively kissed my neck a few times, and went as low as my collarbone, but never lower.

"Erm . . ." I asked tentatively, "How would you feel about biting me?"

He looked extremely confused. "What do you mean?"

"Instead of kissing my neck, would you mind biting it? Gently, I mean."

"But why?"

I sighed. "Forget it."

He didn't comment and resumed kissing my lips and my neck. I wanted more. More intensity, more passion, more teeth. Just more. I didn't want romantic kissing, I wanted the kind of kissing that made me forget where I was.

I leaned back, sitting on my heels, and took off my top in front of a surprised Arthur.

"Sit up," I instructed him, and because he was well-mannered, he did it. His mouth was leveled with my nipples. Perfect.

"Would you, erm . . ." God was it awkward to talk specifics. "Would you be able to suck on my nipples? Or just kiss my breasts, maybe?"

I cringed. When you said it out loud, it sounded terrible.

Arthur had a horrified look. "Abril, I—"

"Please?"

"I can touch them?" He suggested, instead.

I hid my disappointment and I accepted. It was better than nothing.

He placed his hands on my breasts. He surprised me when he took my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, gently rolling them in every direction. I felt my arousal build up slowly. I moaned quietly and my hips started rocking. Arthur's gentleness was, without meaning to, teasing me. I wanted more, and he wasn't giving it to me. If he wasn't so clueless, it could have passed for a wicked dom move.

But he was clueless, and I had no desire to be left hanging again, so I took matters into my own hands. More specifically, I took my boobs into my own hands, putting them over his. I sandwiched his fingers between mine and pinched harder on my nipples, making it feel almost like he was the one pinching me. The sharp pain had its intended effect. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, ready to enjoy it to its fullest.

But then Arthur decided it was too much for him and he removed his hands, cutting my moment short.

I did my best to keep face and I picked another angle. Maybe he just needed to be more aroused to try new things.

I pushed him back to a lying position and bent down with him, my chest on his. I kissed his lips, then his jaw, then his neck. I settled near his collarbone for a while, to get him used to the sensation and to prepare him for my imminent descent.

When he relaxed under my lips, I continued my travel south. I stopped just above his right nipple, considering whether I should put my mouth on it. I first thought that I shouldn't, seeing as he had refused to do the same for me and probably was just as rebutted by the idea of it being done to him, but then I figured it was a good warm-up for what I had in mind. So I kissed his pec, once, twice, and I went for the nipple.

He froze, his hand automatically moving to my head to push me away, but he stopped his movement at the last second, fighting his instincts. I mentally applauded the effort. With my hand, I reached for his other nipple and played with it. He eventually loosened. He exhaled loudly and his head tilted backwards. I supposed he liked it and that's all the encouragement I needed.

I scooted backwards down his legs and my mouth went lower. And lower. I reached his bellybutton. His abs contracted when my mouth traced the outline of it, but it looked like I still had a green light from him.

So I went even lower, until I reached the waistband of his underwear, the only article of clothing he was wearing. His dick was hardening against the fabric, but I didn't dare touch it just yet.

As I made to remove his boxers, Arthur stopped my hand, wrapping his fingers around my wrist.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice slightly panicked.

"I'm trying to give you a blowjob."

"Don't."

I groaned. We were so close.

Defeated, I scooted back up and let myself fall on his chest. He put his hands on my lower back and we stayed still for a while.

"I'm really sorry, Abril."

'Don't be,' I wanted to say. Or 'that's okay.' But the truth was, I couldn't resolve myself to say anything like that. Because I didn't mean any of it. I was frustrated, and also clueless about how to make sex work if I couldn't touch him and he didn't want to touch me either. How would that ever work? Were we supposed to get aroused independently and just meet for the penetration part? As preposterous as that sounded, I could hardly see any other option.

"We can stop here if you want to," I offered.

Honestly, the little arousal I had started to feel had already disappeared and Arthur's penis was getting softer by the minute.

"No!" He protested. Then he cleared his throat. "Sorry. I mean, if that's what you want, of course we can stop, but that's not what I want."

"Okay," I replied half-heartedly.

It's not that I didn't want to. I just didn't know how to.

"Take off your pants and let me take care of you," he requested.

Arthur? Take care of me?

I didn't comment that he could take care of removing my jeans. I got off the bed and did it myself, balling them up and kicking them out of the way. Arthur glared at me for that. So, naturally, I removed my underwear next and made sure to toss it as carelessly as I had tossed my pants.

"You could have kept your underwear on," he said disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry, I thought we were having sex?"

That at least made him laugh.

He gripped my waist and guided me back to the bed, instructed me to lie on my back. He placed himself between my legs. Instinctively, I crossed my ankles behind his back. The look on his face as I did told me everything I needed to know, so I put my legs back on the bed.

Arthur did his best to try to satisfy me, I had to give him that. He kissed my lips, nibbled on my neck – very gently – and played with my earlobes. His mouth slid further down my chest and stopped just above my breasts. He took care of my boobs with his hands, kneading them generously and occasionally tugging on my piercings. It felt decently good, and he even managed to get a few moans of pleasure out of me, which seemed to boost his confidence.

After a while, one of his hands let go of my breasts and went south. Like, south south. He stroked the skin around my vulva with the tip of his fingers, building up anticipation.

And then, with no hesitation and much to my surprise, a single finger of his landed straight on my clitoris. My hips bucked in reaction to the contact.

"Are you okay?" He asked, panicked, after removing his hand.

"Yes!"

I frantically put his hand back where it was and ordered him to keep going.

My excitement dwindled fast. After a few electricity-producing strokes on my clit, Arthur's touch became too flat, too monotonous, too gentle, too . . . meh. I tried to guide him. Asking him to go faster, harder, both, a little to the left, a little more up. Nothing worked and, eventually, I stopped trying and let him do his thing. However, I did not show him that I had given up.

I smiled at him, which seemed to encourage him, and he inserted a finger in me so swiftly that I gasped. Not a huge gasp, but a gasp nonetheless. I'd take anything positive, at that point. He pumped in and out a few times, which did exactly nothing to me.

"You're wet enough, I believe," he observed. And if the situation wasn't so tragic, I probably would have laughed at his factual tone. "But you're not anywhere close to climaxing, are you?"

I didn't want to say no, so I didn't. But he saw the answer in my eyes and his face dropped. I hated myself for causing him such embarrassment.

"Do you still want to . . . you know?" He asked.

"Do I still want to what, Arthur?"

I knew what he meant, but he was a thirty-year-old man, he really ought to stop being so embarrassed about sex.

He sighed.

"Do you still want me to penetrate you?"

Again, in another situation, that could have been hilarious.

Jokes aside, however, he was adorable. I didn't know a lot of men who were happy to forego penetration for the sole reason that they had failed to make their partner come.

"Yes, I still want to. Do you have a condom?"

"In this room, I actually do."

He opened a drawer and produced an opened box of condoms. He took one from them.

"Do you just allow people to have sex in your guest room?" I asked as he proceeded to remove his underwear, fold it, and put it on the chair.

"Not really. But people sometimes do it anyway, and I'd rather they be safe when they do."

He unwrapped the condom and rolled it down on his penis.

"And you don't have condoms in your own room?"

"I don't have the need for them," he shrugged.

There were so many other things I wanted to ask him about that, but it wasn't the right time, for he was fully erect and protected, ready to enter me.

Arthur's penis, by the way, was longer than his dad's, although thinner. Overall, it was average in size. He kept his pubes trimmed and tidy and, for those who wonder, the carpet did match the drapes.

"Ready?"

I nodded.

He gripped his penis with one hand and guided it to the entrance of my vagina. Neither slowly nor quickly, he entered me to the hilt. I gasped again. The feeling of a first thrust inside me was simply something that would never get old.

He rested his forearms on either side of my head and started moving back and forth. Again, he tried very hard. But again, it fell short. The monotony of the rhythm, the position, the absence of any other kind of touching . . . All that made it hard to keep myself as aroused as I needed to be. He seemed to enjoy himself at least, so I focused on his pleasure rather than mine. I clenched my vagina around his dick. That made him hiss. So I did it again, and again, getting faster and faster.

When he was close, which I could tell by his face, the noise he was making, and his tempo that had become erratic, he slipped a hand between us and rubbed my clitoris. It did not do much to me. In normal times, he already struggled to touch me correctly, but when his mind was all fuzzy from the pre-orgasm trance, he was completely off. I removed his hand and replaced it with mine, aiming at making myself come at the same time as him and hopefully make it a nice experience for us both.

I didn't plan for him to stop everything as soon as I moved his hand out of my way.

"What are you doing?" He asked, offended.

"I'm . . . touching myself."

"You can't do that!"

"Excuse me?"

"No, I mean—I should—you should—Ugh!"

Angry, he pulled out and stormed to the bathroom.

What the fuck?

He came back shortly after, his dick condom-free and back to flaccid. He put his underwear back on and sat next to me. I was still lying on my back, legs bent and generously spread, struggling to comprehend what was happening.

Seriously, what the fuck?

"I told you we needed to talk about this! But you didn't want to talk, or listen, as always! And now look where we are!" He properly yelled at me.

WHAT THE FUCK?

I closed my legs and straightened up to a kneeling position, my butt on my heels. I looked Arthur straight in the eye, throwing daggers at him. My murderous glare would have made Sigrid proud.

"Arthur, you have ten seconds to explain what the hell is wrong with you or, I swear to God, I'm out of here forever."

He scoffed. "Try to threaten me with something new."

"Ten . . . Nine . . ."

"I need more time," he whined. "I can't sum it all up in ten seconds."

"Eight . . . Seven . . . Six . . ."

"All right, all right! I'll explain, you can stop counting."

"Five . . . Four . . ."

"Okay! It's just that I—that you—I mean we—stop counting, this is making me anxious."

"Three . . . Two . . . One!  . . ."

"You shouldn't have to touch yourself when we're having sex!" He finally blurted out. "It's my job."

I snorted and said nothing but looked at him with the most condescending stare I could manage. And, believe me, I could pack a large amount of condescension. What kind of toxic masculinity crap was that?

"Please tell me you're joking," I said when it was clear he wasn't going to expand on the subject without a little push.

"I'm not. You shouldn't have to. And if you felt like you had to touch yourself, that means I've failed to satisfy you. It's not okay."

Oh, dear lord. I could not believe my ears.

I tried. I really tried to be understanding. I knew he didn't come from a bad place, he just had a twisted idea of what sex was. He thought that, as a man, it was entirely his job to please his woman. He had outdated views about the world and it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault.

I should have taken this situation as an opportunity to have a serious discussion about his harmful preconceptions about sex. Instead, I chose violence.

I pushed his chest back onto the bed and I straddled him. Saying he was shocked was an understatement.

"Abril, please get off me."

"No."

I was done being patient. He needed someone to shake some sense into him and I volunteered to do it. What could he do? Push me off him? Arthur would never.

I ignored his complaint, adjusted myself on his crotch, and one hand on my boob, one hand on my clit, started touching myself. He had killed the mood with his stupid caveman behavior, but nothing turned me on more than killing the patriarchy one step at a time. It didn't take much for me to get in the mood again.

"What are you doing?" He shrieked, choking on his words.

"I'm masturbating," I shrugged.

"You can't do that."

"Watch me," I defied him.

I kept ignoring him and went to town. I was so wired up from the earlier frustration, and so determined to make my point, that I got close fast. I rocked my hips on Arthur's crotch while I pinched my own nipple and circled my clit.

For the sake of the show, I inserted a few fingers and exaggerated my moans and whimpers. I kept eye contact during the whole process, although he struggled to look back at me. He was uncomfortable to the point it almost looked painful. Good. He needed to be shaken up a bit.

Ultimately, I reached the edge and I let myself go, climaxing loudly on him. The release felt good. The half-shocked, half-disgusted look of Arthur felt even better.

"Happy?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Very."

"Why did you do that?"

"Several reasons. One, masturbation is natural and you shouldn't be intimidated by it. Two, you pulled out before either of us had a chance to come, and I really needed that orgasm. And most importantly, three, this was a good teaching moment. Sex is not about you or about me, it's about us. If you can't make me come, I'll do it myself and you need to be okay with that. You don't have to prove anything to me, we're supposed to enjoy the experience together. What you can't do, I can take care of and vice versa."

"It's easy for you to say. You clearly have a lot of . . . skills. I know I'm the one lacking experience, and it doesn't help my self-esteem that you'd rather pleasure yourself than let me do it for you."

"Would you rather I let you try indefinitely? In my scenario, we both get to come and we're both happy. How is none of us coming better? That's what happened last time, and now it happened today too."

"Well, in my scenario we communicate and we tell each other what went wrong so we can do better the next time. But you shut me down when I tried to do it, remember?"

"Oh, you want feedback? Try fucking me like you actually enjoy it rather than doing it like it's the last thing in the world you want to do!" I spat.

Enraged, I climbed off him and fled to the bathroom. I needed to stay away from him for a moment so, short of anything better to do, I got into the shower. Half my time in that damn mansion was literally spent either showering or swimming in my underwear.

I turned the water as hot as I could handle and let it pour on me, keeping my hair out of the way. Because such a nice shower simply demanded it, I indulged in introspection. I had just had sex with Arthur a second time. Something that had never happened since Cedric. I didn't even have my 'no repeats' thing back then, so, technically, Arthur was the only person for whom I'd broken my sacrosanct rule. And for what? Terrible, unsatisfactory sex? What a great deal I was getting myself into . . . If I wanted to start questioning my lifestyle, I could at least have done it with somebody who could satisfy me.

And it was not just the act of sex, his whole attitude about it was wrong. Being a bit clumsy and weird in bed is one thing, one totally acceptable thing. Being disgusted by your partner for performing common sexual acts is a whole other thing. Did I want to sleep with a man who could not stand that I touch myself? Did I want to sleep with a man who would never give me oral sex? Did I want to sleep with a man who viewed sex as a chore?

I bowed my head under the rain showerhead, deciding that I might as well wash my hair since the water felt so nice.

I sighed. I was in the exact situation I had worked so hard to avoid. I had started to care for the guy, yet every day it became clearer that we would never work out. I would end up hurt, or he would, or both.

I yelled in shock when something touched my shoulder. My boxer instincts kicked in and I threw a punch as I turned around to assess the threat.

It was Arthur, obviously. Fully naked, standing in the shower with me, his face miserable, and his hand holding my fist just a few inches away from his face. He did not give me the opportunity to ask what he was doing. He let go of my hand and wrapped his arms around me, his head nestled in my neck.

The water falling over our heads almost drowned the sound but I heard him let out a couple sobs, while his face was hidden against my shoulder. I let him lead the hug and placed my arms on his back, stroking his spine up and down. He sniffled quietly, which confirmed he was crying. I hugged him back harder.

When he pulled his head back up straight, I couldn't make out the tears, for they were mixing with the water from the shower. But the redness around his eyes was a dead giveaway. He put his hands on my cheeks and placed a tender, yet desperate, kiss on my lips. This kiss felt different than the other few we had exchanged. It felt more deliberate.

"I'm so sorry," he said when he stopped to catch his breath. "I—I enjoy  having sex with you very much, I'm so sorry I'm failing to make you see it." He kissed me some more. "I swear, Abril, being able to have you in my bed is one of the best things that have happened to me in a long time."

And he kissed me again, but this time he did not talk afterwards. He took a few steps forwards, forcing me backwards until my back rested against the tiled wall. He grabbed my thigh and secured it on his hip, leaving me to balance myself on one foot, while his other hand squeezed my breast.

Oh okay. That's new.

His mouth left my lips and traveled all around my jaw, my neck, and my ears. I purred softly and tilted my head back when his teeth grazed my earlobe. I lost it when he actually bit it.

"Do you like it?" He asked after my noisy display of pleasure.

I nodded so he kept going, getting more moans out of me. The noises intensified when he moved the biting to my neck. My hips started moving of their own accord against his thigh, shamelessly trying to provide some friction on my clit.

"Abril?"

"Yes, cariño?"

"Please touch yourself for me."

I melted.

"Are you sure? It's okay if we just kiss."

"Yes, I'm sure. Please make yourself climax. I'll be right here."

And so that's what I did. I slipped a hand between us and circled my clit with one finger while Arthur got busy with my neck and ears. His mouth descended even lower as I got closer and, when his lips closed on my nipples and his tongue rolled against my piercing, I fell over the edge. My orgasm was loud and powerful, making my entire body shake and threatening my balance. But Arthur's hand on my thigh kept me firmly in place.

When I opened my eyes after the wave had passed, I was met with Arthur's bright smile. I couldn't help but reciprocate with the same intensity.

I placed a tiny peck on his lips and said, "Thank you. I know how hard it is for you. I enjoyed myself."

"Don't thank me, it was all you."

"It was the both of us. Teamwork."

He giggled and kissed me one last time before letting go of my leg. My eyes automatically went south. He was . . . rock hard.

I tentatively approached my hand but looked up first to ask for permission.

"Can I?"

"You don't have to."

"That was not my question. I want to touch you, do I have your permission?"

"Yes."

And for the first time, my hand wrapped around Arthur's dick. He hissed between clenched teeth and that made my ego skyrocket.

I gave him what I'm sure was the best handjob of his life. I pumped up and down, grabbed his balls, rubbed his tip, squeezed him hard. I made every single move I had in my book and I could tell by his ragged breathing, his uncontrollable spasms, and his moans, that he was enjoying it. He was determined not to be only a receiver, so he kissed me, and touched me, and made it hard for me to focus. But I held on, quite literally. And eventually, after a few minutes, he came half in my hand, half on my stomach. He'd tried to wrench out of my grip right before he orgasmed, hoping to shoot his seed straight in the drain, but I hadn't let him. Sex was messy, I didn't mind it, and he needed to learn how to be okay with it. So I'd purposely aimed his dick at my body, and he'd let go.

He looked at me apologetically when he saw the result of his orgasm on my skin. He reached for a washcloth but I stopped him. The water from the shower was already washing it all away. In a few seconds, everything was gone.

"There," I said. "All gone."

I let go of his dick and palmed his butt cheeks. If he was letting his guard down, I might as well enjoy it as much as possible. I pulled him as close to me as possible, he placed his hands on the wall behind me. And we kissed, again, this time not with urgency or desperation but with the satisfaction of knowing our sexuality together was not a lost cause and we could make it work.

"I erm . . . I'll let you finish your shower," he said when the kissing was over.

I rolled my eyes.

"Don't be silly, just shower with me."

He hesitated briefly but went for it. I didn't go as far as offering to soap him up. We'd made a lot of progress already, I didn't want to push it too much.

He washed himself, I washed myself, and we turned off the water. He exited the shower first and handed me two towels before using a third one to dry himself off and then wrap it around his waist. That melted my heart a tiny bit more. That might seem like nothing, but the fact that he'd automatically given me two towels, one for my hair and one for my body, was the kind of thing I fell for.

He went to get dressed while I blow-dried my hair. He came back shortly after, his glasses back on. I was disappointed to see him wear a white button-down and dark blue chinos.

"Why the look?" He asked.

"I was hoping you'd stay in your sweatpants."

It was hypocritical of me to say that, seeing as his comments about my clothes were a recurring cause of dissension between us. But oh well, I had a soft spot for him in athleisure. Sue me.

He chuckled and looked at me like I was an adorable kid.

"I'll go change."

Before I had time to protest and convince him that it was fine and he could wear whatever he wanted, he was running back up the stairs.

This time, I was done with my hair when he came back, wearing gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. I almost swooned when I saw him. Gray sweatpants were my kryptonite.

"I look that good, huh?" He sassed.

I felt cold air on my tongue. I realized my jaw had fallen open and I was just staring at him with an open mouth. I snapped it shut.

"You have no idea . . ."

He really did look amazing. Or maybe that was just the gray sweatpants. Or maybe the tortoiseshell glasses, which gave him a laid-back nerd kind of look. Or maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones. Whatever it was, it was hella powerful.

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckled nervously. "I'm not sure I can handle more of . . . whatever we've been doing."

"Cari, that's called sex."

"Yes, well, I can't handle more sex right now, so you can stop looking at me like you want to eat me."

"You should have thought of that before dressing up like a snack," I teased.

"I can always change back if that'll help."

NO!

"Don't you dare!"

He laughed wholeheartedly and hugged me. I caught a whiff of his smell and I almost dropped my towel there and then and begged him to ravage my body. But I did no such thing. I noticed he was holding the white tee and black sweatpants he'd been wearing earlier.

"What are you doing with that?" I enquired.

"I'm about to throw them in the wash."

Of course. He had worn them for exactly half a day and he already deemed them good for the laundry hamper. He'd be horrified to hear about my cleaning schedule.

"Can I wear them?"

"Why would you want to wear used clothes? I can get you fresh ones."

Oh sweet, innocent, clueless Arthur.

"No, I want these. They have your smell on it."

He gave me a weird look but he handed the clothes over. He followed me to the guest room where I dug out some undies. He respectfully turned around when I put them on. I put his T-shirt on next and I let myself enjoy its smell. Arthur's smell.

"Stop sniffing it, it's weird," he said, his back still turned. I hadn't realized he could hear me.

"It's not. Many people love their partner's smell."

And just as I was hoping that the enormity of what I had said would fly above Arthur's head, he turned around and looked at me with wide eyes.

"What did you just say?"

Shit.

"Nothing."

"You called me your partner." The smile on his lips as he said that was blinding.

"I did not."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't. I mentioned other people and other people's partners. I never talked about us."

"Abril . . ." He pressed, a mocking smirk on his lips.

"Drop it, Arthur."

I put on the sweatpants, which were tight on my thighs but still fit, and swiftly exited the room, leaving Arthur behind.

He came after me and sat next to me when I took a seat on his white leather couch. I crossed my legs beneath me, which made Arthur sigh through his nose. He put a tentative hand on my knee.

"We really need to have this conversation. Isn't that why you came today?"

It was. But I wasn't sure I wanted to anymore. We had made up and we had managed to get one satisfactory sexual experience. We were in too good a place to ruin it with a difficult conversation.

"No, I came to have sex."

"I don't believe that for one second."

The audacity! I mean, he had a point, but he had no way of knowing that.

"I'm starting to know you, Abril," he continued. "You came for the sex, that's for sure, but I'm willing to wager that you came here for a real talk, too. Let's have it."

"Why? It's going to ruin everything."

"I don't have the strength, nor the will, to be in this limbo forever. If anything, not talking is what's going to ruin everything."

"Can't we enjoy the uncertainty a bit longer? Neither of us is going to like the outcome of this conversation. I just want to be happy for a bit longer."

"So you're happy?" He asked with another one of his bright smiles.

"Mostly, I think."

That was true. There were some major issues that needed solving, like my sleeping with his dad, the difficulty for us to have satisfactory sex, and, most importantly, my guilt for messing around with a man who wasn't Josh. But if I managed to sweep that underneath the rug, which I was quite good at, I was reasonably happy.

"I'm mostly happy, too," Arthur said.

This sentence both warmed my heart and squeezed it cruelly. He was happy because he didn't know half of the story.

"Then what's the point of having the conversation and ruining all that?"

"Because I won't be 'mostly happy' for long. I need to know we're heading the right way, otherwise this is just going to be the biggest heartbreak and I really don't want to experience that."

"This talk is what's going to be the biggest heartbreak." Yet. An even bigger heartbreak would ensue when he eventually found out about his dad. As determined as I was to keep it hidden, I had no real hope that it'd stay a secret forever.

"Better now than later, then."

"I really, really don't want to do that," I whined as a last resort.

"Well, I really, really didn't want to have sex with you and look what happened."

His words felt like he had slapped me in the face. I knew what he meant, I knew he had just said it in a very thoughtless way. But still, hearing that from the person I had literally just slept with hurt like hell.

"Oh God, I'm sorry Abril, it sounded so bad, I didn't mean it this way. Of course I wanted to have sex with you, I just didn't want to do it before you and I were in a relationship."

"I know."

"I'm very sorry, please believe me." He marked a pause. "But, my poor phrasing aside, I did make some significant effort for you, I'd appreciate it if you could make some kind of effort for me, too."

"Can you please stop making it sound like having sex with me was such an ordeal?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"And if anything," I cut him off, "I believe I've made plenty of effort already. I apologized and I slept with you again. Just the fact that I am here today instead of going no-contact should show you that I am, indeed, making an effort."

"This is all on your terms, though. I did not ask for more sex, you did. And as much as I know what it means to you, as much as I feel honored that you chose me, it's still very much about you. I don't mind if we don't have sex. What I want is a serious conversation about our relationship."

That word made me click my tongue. But I had to admit – internally, not out loud – that he was right.

"When you don't like the outcome of this conversation and start wishing we've never had it," I warned him, "don't come complain to me."

He smiled in victory. The poor man didn't know what he was getting himself into.

"I won't. Wish that we've never had the conversation, that is."

I laughed in his face. "We'll see. But go ahead, do talk."

"Very well. What am I to you?"

He wasn't easing into it. What the hell did I know what he was?

"You're . . . Arthur."

He frowned at me, unimpressed by what he thought was stupid humor, but in reality was just inability to form a coherent reply. I did not know what label to put on him.

"I can tell you what you're not?" I suggested, even though I knew he would not like it one bit.

"Go ahead."

"You're not my boyfriend."

"Oh." His facial expression immediately darkened. "I'm disappointed, although I can't say I'm surprised. What am I, then?"

"I don't know, you're just . . . my Ginger Dude."

"Your what?"

"Ginger Dude. That's how I referred to you with Sig and Cedric when I didn't know your name. They still call you that sometimes, especially Cedric."

"Charming."

"It's better than 'That Motherfucking Asshole', which was a strong contender."

I laughed, he didn't.

"What did you refer to me as when you talked about me and you didn't know my name," I asked.

"I didn't talk about you."

Like a knife through my heart.

My pain must have been obvious because he felt obliged to continue. "It's not that I didn't want to talk about you, I'm just a private person, especially about my romantic life, as you might have gathered by now. The first time my friends heard about you was when you met them all at Theodora's house, and I already knew your name, then."

That was a reasonable explanation. But I still wished he had talked about me to his friends earlier than that.

"Abril, please let's not get hung up over details that don't matter and forget about the problem at hand. What am I to you? What are we?"

"I don't know! We wouldn't be struggling so much if I did. All I know is that I do not want a relationship with you. Or anyone. But I still want to hang out with you."

The words of Sigrid suddenly resonated inside my brain. "Make him your new Cedric." Maybe that's what Arthur was to me. A friend with benefits, not that we really were friends at all, but that was a technicality.

"By 'hang out' you mean sex?"

"No! I mean, there's a bit of that, of course, but I just mean spending time together, keeping each other company. What we've been doing so far, basically."

"So . . . you want a relationship, without calling it a relationship."

"No."

"That's what you're describing."

"Not at all. What I'm describing is . . . friendship."

He looked at me like I had grown a third eye.

"You want to be my friend?" He asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, among other things . . ."

Gosh, that was a hard subject to bring to the table. How had I managed to talk Cedric into being friends with benefits? I did not remember the specifics. It'd just kind of happened.

"I don't follow you."

It wasn't surprising. I would have to spell it out for him.

"How familiar are you with the term 'friends with benefits'?"

"Not at all. I've heard my friends mention it a lot when we were in college but I never really understood what it meant and I didn't care enough to ask."

How this man had managed to secure such a solid friendship group while in college, I would never know.

"Okay, so, friends with benefits are friends who have sex together."

"How's that different from a normal relationship? Don't they say your true soulmate is supposed to be your best friend?"

"Yeah well, it's different here. There's no love. I mean, there can be, but it's platonic love. Friendly love," I explained like I was a freaking encyclopedia.

"I see. I can live with that."

"There's another aspect that you won't like."

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to drop the bomb that would for sure send him away.

"There's no exclusivity in a 'friends with benefits' scenario."

"Oh."

He visibly deflated. I was tempted to hug him but decided against it. He needed space, and time, to think about what I was proposing.

"Would that be different from what we have now?"

I thought about it. I guess it wasn't much different from what we were doing.

"Not really. We would just be putting a name on it. It'd be more official, I suppose. But otherwise yeah, it's pretty much the same th—"

"I'm in."

Do eyes make noise when they pop open in shock? Because I swear mine did. And so did my jaw, when it fell open.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm in," he repeated, grinning like an idiot at my shocked face.

"Do you—Do you even know what you're getting yourself into? I told you there'd be no exclusivity. Can you stand that? You couldn't even stand that I danced with someone else! How do you expect to be okay with me sleeping with other people?"

"I'll just do what I've been doing so far. I'll ignore it. I'm not stupid, Abril. I know of your . . . proclivities, and I don't expect you to abandon them for me just yet, especially when we both know how terrible the sex has been between us." He marked a pause. I didn't deny anything. "I know you had sex with someone else the day after we did," he added.

A full-size brick fell in my stomach. I looked down, ashamed, feeling called out. Thank God he didn't know who the other person was, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation.

"How?"

"Your hair. When you hugged me, it smelled like a man. Like I said, I'm not stupid."

"And you're okay with what I did?"

"Not completely, but I'll take that over not having you at all, which I fear is the only other alternative you'd be willing to consider. At least now I get to be the official one. And you came to me for a second round, so that must mean something."

He shrugged, trying to make it look like he was chill while he was everything but. That sent my heart flying into a million pieces. I took his hands in mine and looked him straight in the eye.

"Of course it means something, cariño. I'm just not where you'd want me to be, yet. I'm not sure I'll ever be."

"About that, we have to discuss a few rules. If we're going ahead with this, I need to make sure beforehand that it all stays within the realm of what I can handle."

I did not like rules but that was a fair request.

"Okay, let's discuss rules."

"Thank you. The first one is easy. I'd like to remain the only person you . . . get involved with more than once."

He was right, that was easy. I had no intention of giving that privilege to anyone else.

"Done."

"Secondly, I don't want to know about the others. I want you to take extra precaution in not mentioning their existence, even if that means you have to lie to me when I ask about your day."

I'm not sure it was the healthiest approach to our arrangement, but I wasn't planning on flaunting my conquests in front of him anyway. That'd be cruel.

"Done."

"Thirdly, although that one goes hand in hand with the previous one, I don't want to see anything. Please do not get on with someone in front of me."

Did he think I was a monster? I wasn't that insensitive.

"Cari, of course! I would never do that to you!"

"We never know. I'd rather we say it out loud so we're both on the same page."

"Okay. Well, so far, we are. Anything else?"

"Yes, but the other ones are going to be harder to agree to."

I did not like the sound of that.

"Fourthly, I'd prefer if we used the term 'open relationship' over 'friends with benefits'."

What a curious request.

"Why?"

"Because it sounds less trashy for one. But also, it makes it more official. I want to be in a relationship with you, I want to be your partner. I don't want to be just a random friend you're having intercourse with."

"It's just a name, why is that so important?"

"Well, if it's not important to you, surely you won't mind that we call it the name I prefer, then."

"I don't like the idea of calling this a relationship."

"Abril, I can bend to a certain degree, but you can't just get me to accept anything. I can't do casual sex, you know that. I need to know that you're invested, that you're taking this seriously. If that's not something you're willing to do, I'm afraid that's a deal-breaker."

"Of course I take this seriously but it's not that easy! All I know is casual sex, getting invested in someone is exactly what I've been trying to avoid. I can't just drastically change."

"I'd hate to burst your bubble, but you are already invested in this. Our sex is anything but casual."

"Shut up!"

"Don't hate me because I'm right."

I groaned. I was not invested. I simply . . . cared.

"If you're struggling to accept that, you're not going to like my last rule."

"What is it?"

"I want a deadline. I won't be able to sustain that forever. I need a date when we reevaluate our relationship. At that point, either we commit to exclusivity, or we split up for good."

Deadline. Exclusivity. Commitment. Splitting up. That was a lot of scary words.

"You can take your time to think about it, but I'm afraid those conditions are non-negotiable for me."

I—I didn't know what to do. Overwhelmed, I was overwhelmed. What he was offering was basically a real relationship, with a trial period. If I said yes to that, I'd be essentially locked in for good. Realistically, what was the likelihood of us separating whenever that deadline came? We had known each other for a few months only and we were already incapable of staying away from each other. How dumb did I have to be to believe that we'd be in any better position to leave for good after even more months spent together?

I'm sure he knew it. He wasn't dumb either, he knew very well that his proposition was just a relationship offer, with extra steps. And as mentioned many times before, I did not want a relationship.

So it was easy, actually. I just had to say no. His sneaky scheme was totally see-through, and I wasn't falling for that.

"Arthur, I'm afraid I—"

I choked. Yeah, so much for it being easy.

I had absolutely no desire to get attached to Arthur. He was not a good match for me and I was still too hung up on Josh anyway for me to consider anybody else. The reasonable was to let him go and live my life as I had been living it for three years. But since when does one's heart do what one's brain wants? The truth was, the idea of not seeing Arthur ever again was scarier than the idea of seeing only him forever.

I needed to clear my head.

"You don't have a punching bag in that gym of yours, do you?"

He shook his head slowly, watching me like I had just said something ridiculous.

"If you just need some exercise, I can offer my erg or my treadmill. If you specifically need to punch something, I can drive you home."

"Yes. Home. Please."

Good job forming full sentences, E.T.!

Without hesitation, Arthur grabbed his car keys and escorted me out. In the blink of an eye, we had made it to my place.

While he sat on the couch, I dug out some tape and wrapped it around my wrists and knuckles. I didn't put my gloves on and started punching the bag. I needed to feel the pain.

Each hit was rattling the bones in my hand, all the way up my arm and shoulder. Good. Maybe this would shake some sense into me. I punched, and punched, and punched. I could see Arthur from the corner of my eye. He was immobile, watching with deep concern.

"Abril, you should wear your—"

"Don't!" I cut him off.

I didn't need his advice. I didn't need him at all. I wished he hadn't stayed while I was punching, but I had felt bad making him drive me all the way there and not letting him in. So I had settled for doing my thing while he was watching, but I sure didn't need his oral participation.

He didn't say anything more. I could tell he wanted to. Especially when my rhythm became more frantic and desperate, and my hits more violent. But he shut up and waited for me patiently.

I hit the damn bag for a while. A long while. At least an hour. My fingers had gone through the tingling stage long ago, and now they were just numb. I could see blood staining the white tape on my hands. That didn't stop me. My exhaustion did.

After throwing my last punch, my legs buckled under me, and I fell flat on my ass. Arthur ran to help me. I had no more strength left to tell him to leave me alone. He made me rest my back against the side of my couch.

He took my hands one by one and, slowly, forced my fingers open. I hadn't realized I was still clenching my fists. He gently removed the tape and exposed my bruised, split skin. My fingertips started to tingle, meaning that the feeling was coming back to my hands.

He got a washcloth from my bathroom and ran it under warm water. He kneeled in front of me and, methodically, started dabbing the fabric on my wounds. It took him a couple trips back and forth, rinsing the cloth each time, before my hands were free of any blood.

"I assume you don't have antiseptic?" He asked.

I shook my head. A proper first-aid kit was something I kept wanting to buy but kept forgetting to.

He threw me a thoroughly disapproving glance and went to my booze cupboard instead.

"I'll buy you a replacement," he said when he saw my panicked face as he grabbed a bottle of my precious vodka. "This thing is so bad it's essentially detergent, anyway. I'll replace it with better vodka. One that you can truly enjoy."

I rolled my eyes and snatched the bottle from him and swallowed a long swig. I guess I had enough energy left to drink and prove a point, so that was that.

He made a disgusted grimace and took the bottle back from me. He poured some on a fresh, clean washcloth and dabbed it all over my split knuckles. It stung a little. Once my wounds were cleaned and disinfected, he asked me if I had gauze or compresses. I did not. I had band-aids and tape. That's it. He sighed at my ridiculous supplies but adapted to it. He put a band-aid on every single one of my cuts and put tape all over them to keep everything in place.

"There, all done," he said once he was done tending to my wounds. He carefully took my hands in his and I watched, dumbstruck, as he bowed down and placed a kiss on top of them.

"Arthur?"

He looked up, his eyes interrogating me.

"Okay," I just said. He would understand.

He straightened up immediately. He looked as happy as a child in Disneyland.

"Okay?" He asked for confirmation.

"Okay," I repeated.

He quite literally threw himself at me, with so much excitement that we ended up flat on the floor, him on top of me. I'd like to be able to say that we had passionate sex on the floor of my apartment, but that was not Arthur's style. There was some passionate kissing for a while, and when it became too intense, he awkwardly pulled away and we sat on the couch instead. Then he ordered us dinner and we spent the night together. No sex.

That was the life I was choosing to live. No sex but somebody to clean my wounds with my cheap vodka from Walmart. I was surprisingly okay with it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: Things are getting official over here! They sure took their damn time, didn't they? I wonder if they'll get to enjoy peace for a while or if life is going to give them a hardcore reality check . . . Read along to find out!

Next chapter on Wednesday, see you all then!

Love,
Charlie.