While I was towel-drying my hair with one hand and stirring the soup with my other, the doorbell rang. He was early. Really early. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I threw open my door and there he was: that grin, the stubble, those crinkly eyes, the Cajun accent. I was speechless and … makeup-less. Ugh! And my hair …

“Well, hello there,” he said, ducking through the doorway.

“You’re early.”

“I’m right on time,” he said, kissing the side of my damp head. He smelled so good, like cut grass and summer. “A habit of good single dads everywhere. Never make your kids wait for you; they grow up feeling unimportant.”

“Good rule. But I need a few minutes.”

“For what? You look good to me.”

He handed me flowers and a bottle of wine.

“Sweet peas and cold rosé.”

“Thank you. Lovely.”

My place was small; the kitchen, dining and living area were all one long galley, the bedroom visible through French doors at the end of the room. Jesse’s height also made my place seem like the low-slung attic apartment that it was. Both of us had grins on our faces like we’d just gotten away with something excellent.

“It’s really good to see you.”

He placed a hand on his chest and bit his bottom lip while eyeing me up and down, swaying slightly in his cowboy boots. My face shot hot.

“Really good to see you too. Help yourself to anything. I’m just going to … finish getting ready.”

He kept his eyes on me as I pointed to the bathroom, walking backwards towards it.

“Be right back!” I said, and closed the bathroom door behind me.

I was completely breathless. Holy shit. He’s here. Calm down. I was behaving like a teenager. I turned on the dryer and gave my hair a few minutes of heat before deciding, Fuck it, this is what I look like, this is who I am. I stared myself down in the mirror for one last pep talk, remembering Matilda’s words: He’s just a guy. You’re both just people.

I found him in the middle of setting the table, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, tattoos peeking out from under his T-shirt sleeves. He was carefully spacing out spoons next to mismatched bowls. A warm current spiraled through my body.

“Soup’s almost ready. I hope you don’t mind that I added a bit more bay leaf powder. But don’t be afraid to buy whole leaves. You just pick ’em out after.”

I forgot he was a chef—a pastry chef, but still he knew his way around any kitchen.

“Thanks. I can take over from here. You’re my guest. And you’ve probably had a busy day already with your son. Did you guys do anything fun?”

Breathe.

“Nah, he has some little friends that live nearby. They came over. Played in the backyard while I fixed the lawn mower. Glamorous stuff like that.”

“It actually sounds nice,” I said, cutting up the French loaf and putting it on the table with some sea salt and butter. “I’d love to see some pictures of him.”

“Sure. But first, sit for a bit.”

He could tell I was nervous, flitting around the kitchen, plunking down salt and pepper shakers, wineglasses, pulling out my threadbare linen napkins, wedding gifts from a bygone era. I could barely remember who I was back then.

I lowered myself into the mismatched chair next to him, and my knees skimmed his.

“So. Why’d you bench me?”

“I didn’t … bench you. I put in a request to see you again. Outside of S.E.C.R.E.T. And here you are. You could have turned it down.”

“I’m teasing.” He took a healthy bite out of a slice of bread. “I thought of you from time to time.”

“I thought of you from time to time,” I said, then chomped into some bread myself.

“I’m glad you made the request. Been feeling a little hungry for something … a little more substantial.”

“Me too,” I said. Where was this going? “But … I mean … I don’t have any expectations. I realize how we met. It’s just that I’ve been thinking, of all the people who I … Well, I felt a connection to you. So I … yeah.”

He took the remaining chunk of bread out of my hand and threw it across the room. Then he put out his hands to me.

“I’m thinking I need to get you in your bed right now, Cassie, ’cause I get the sense you’re gonna start thinking about this all too much. And then we’re gonna get all gummed up in that mental machinery of yours.” He gently tapped the side of my head.

“G-good thing you can’t really overcook bouillabaisse,” I stammered, rising unsteadily to my feet.

“Yeah, you can. But who fucking cares?” He bent down to throw me over his shoulder.

I screamed, thrilled and shocked. The Delmonte sisters downstairs probably had glasses to the ceiling to hear better. Fuck them, I thought as he carted me ten feet to my bed and threw me down, causing an eruption of pillows and at least one of the bed legs to thump hard on the floor that was also the sisters’ living room ceiling. He pulled a condom out of his wallet, tossing it next to me.

Okay then.

“The neighbors,” I whispered, as he slowly crawled up my body until I was flanked by two inked arms on either side of my head.

Jesse’s face, which was so open in the kitchen, now took on a darker focus. Hovering over me, he fished around for my wrists, one then the other, pulling them up over my head, capturing them beneath his hands.

“So?”

“So?” Jesse is here, on top of me! Holding me down by my wrists on the bed.

“How do you want to play, Cassie Robichaud?”

I had a heady déjà vu from earlier in the afternoon when Angela asked Mark the same question.

“How do you want to play?” I was feeling out of my league all of a sudden. My heart thumped against my chest. I felt nausea rise. He lowered his groin until he had me fully pinned, his erection hard against my inner thigh. It was unmistakably clear what this was doing to him, for him.

“I’m happy to do anything with you, Jesse. But … I wasn’t looking for some kind of fantasy scenario with you.”

“I know it,” he said, collapsing on his elbow, his eyes now searching and warm, his hands smoothing back my hair. “We don’t have to do anything weird … I’m happy to just … neck.”

It was the way he said it—neck—that caused me to erupt into a fit of giggles. And that made him laugh too.

“Y’all wanna just neck with me?” I said, mimicking his Cajun accent. “Okay, let’s just neck.”

Oh, this was the mouth I remembered, the hungry, searching mouth. He bent to kiss me, to shut me up, really, his palm cradling my head, his fingers entwined in my hair. The other hand slowly unbuttoned my blouse, landing warmly between my breasts, then made its agonizing way down, undoing the buttons of my jeans, sliding them off along with my panties.

“All gone,” he said, slipping a hand underneath me to unclasp my bra, flinging it across the room.

He stood up next to the bed to remove his jeans, then his boxers, making it immediately apparent how much this was turning him on. He took my hand and guided me to him.

“Touch my cock, Cassie,” he whispered. “Say it.”

It was so hard, so smooth.

“Say what?” I said, running my hand up and down his cock.

“Say you want my cock inside of your beautiful pussy,” he murmured, his eyes flashing under my inexpert touch.

I’d never seen him totally naked before, but here he stood over me, all muscles and sinew, tattoos and desire, and he knew he had me, this shameless, potent man.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked.

“I want you inside of me, now,” I begged.

“You want me to fuck you, Cassie?”

“Yes, Jesse.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

“Say, I want you to fuck me hard, Jesse.”

I closed my eyes, my whole body feeling an incredible want, as he pressed my knees apart into the mattress.

“Mmm, look at you and your pretty little pussy,” he drawled. “What’s a guy gotta do to make that his?”

“You know,” I said, wishing sexier words came to me more easily. That was something I could do with Jesse, learn to let go more, be freer …

“Say it, Cassie.”

“Fuck me, Jesse. I want you to fuck me hard …” I said, almost delirious with want.

He bent over the foot of the bed, his mouth moving up my leg to the curve of my inner thigh, his tongue tickling the smooth groove where my tender skin met the line of soft down. God he was teasing me. He was driving me crazy.

“Jesse, fuck me,” I demanded, as his hand caressed my thigh, his thumb slicking down my folds, merely fluttering over my clitoris. The ache becoming too much to bear, my hips began to rock to make him touch where I needed touching, to fuck where I needed fucking. But he merely let a lazy finger grace the opening, finding me so wet I gasped, and I arched fiercely now towards him, never hungrier.

I writhed beneath him as he gathered one of my breasts, my nipple tightening in his cool mouth. He did the same to my other one as I moaned in response, now desperate. And oh, the ache. My knees began to nudge the side of his torso, to maneuver him between my thighs.

“More?”

“Yesss.”

He sat up between my legs to roll on the condom, his taut forearms flinching, his eyes savoring me. I realized why I wanted this man, why I had ached for him, because it was an ache that could be soothed. With Will it was all hunger, one we could never satisfy. I needed Jesse because I wanted Will, and Jesse was the only man to quell that want. In fact, I was going to let him fuck it right out of me.