I never thought I’d do something like this. I always played it safe, stuck to what was comfortable. But that night was different.
It started with a look—one of those glances that lingers just a little too long. He was a friend of a friend, someone I had seen a few times but never really talked to. Until now.
We were at a small gathering, music playing low, the warmth of a few drinks settling in. He sat next to me, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. We talked, flirted—nothing obvious, just small touches, playful smiles. But there was something there, a tension neither of us could ignore.
At some point, the others drifted away, lost in their own conversations. He leaned in, his voice lower now. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “and I might have to do something about it.”
I should have laughed it off, played it cool. Instead, I let my fingers graze his arm, testing the waters. His hand found my thigh under the table, just a light touch, but enough to send a shiver through me.
We didn’t need to say anything else. When I got up to go to the kitchen, he followed. The second we were alone, he had me against the counter, his hands firm but patient. His lips found mine, and just like that, all hesitation disappeared.
It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t slow either. It was like we both knew exactly what we wanted, and neither of us was about to pretend otherwise. His hands moved over me like he had been waiting for this, memorizing every curve, every reaction.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, tangled in each other, lost in the heat of it. All I know is that by the time we finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, I wasn’t the same person who had walked into that party.
And I had no regrets.
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