Six months.

That's the deadline we had agreed on, after much negotiation. I wanted longer, at least a couple years. He wanted a month. You can imagine how that conversation went. I was ready to compromise on just one year, but then he'd made a strong argument. The more we pushed the deadline, the more we pushed my one chance at an easy exit.

I knew it was flawed logic, I could see the gaps in his reasoning from miles away. Yet somehow it hit a nerve. If we had agreed to review our relationship in a year, that would have meant that I would have had to commit to this relationship for one year, as I'm not one to go back on her word. One year was huge. Six months too, but more acceptable.

"Do you even like what I'm doing?" Liv, a girl I had met through Tinder, said from between my legs.

That snapped me back to the present moment. It was a few weeks after Arthur and I had agreed to be friends with—in an open relationship, and since then, I had made it my life mission to make those six months count. The slowly approaching deadline was terrifying me and, instead of gradually giving up on other people to make the transition easier, I had gone the opposite way. The emergency list of numbers on my phone had emptied very fast and, being too busy with Arthur, I had not had the chance to fill it up again. I had ended up resorting to Tinder. Tinder!

Liv was a cute, curvy blond girl, aged twenty-five. She looked much hotter in pictures than in real life, but she was far from ugly, and definitely not ugly enough to justify turning her down once she had made it to my place. And she was nice. I think. We had had a few friendly chats over texts.

"I do," I replied to her question and gave her a reassuring smile.

I did enjoy her oral performance, she was good. Then again, women were just always better than men at oral. But my mind just kept drifting away. I forced myself to focus better and we ended up having decent sex.

* * *

"Just like that, cari, but harder," I instructed Arthur as he was thrusting inside me.

He listened, but he increased the speed, not the intensity.

"I said harder. Not faster."

"What's the difference?"

I groaned but did not elaborate. If he didn't know the basics, there was not much I could do right this instant. I'd just take whatever he could give me.

Our sexual life still left much to be desired. It didn't help that Arthur's sex drive was extremely low. We didn't have sex often, and when we did, it did not go well. It always felt like he only did it as a favor for me and did not enjoy it. And if his reservations regarding sex were slowly getting better, there was still a whole world of things he did not allow us to do. Still no oral, still no other position than missionary, still barely any touching. He had not managed to make me come once. On days where I really wanted to climax, I would just do it myself with his assistance, but most of the time I would just not bother because it was easier. I clearly was not with Arthur for the sex, I had a myriad of other people to take care of me for that.

"All right, that's it!" Arthur groaned, angry.

He pulled out and removed the condom, not bothering to tie its end since it was empty. He got rid of it in his bathroom, washed his hands, and came back to the room.

I took a deep breath and ignored his grumpiness. And the way he'd just left the bed mid-sex without any explanation. That one time, I did not choose violence.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" I offered.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

I kneeled on the bed and faced him, more than ready to give him a handjob and make at least one of us come.

"Yes, I'm sure. A handjob is not going to solve anything."

"Maybe a blowjob would?" I joked while I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

He properly glared at me after I suggested that. Rare were the men who'd glared at me after I had offered them a blowjob, I can guarantee you. In fact, he was the only one.

"Stop it, Abril."

He put his underwear back on and lay on his back, as far away from me as his gigantic bed allowed him. I was having none of it and I scooted next to him until I was close enough to wrap one arm and one leg around him, my body half on the bed, half on him. If he didn't want to fuck me, at least he was going to cuddle me.

"Could you—could you put clothes on, please?" He asked.

What a curious request, but when it came to him, I didn't ask anymore.

"In a minute."

I didn't want to put clothes on a dirty body. And I couldn't be bothered to go shower just yet.

"No. Please put on some clothes now."

Aaaaaaand we're mad.

I wrenched myself away from him and sat up.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I exclaimed. "Can I please be allowed a few minutes of snuggling with my . . . with you?"

"Yes, but please wear some clothes first."

"Why?"

"Did you look in the mirror today?"

I had. It's not like I examined every inch of my body, but I checked my hair, my makeup, and my outfit in the mirror every single day. And I could tell you that there was nothing wrong with me.

He did not wait for my reply and ushered me to his ensuite. He turned my back to the mirror and started pointing at things. I had to contort to myself to be able to see what he was showing me, and then I saw.

Oh.

"I first thought you'd hurt yourself," he said, "so I was worried. But then I realized I was wrong. You got those marks during sex, didn't you?"

I had bruises on my butt cheeks and on the back of my thighs, and even a couple of faint hickeys on my neck. I might have been involved with a few people who had a penchant for various forms of inflicting pain.

"Yes," I confessed. What was the point of lying?

"We had an agreement. I was not supposed to know."

"What would you want me to do? Not see you until they disappear? It can take up to two weeks. That is, if I don't get more of those in the meantime."

"I can't do this," he just replied and darted out of the bathroom, then out of his bedroom.

What now?

I resisted the urge to ignore his tantrum and let him mull it over on his own. I put on my panties and the shirt he had on earlier, and I went after him. He wasn't hard to find. He was sitting on his couch, a glass of whisky in hand. The bottle was on the coffee table, ready to be used again.

I walked towards him from behind and wrapped my arms around his neck. He didn't jump, he must have heard me coming. When I bent over to kiss his neck, though, he pushed me away. He leaned forwards and forced himself out of my embrace. Okay, two could play this game. I picked up my tobacco from my purse and made my way outside through the sliding doors.

The evening air was cold, and the grass was wet. It was mid-December, after all. I decided I didn't care and stepped on it barefoot. I got to the firepit and, after a few clumsy tries, I managed to turn it on. The atmosphere became instantly more tolerable. I rolled a cigarette and lit it with the pretty flames. I finished it quickly, so I rolled and smoked a second one right away. Hanging out with Arthur, who didn't smoke, had made me smoke less. Not that he had asked me to, it'd just happened. I often found myself too distracted to crave a cigarette when I was with him. Also, avoiding smoking in the presence of a non-smoker when possible was basic smoker etiquette. But yeah, on days when I craved nicotine, I could smoke several in a row without blinking.

After stubbing my second cigarette, I tipped my head back, watched the stars, and wondered what the hell I was doing.

"You're going to get cold," Arthur's voice said, snapping me out of my daydreaming. He had taken a shower and changed into clean clothes. He had even put on a coat. It was really cold outside.

He plucked me from where I sat and settled me on his lap. He wrapped me in the blanket he had brought from inside, making sure to tuck my feet in, and he held me tight to keep me warm. He had also brought the bottle of whisky. I snatched it and took a long swig that warmed my insides.

"For the love of God, Abril, I brought you a glass. Just use it."

I shrugged and took another swig.

"Do you just like to antagonize me?" He asked.

"I could ask the same to you," I retorted. "I'm tired of you constantly having something to say about my manners. We share our saliva on a regular basis, what difference does it make that I drink straight from the bottle? My germs are your germs now."

"That's just . . . disgusting."

I sighed. A long, heavy, exasperated sigh.

"Let's just go back inside," I said as I extirpated myself from his arms, grabbed the bottle by the neck and got back to the house, wrapped in the blanket.

I sat on the couch and drank some more, still from the bottle

"Do you want to talk, maybe?"

"I have nothing to say, Arthur. I was content until you once again decided to pull out and leave me hanging for no reason."

"I have the right to withdraw consent at any time during sex."

Let out a hysterical laugh in his face.

"Oh, cari, of course you do. But you and I both know the reason why you wanted to stop is some stupid jealousy."

"Yes. The jealousy I suddenly felt made it impossible for me to continue."

"So . . . You're jealous of other people fucking me and your response to that is to stop fucking me? If I were you, I'd try to fuck me better, that would have a better chance of working."

"That . . . was unnecessarily rude."

"Whatever. Jealousy has no place in this relationship of ours."

"It's not like I can control it."

"Why don't you just sleep with someone else, too? We've never said that this arrangement was one-sided."

He shook his head and gave me a 'you're stupid' look, like I had suggested the most ridiculous thing.

"You know very well it's not an option," he said solemnly.

"Why not? It's not like I'm the only person you've ever slept with, is it?" I teased.

The sad, embarrassed look he cast on me before looking down would forever be imprinted in my memory. It turned my blood to ice.

"Arthur, please tell me I'm not your first."

"You're not." He marked a pause. "But you're my second."

In hindsight, I should not have been surprised. It made total sense. Arthur was not experienced, he wasn't into casual hook-ups, and he seemed to be very loyal. It made sense that his number of sexual partners was low. But this low? Really? He was thirty years old, and it's not like he was too ugly, too stupid, or too irritating to get women if he wanted to. But I guess he didn't want to.

"Come, now," he said after my long silence. "It's not that big a deal, there's no need to start panicking."

"But you're practically a virgin!" I exclaimed.

"I definitely am not. I was with her for a long time, I can assure you we . . . had intercourse a significant number of times."

I snorted. But my curiosity was piqued.

"Did you do oral with her?" I asked.

"Yes, we tried it once."

Oh my. I didn't know who this woman, but I pitied her very much. I also kinda envied her. It was only once, but once was better than zero.

"We only did it after a long time together," he continued, having guessed where my mind had gone. "It took me a while to get accustomed to the idea, and even then, it didn't do much to me pleasure-wise, either way."

"Either way?"

"Yes, I don't like being on the receiving end either."

"You—you don't like getting a blowjob?"

"No."

"Maybe your ex was just bad at it? Lower your pants and take your dick out. I'm sure I can have you come in my mouth in no time."

"For heavens' sake, Abril! Do you have to be so crude? It's disgusting. What has gotten into you?"

"It's the second time you're calling me disgusting, cari. It's starting to be rude."

"I'm not saying you're disgusting, it's the things you say and do that are."

Remind me again, why are we with this guy?

At that moment, I'm not sure I knew the answer to this question.

"Most people love receiving head, you know? It's not like I'm suggesting something extreme."

"Well, sorry the sample of people I've tried it with is much smaller than yours. How many partners have you even had?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know."

"I actually very much want to know."

Out of anger, I almost snapped and told him. I knew my number would scare the hell out of him. We were talking triple digits, all organized chronologically on my phone. I had done the full alphabet. Twice.

"For your own sake, I will not disclose this information."

"So you get to know about my sex life but I don't get to know about yours? That's hardly fair."

"Tough luck."

"At least tell me how many men you've slept with since we got together."

"Why are you assuming they're men?"

"Pardon?"

"I sleep with men and women. Sometimes both at the same time."

The shocked look on his face was priceless.

"Is that a problem?" I asked.

"No, not at all. I mean, the fact that you have female partners is not a problem. The fact that you've had more than one partner at once is more difficult to get my head around. We really live on different planets."

"It's never too late to back off if you want to."

"No! Absolutely not. I'll just—I'll deal with it. But I do want to know what I'm dealing with, what the actual numbers are. How many since we got together? Please, Abril."

I sighed and conceded. "Eleven."

"Eleven?" He choked. "But it's been . . . four weeks!"

I slowly nodded. He broke eye contact with me and looked down, like a puppy who'd just been kicked. He made his way around the couch and sat as far from me as he could. He hunched forward, rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, looking at the floor.

His shoulders shook a little, letting me know he was crying. I knew he wouldn't be able to accept the extent of my sexual life. Some stones were better left unturned.

And because I'm not the stone-cold bitch I sometimes act like, Arthur's pain tore away a little piece of my heart. All I wanted to do was hug him and tell him it was all going to be okay.

I scooted closer but stopped a good foot away from him. I tentatively reached a hand in his direction. As soon as my fingertips touched him, he jerked away from me. I didn't push it and clasped my hands on my knees, staying still and silent, waiting for him to calm down on his own.

"I cannot do this," he eventually said. "I thought I'd be able to handle it but I'm not."

"Open relationships are not for everybody."

And definitely not for someone like Arthur. He was old-fashioned like that. He believed in the one true love, in soulmates, and in living happily ever after. So did I. I believed in those things, but I had already had a shot at it and had not gotten my happily ever after. I was not willing to try again.

Arthur had stopped crying, but he remained incredibly still and focused on one point on the floor, deep in his own thoughts.

I checked my phone. It was almost one in the morning. I should have left his house to give him a chance to gather his thoughts and to give him space, but I didn't want to leave.

"I'm going to bed," I told him as I removed the blanket that covered me and hopped on my feet. I put a hand on his shoulder, which made him look up at me. "You need to think this through, alone. We can talk about it again tomorrow."

I made a tiny movement, bending over slightly to kiss him goodnight, but realized that he didn't want me to do that. He couldn't bear my fingers on his leg only a couple minutes earlier, my lips on his would not be received well. So I stood up straight again and turned on my heels, letting him reflect on our relationship.

He proved me wrong. As soon as I made the slightest movement to leave, his hand grabbed mine and he pulled me to him. When my body was sufficiently bent that our heads were at the same level, he placed his hand on the back of my neck and closed the space between us. His lips on mine led the kiss.

He leant backwards, pulling me forwards and inviting me to straddle him. He immediately found the buttons of the shirt I was wearing and pulled it open, revealing my naked breasts. I went to remove the shirt altogether but he stopped me with a hand on my bicep.

"Please leave it on."

"Why?"

"If you take it off, I'm going to want to fold it, and that'll annoy you."

Oh. That was surprisingly thoughtful.

So I kept the shirt on and continued kissing him. His hand cupped my boobs and his thumbs played with my nipples. Arthur was an avid learner, I had to give him that. He registered what I liked fast and, if that was within the range of what he was willing to do, he just did it. And, as you would know, I loved having my nipples played with.

I moaned slightly against his mouth and I felt him smile. His lips descended towards my neck, another thing that he had figured out I liked. I tilted my head back, offering him my throat. His mouth was soft on my skin at first, kissing it delicately, his lips barely touching me, grazing instead, building up the pleasure.

Just as I was about to beg him to just give me more, whatever 'more' meant, his lips closed around my skin, his teeth ever so slightly participating too. I moaned. And when he moved up to my ear, I wailed.

His hand left my breasts and traveled south, his fingertips delicately tracing the way down. He reached the band of my panties and slid inside them. His index finger glided up and down my labia, spreading my arousal, and it slipped inside me, closely followed by his middle finger. I let out a small yelp and he seemed to instantly gain confidence. His fingers started pumping while he put his thumb right on my clit and started rubbing it.

The pressure built, and built, and built. I was so close, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I was hanging on by a thread. My whimpers started to fill the room, and Arthur, knowing that I was close, tugged harder on my nipples and dug his teeth deeper in the skin of my neck, despite his aversion to doing so. My eyes rolled back into my skull from all those sensations together.

And then, somehow, he slightly moved his thumb and I lost it. Gone. It was totally gone.

I groaned, that was the only thing I could do. I let my head fall on his shoulder and removed his hands from my body. The moment had passed and I didn't feel like trying again.

"I'm sorry, Abril," he murmured in my ear.

"It's fine," I replied as nicely as I could, trying not to sound disappointed.

I climbed off him and placed a timid kiss on his lips.

"I'm going to bed now."

"But—"

"No 'buts', cari. You have some thinking to do. Alone. May I suggest the firepit with a glass of whisky? It's a very peaceful place for self-reflection. At least it is to me."

"But—"

"Goodnight, Arthur."

I did not give him the opportunity to protest and I left the room. I went upstairs, to his bedroom, and I took a shower in his ensuite. I couldn't help but smile when I used the moisturizer and the spare toothbrush that had been in his bathroom for a while, instead of downstairs. I had not put them there, he had. And he had done the same with all the clothes and underwear in my size that used to be in the guest room dresser. They were now all in one small section of his walk-in closet. I chose to see it as a very cute, heartwarming token of affection rather than evidence of things moving too fast. I was not going to overthink this.

While I got ready to get into Arthur's bed, I figured that it would be better for him if I gave him space for the night. He might not be happy about it, and maybe I wasn't too happy about it either, but he needed time alone to think about everything. I put on his shirt, grabbed my stuff, and went downstairs. I did not see Arthur in the main room. He must have followed my advice to get some fresh air. I climbed under the covers and fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

I was woken up by the door being cracked open quietly and the light from the hall hitting my face. My eyes remained closed and my body still, too tired to move.

"Thank God you're here," I heard Arthur whisper. He sounded so relieved.

He closed the door, bringing back the darkness in the room. I thought he had left but then I heard clothes being taken off and placed on the back of a chair. I felt the mattress move with his weight when he lay on it. I was lying on my side, facing outwards. He scooched close to me, his front body molding against the back of mine. He wrapped one arm around my waist and moved my hair away from my neck.

He put his lips right behind my ear and placed the tiniest of kisses there.

"I thought you were gone again," he murmured, choking on his words. "I am so happy you're not."

My heart ached from those words that I probably wasn't supposed to hear, and that I probably would forget about in the morning, for I was half gone. I hated to have that much control over his happiness, just by my mere presence. And I hated that he thought so poorly of me that he believed I could have just left without telling him first.

Well, can you blame him? It's not like you've never done that to him.

As always, the inner voice was right. I sighed internally. I couldn't blame him indeed.

Arthur placed a final kiss on the back of my neck and squeezed me as tight as he could for a few seconds. He drifted to sleep very shortly after that and so did I.

* * *

I was wrong. When I woke up, I could remember what he had said when he'd gone to bed. In fact, that's the first thing I thought about as soon as I regained consciousness.

A strong desire to leave the bedroom and never come back took me by surprise. I fought it and forced myself to stay in bed. We had moved during the night. He was lying on his back and I was draped on top of him, like a human blanket. My head was on his chest and I could hear him breathe steadily in my ear. He was only wearing his underwear, which was not what he usually slept in if he could help it. The fear that I might have bailed had ruffled him.

I let my hand mindlessly trace the relief of his lower abdomen. Arthur was not shredded, but he was athletic enough that, when he was lying down, his abs poked through subtly. His skin was alabaster white, sprinkled with tons and tons of reddish-brown freckles. His shoulders, forearms, and face were the parts of his body where the freckles were the most concentrated. From a distance, if one didn't know better, they almost made him look tan. He had a thin line of orange hair starting just below his belly button and diving into his underwear, and a few more scattered on his chest. His underarms were hairless, letting me know that he wasn't afraid of shaving them and partaking into what was stupidly considered a female beauty standard. Bonus point for him.

I spent maybe half an hour lying wide awake on Arthur's chest, after which I realized that there was no way I'd go back to sleep, so I just got up. I went to the open-plan kitchen and scavenged the cupboards in search of something that would constitute my breakfast. Unsurprisingly, Arthur did not have any fun cereal like Cap'N Crunch or Lucky Charms. However, he had multi-nuts granola. I poured some of that in a bowl and mixed it with some plain yogurt I found in the fridge. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and got started on making coffee.

His coffee machine was not a regular filter machine. It was a professional espresso machine that you'd find in a café that serves proper coffee. I had no idea how to operate it but I decided to give it a go. I found ground coffee in the cupboard and I figured out how to detach the piece that was supposed to hold the coffee from the rest of the device. I put a generous amount of ground beans in it and tried my best to put it back where it belonged.

"You forgot to tap it," Arthur said from behind me.

I jumped and almost dropped what I had in my hand.

"Holy shit! Don't creep up on me like that, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

He frowned. "Abril, language."

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart."

He had a faint smile and rolled his eyes.

He came to my rescue and took over the coffee making process while I sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. He made two cups of coffee and placed one in front of me along with a jug of milk and the sugar bowl. I never drank my coffee black.

He had not put his clothes back on yet. The vision of him in nothing else but black boxers made me painfully aware of the unfinished business from the night before. I squeezed my legs against each other, but it didn't do much. As if to further add to my burden, Arthur took the seat next to me and nonchalantly put his hand on my thigh. Well, it looked nonchalant but, knowing Arthur, it was anything but. He looked at me concerned when his touch caused me to shiver.

"You okay, darling?"

I gave him a side eye.

"'Darling'? Seriously?"

"Why would you be the only one who gets to use a pet name?"

"You can use one, just not 'darling'."

"Why not?"

"It sounds ridiculous."

"Well, that's too bad, you don't get to choose. That's not how it works."

"You're awfully arrogant for somebody who's basically a virgin."

"And you're awfully on edge for somebody who had sex yesterday. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was disappointing."

I choked on my granola. That was self-deprecating humor pushed to the next level.

"Well . . ."

Arthur pushed his cup of coffee to the side and got off his stool. He stood behind me and took my bowl away. He put his hands on my shoulders and slowly, deliberately, he brushed my hair out of the way and kissed the skin behind my left ear. My whole body shivered even stronger than before. I was on edge, that's for sure. I didn't get worked up that easily, usually.

His hands descended. He deftly unfastened the one button that was holding the shirt closed and exposed my boobs. I took a sharp inhale. I wasn't used to Arthur being so . . . forward. He spread his long fingers on my breasts and flicked my nipples up and down with his thumbs. His chin was lodged against my shoulder, his mouth and tongue cajoling my neck.

"You might be better at sex than I am, but I'm better than you at handling sexual frustration," he murmured into my ear. "What do you say we take that edge off you? That ought to make you more amicable."

"Oh shut up!" I intended for it to be a reprimand, but the moans coming out of my mouth made it sound more like an invitation to keep going.

"Should I stop, then?" He asked in a very low, sexy voice he had never used before while his fingers pinched very hard on my nipples and his teeth bit on my earlobe.

"Don't you dare!" I threatened.

I felt his lips stretch into a grin against my neck. The bastard didn't know how to make me come but, right this instant, he sure had the confidence of a sex guru.

"Okay darling."

I grumbled, but the sound turned into a yelp when Arthur slid his hand in my underwear. He rubbed his delicate fingers up and down my vulva, softly brushing against my clitoris without ever focusing on it. The sensation was so delectable that I wondered for a moment if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just lucky. Then I decided it didn't matter; what mattered is that I enjoyed it.

It didn't take long for his fingers to be generously coated with my arousal. He slipped two of them inside me effortlessly and that had me bend my head backwards, resting on his shoulder.

"As much as I'd love to be the one to please you, we both have coffees that are getting cold by the minute. I suggest we make it fast. And for that you'll need to take care of yourself. Is that okay with you?"

I nodded in agreement as I leaned a bit more backwards, intensifying the contact between his chest and my back. I reached one hand up to wrap around his neck, and one hand down that joined his in my panties. The only difference is that I reached for my clit while he was pumping in and out of my vagina.

"I'll be right here with you," he said before kissing my cheek.

As per his instructions, I made it fast. I didn't try to make it last longer, I didn't try to build the pleasure progressively to achieve a more powerful and satisfying orgasm. I went straight for the easy satisfaction. It only took me a couple of minutes to come undone while Arthur's hands got busy and his lips grazed the shell of my ear.

My orgasm was more intense than expected, result of a lot of frustration. Tipping over the edge made me go limp against Arthur's chest, who kept me firmly in place. I was breathing heavily, slowly recovering while Arthur's hand softly caressed my boob and the one which was in underwear moved up and settled on my stomach.

"Feeling better, darling?"

Yes. Yes I was.

"I am much better indeed. But I still hate that name."

"Not my problem."

He giggled, apparently very proud of him, and kissed my cheek. I reached a hand behind me, just out of curiosity, and placed my palm on his crotch. If he jumped a little, he did not outright refuse the contact. I squeezed him gently. He was hard.

"I can take care of that," I offered, hoping he would understand what 'that' meant.

"I'm good, but thanks."

"Are you sure? It's absolutely no bother for me. If anything, I like it."

"Yes, I'm sure, Abril. Like I said, I'm better at handling frustration than you are. And seeing you enjoy yourself is satisfaction enough anyway."

He placed another timid kiss on my cheek and buttoned up the shirt for me before washing his hands in the island sink, right opposite me.

"I really don't understand why you're wearing this shirt," he commented. "I wore it all day yesterday. It's due for a wash."

Did he really wash all his clothes only after one day of wearing them?

I brought the collar to my nose and sniffed it loudly. It had Arthur's signature smell.

"Nope, it still smells heavenly to me. Although now it's definitely dirty." I winked at him, which made him blush. "Will you be able to wear it again without thinking of me in it?"

"Probably. I own many white shirts, once it's washed it'll look just like any other."

I rolled my eyes and gave him a 'you're a moron' look.

"What? Was I supposed to pretend that this shirt will forever bear the memory of that one time you had an orgasm at my kitchen island? That each time I'll wear it I'll automatically be aroused?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"I'm sorry to disappoint but I put very little sentiment in inanimate objects."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course you don't."

I grabbed the cup of coffee we had set aside and took a sip of it. It was lukewarm.

"Are you not going to wash your hands before finishing your breakfast?" Arthur asked, properly shocked.

And because I was tired of his constant judgment and I just wanted to come back at him, I held up the one finger I'd used to get myself off and put it in my mouth. The utterly disgusted face he made was priceless. Well, not exactly. The price was the taste of my cum on my tongue. If sucking on your own arousal was a sexy thing to do during sex, it was much weirder when done after sex. And it made me much more aware of the taste as well.

Arthur's face turned white – whiter – and he looked queasy for a minute.

"I'm going to be sick," he said, and I decided that the message had been received and that there was no point in lengthening his lesson. I hopped off the stool and washed my hands. I even took a paper towel and wiped the seat off my body fluids.

By the time I was done, Arthur had gotten some color back into his face.

"Everything all right, cari?"

"That was disgusting, you know that?"

"And that's the third time in less than twenty-four hours that you call me that. You might want to take it easy, I'll end up thinking you like me."

"Abril, you know what I mean—"

"Yes, I do. And, granted, it's not the most hygienic thing to do, but it's just sex, Arthur. Things get gross, it's part of the fun."

"I'm trying, okay? Touching you . . . like that . . . where I would usually only cook and eat is already a huge step forward. There's no need to make it harder on me."

I sighed and looked down. Maybe, maybe, I had taken it a bit too far. I couldn't bring him from total prude to sexually liberated in a few weeks.

"All right. I'm sorry. Baby steps from now on."

He ran his hand through his hair and pulled on it.

"No, I'm sorry for imposing such a slow pace on you. It'll get easier for me at some point. I know it will. But . . . just . . . please try and respect my boundaries."

"Do you reckon you'll ever be able to fuck me in your pool while we watch the sunset?" I had wanted to do that since I first saw that pool.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.

"I don't know, do you reckon you'll ever be able to make me your one and only partner?"

Touché.

"Well, for the promise of getting nicely railed in that awesome pool of yours, I'd be more open to the idea."

"Is that all it takes to keep you for myself? Good sex?"

"And the infinity pool overlooking the ocean. Do not forget the pool."

"Oh yes, the pool. Let's not forget about the pool."

Good sex was obviously not the only thing that would make me consider going steady with Arthur. He knew it, I knew it. Sometimes it was just easier to joke about that rather than confront the sad reality.

I laughed a bit at his wit then took my seat back at the island and kept on eating my breakfast. Arthur put his lukewarm coffee in the microwave and placed my cup with it as well. He handed it back all nice and steamy. He sat next to me again and just looked around, occasionally looking at me, while sipping on his black coffee.

Neither of us said anything much. When I was done, he took my dirty dishes and his cup and got started on loading the dishwasher.

"Don't you have a maid to do that?" I asked.

"I do, but I don't like leaving dirty dishes in the sink forever."

"Are you also one of those people who clean before their maid arrives because they're afraid they will judge them?"

He looked down for half a second.

Guilty, mister.

"I don't like having a messy house, okay? So when she's not around, I do it myself. I can't just leave the mess until she's back."

"It's okay cari, there's no need to explain yourself."

"Really? Because, from where I stand, it really seemed like I did. I know I'm weird, I don't need you to constantly remind me of it."

I was floored by the pained look on his face. Was I really such a monster to him? Was I nagging him about his quirks the exact same way he was nagging me about my messiness and my language?

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean to make you feel bad about yourself."

"It's fine." He didn't look fine.

"We're all weird in our own way, you know? I myself am pretty weird, I believe."

"You're a cute kind of weird. You just like bright colors and you speak your mind freely. I'm an annoying kind of weird."

"Aw, you called me cute."

He chuckled, but he wasn't distracted much.

"If that helps," I continued, "you can be annoying but that's not because of your weirdness. You're just a jerk, sometimes."

This time, he laughed wholeheartedly.

"You have a point," he conceded.

When he was done with clearing up the table, he asked if I wanted to exercise with him upstairs while he did his daily erg.

"I've just eaten," I explained, "I can't work out just now or I'm going to throw up. Let's wait for a bit. We should watch a movie."

He rolled his eyes, pretending he wasn't happy about it, then he had a faint smile.

"Okay, but let's put on some clothes first."

"Nope, let's embrace nudity."

"My maid will be here soon. I can't greet her in my underwear."

"I'm sure she'll love the show."

"Abril . . ."

"What? She will. I know I do."

"You sleep in my bed. You're biased."

"Whatever. I'll open the door to her if you're too shy to do it. Come, let's watch a movie."

I pulled on his hand and he gave up. We got cozy on the couch, me between his legs, his arms resting on the front of my body. I wrapped us both in his fluffy, gray blanket and I requisitioned the remote. I settled on Home Alone. It was nearly Christmas, after all, so it was fitting.

I let myself melt against Arthur's chest. It was warm, inviting, and safe. I put my hand on his thigh and traced meaningless figures on his skin with my finger. He didn't mind. In fact, he was doing the same thing on the skin right above my underwear, where my constellation tattoo is.

"Will you ever tell me?" He asked.

"Tell you what?"

"The story behind this tattoo. That's not the Scorpio constellation."

"No. It's Aquarius."

"Why?"

"Not today, cariño."

"But—"

"One day," I promised, "but not today."

"Okay," he conceded.

He pushed my hair to one side and kissed the base of my neck, just below another tattoo of mine whose existence he didn't know of. I kept it hidden on purpose.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, the doorbell rang, startling us both. Arthur reached for his keys and opened the gate from where he was while I went to the door, which I opened right after someone knocked on it.

Arthur's maid was smoking hot. There was no other way to phrase it. She was the typical hot Latina mom, with large breasts, wide hips, a perky butt, and a narrow waist. She had long, dark brown hair and looked like she was just around forty years old.

She literally jumped when she saw me behind the door.

"Madre mía!" She exclaimed. "Hello, I'm Marisol. I'm the maid."

She scanned my indecent outfit up and down a couple times before extending her hand towards me. I shook it and took a step aside to let her in.

"Hello Marisol," Arthur said from the couch. He went to stand up to welcome her, and then realized he was not wearing clothes, so he sat back down.

Marisol did not miss it, and the look on her face upon seeing her employer almost naked was entertaining, to say the least.

"This is Abril," Arthur introduced me. "It's her clothes you've been finding here for a while."

"Abril, eh? Tú eres la mujer misteriosa!"

Apparently, I was the mystery woman to her. She only knew me through the occasional clothes I forgot there and the many I borrowed from Arthur's stash of spares.

"Así lo parece."

She didn't even seem surprised that I spoke Spanish. I guess my name was a dead giveaway, and probably the color of my skin.

"Nunca hubiera pensado que este tío encontraría una novia!"

I chuckled. She was surprised that Arthur could ever get a girlfriend. Her wrong use of the word 'girlfriend' aside, I couldn't say I didn't agree with her.

"Yo tampoco," I agreed with her.

That made her laugh.

"I hope you guys are not bonding at my expense," Arthur chimed in.

"Don't you worry about it, cari," I reassured him before joining him back under the blanket and snuggling against him.

"Marisol," he called out to her, "are you okay going around the house on your own? Do you need me?"

"Mr. Dullac, I've worked for you for two years, I'll be fine. Enjoy your movie and your girlfriend," she replied to him with a wink that made me laugh a bit more.

"I'm surprised you didn't correct her on our relationship status," he snarked when she was out of earshot.

I rolled my eyes and ignored him, putting the movie back on.

When the credits appeared on the screen, Arthur turned off the TV. I expected him to jump on his feet. Instead, he sunk a bit more in his seat and wrapped his arms tighter around me and lodged his chin on my shoulder.

"I don't really do lazy mornings," he said in my ear, "but I have to admit, this is very nice. I could get used to this."

He kissed the side of my neck, causing me to shiver. I tilted my head back and reached for his lips with mine. He kissed me back with enthusiasm. So much enthusiasm that his hands slithered up under my shirt and cupped my boobs, his forefingers softly grazing my nipples. I moaned a little against his mouth.

Unfortunately, Marisol coming back into the main living area to clean the kitchen cut our heated moment short. Arthur practically jumped away from me and stood on his feet in a fraction of a second. Then he realized he was almost naked and he got embarrassed really fast.

"Let's go upstairs? We still have a workout to do."

I was tempted to let him struggle in his underwear in front of his maid, but he was too cute not too rescue. I swiftly followed suit as he essentially ran up the stairs.

We changed into sports clothes in his room and made our way to the gym. As always, the view from the glass wall was breathtaking, and would make any tough workout ten times easier. There was also something worth noticing inside the gym, and no, I wasn't not talking about the fit rower with surprisingly thick thighs, although he was quite the view when he was wearing his short gym shorts.

Hanging from the ceiling, where there had been nothing before, was a brand-new sandbag. It was similar to the one in my apartment in size, but was much newer, and probably much better quality. My eyes went from the punching bag to Arthur, who was looking at me like a mom watching her kid open their Christmas present. He also produced a pair of boxing gloves that he presented to me. Pink gloves.

"Before you say anything," he announced, "I didn't buy them pink because it's for girls, I bought them pink because you like pink."

It took a few seconds, if not a minute or two, to sink in. Arthur had bought a punching bag for me. He had not just gifted it to me so that I could replace mine. No. He had bought one to put in his own place, for me to use when I came over. He'd had to put a damn hook on his ceiling for it. If that didn't scream long-term relationship, I didn't know what did.

"Don't panic!" He commanded.

Well, too late for that.

"Abril, I'm serious. It's just a punching bag, so we don't have to do an impromptu trip to your place again in time of crisis. It's nothing, I swear. It can be gone in one minute."

"You put a hook on your ceiling," I contradicted him.

"I can just take it out and fill in the hole. That would take me maybe ten minutes. Still nothing permanent."

I was not convinced. It felt like commitment to me. Ironically, when I felt the familiar hold of panic on my chest, the one thing I wanted to do to alleviate that was . . . punching that bag.

"You need to punch something, don't you?" Arthur asked, and I wanted to slap him for being right. "Here." He handed me the gloves.

"You should know that, when I need to punch something real bad, I don't use gloves."

He had a disapproving look but discarded the gloves to the side anyway.

"Can I offer some tape?"

I shook my head. No time for taping. I just wanted to punch.

"How would you like to punch me instead of the bag? That ought to be more efficient."

He had a point. But . . .

"I don't want to ruin your beautiful face, darling."

He chuckled.

"No more cari? And don't worry about it, I won't let you."

He raised his fists in front of his face, in a proper boxing stance, ready to block my punches.

"It's not fair if I'm the only one who gets a stupid nickname. And please tell me you're not serious, I'll destroy you."

This time, he had a true, heartfelt laugh.

"Darling," he winked at me while using this stupid name, "I'm not sure where you got the idea that I'm clueless at boxing, but I'm not. You're probably better than me but I know I can offer you a fair opposition."

"It's still a risk I'd rather not take. This face is too precious."

"Careful, that's a lot of compliments in a short amount of time. One might think you have a crush on me."

"I can't help it. Those thighs of yours in these ridiculous shorts make me unprecedentedly partial to your looks."

"That's an awful lot of words just to say you've got the hots for me."

I didn't get to experience youthful, cocky, fun Arthur often. But when I did, it felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Oh shut up!"

In response, he pulled up the legs of his shorts even higher and started flexing his quads. The muscly bulges on his inner thighs made my brain go stupid.

"You should close your mouth," he snarked.

I flipped him off and did, indeed, close my mouth.

"I think I preferred you when you were not as much of a smartass."

"Did you, now?"

He laughed and slid on some boxing focus mitts, which were as pink as the gloves he'd shown me earlier. He held his hands up in front of his face.

"All right, that's enough with the chitchat. Show me what you've got. Hitting the mitts won't be nearly as satisfying as hitting me but it's close enough, isn't it?"

I nodded and adopted my boxing stance, ready to give him his money's worth. I hit the mitts with my bare fists over and over, putting as much strength in it as I could. He would occasionally recoil from the strength of the impact and that made me proud.

Surprisingly, he was able to give me good advice on how to position my feet and how to improve my punching technique. By the end of our impromptu one-on-one session, I could already feel myself being stronger and more efficient.

"Give me ten more punches and you can call it a day. Give it all you've got, empty the tank! One!"

And so, on his count, I punched the mitt with my right arm as strongly as I could. A punch is just one short motion, but the amount of energy it takes away from you is enormous. Halfway through the ten punches, I was out of breath and I did not have much strength left in me.

"Come on, Abril! You're halfway there! Six!"

As I threw my sixth punch, I was exhausted, my mind fuzzy, and my vision a bit blurred. Arthur was also distracted, too busy encouraging me to make sure he was holding up his hands properly. For all those reasons, I missed the mitt and hit Arthur right in the face instead. My fist connected with his jaw in a loud, dull sound.

The impact made all the bones in my hand rattle painfully. I shook it out, hoping nothing was broken, then I looked at Arthur. He didn't look good.

"Dios mío, cari! Are you okay?"

I took his face between my palms and looked at him closely. His eyes were glassy, wandering aimlessly and his skin was paler than usual. Fortunately, there was no open wound nor sign of contusion.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur. Please tell me you're okay."

He shook his head back and forth, bringing back some color to his cheek. He rubbed the side of his jaw, where my knuckles had hit him.

"That will leave a bruise," he stated.

I laughed. If he was making jokes, he couldn't be too harmed. Although he was not the joking type. Maybe I'd just given him a behavior-altering concussion.

"I told you I'd ruin your pretty face," I teased.

"The pretty face will be fine, don't you worry. How's your hand?"

"It's a bit sore but I'll live."

He held out his hand for me to show him mine. He examined my fingers and joints, bending them in all possible directions and assessing my pain, and he seemed to determine it was fine.

"Let's go put some ice on it."

"Do you have a medical degree that I'm unaware of?"

He rolled his eyes and ignored me.

We went to the kitchen and he filled a plastic bag with ice from his fridge that he applied on my hand. The coldness of it made me jump. After a minute or two, my hand was totally numb, which was much better than the throbbing pain.

I filled another plastic bag with ice and handed it to him.

"Put this on your jaw, we wouldn't want to risk having you permanently disfigured."

He took the bag without complaining and put it on his cheek.

"Did that feel good, at least?" He asked.

"What? Punching you?" He nodded. "I can't say it felt bad," I joked.

I sat on the kitchen island under Arthur's disapproving glare and we both waited in silence for the ice to work its magic.

I had Arthur remove his ice pack first so I could see the damage. His skin was already starting to turn purple but it otherwise looked fine. I kissed his bruised jaw. He didn't pull back.

With my non-injured hand, I took his in mine and laced our fingers together, resting them on my lap. Then I looked up at him, and he looked right back. The cute, fun, carefree vibe we'd be experiencing for a little while shifted right back to serious in a fraction of a second. I could feel it, he could feel it.

"About yesterday . . ." Arthur started.

My heart started racing. That was it. The result of his thinking. The final decision.

"I don't want to talk about it," I cut him off.

"But we have to, darling."

"Fine," I grunted. "Lay it on me."

"I took your advice and did some thinking by the firepit, yesterday. You were right, it's a great spot for introspection."

"Cut to the chase, Arthur. What did you decide?"

"It's in our best interest to part ways here."

"Oh. I see."

I tried to hide my disappointment. It sucked but he was right, it was for the best. As we had mentioned many times before, what we each wanted was very different. I'd survive. It's not like I was super attached to him. He was nice enough company and, after a rocky start, we actually got along quite well. But we were not quite at the point of no return. I'd be okay. Just a few more rounds of Tinder and I'd be just fine. God I really needed to meet people in real life again.

Arthur did not say anything more. What was I supposed to do right now? Just pack my stuff and leave? The sports clothes I had on did not even belong to me. Did I have time to shower and change? Did he expect to be my friend after that, or did he want me out of his life for good? More importantly, what did I want? Could I maintain a friendship with him? I struggled to handle being friends with Cedric after so much time spent sleeping with each other, I could hardly see myself doing the same thing with someone else. It wasn't worth it. My friendship with Cedric was too precious to lose and deserved all the effort, my friendship with Arthur was not. Hell, we were not even friends, really.

He still did not give any indication of how I should behave, so I took matters into my own hands and decided to leave as fast as possible. I'd give him the clothes back another time. Or better, he had enough money to buy again whatever I'd take, I would just not give them back.

I realized I was still holding his hand. 'Holding' being a loose interpretation of my intense squeezing. I let go of his fingers and got off the counter.

"We have a deal," he suddenly added to his previous statement.

"What do you mean?"

"I told you I'd try being in an open relationship for six months, and that's what I intend to do."

"But it's making you miserable."

"Correct. And it's probably making you upset too, since I'm unable to deal with this situation adequately. That's why it's best for both of us to stop here."

"You said that already," I noted.

"I know. I'm just making sure that you know I know I'm being stupid. Because, the truth is, I have no intention of doing what's best for us."

Huh. I had a bad influence on him, didn't I?

He anchored his hands firmly on my hips and bent down from the neck. I thought he was going to kiss my lips, but he went straight for my ear instead.

"How will you cope next time you see evidence of my sleeping with other people?" I asked, because even though his teeth on my earlobe were burning away the last few functioning neurons I had, I was still able to see the issues of what he was offering.

"I'll deal with it."

"Like you dealt with it last night?"

"I'll do better."

"You're going to get hurt, cari."

"Let me worry about it. You just worry about not running away from me."

What could I reply when he was being cute like that?

"Okay, Arthur. Okay."

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

A/N: As always, please vote and comment if you enjoy the story. And if you're feeling very generous, please consider following me and adding my book to a public reading list. That helps a lot.

Next chapter on Friday.

Love,
Charlie.