Page 42 of Sunny Side Up

But given that the whole reason I started SONNY was because I could never find my size in person —which made me feel like my size was a problem, something to hide—I wanted the full range of SONNY sizes in as many stores across America as possible, so that all women could walk into their nearby department store confidently.

This was it. This was better than I could have ever imagined.

I threw my arms around Ted, forgetting all about the still-fresh wall I’d built. “You’re lying,” I said. “There’s no way. Really? You swear?!” Tears of joy welled in my eyes. Then I pushed away from him and let out my loudest “WOOOOHOOOOOOOO.”

Once I calmed down, we went upstairs to pop the champagne in celebration—he had only a few more minutes before he had to head back to Greenwich, and thank god, because after getting all worked up about the deal, I had to shower again before Dennis came over.

After we clinked our glasses together, he told me the highlights of the deal.

Stonebridge’s wanted $500,000 worth of product, in fifty stores across America, and guaranteed front-page placement on their website in the summer months.

But then Ted read a detail that made me freeze.

The Stonebridge’s department store wanted to make a massive order of sizes extra small through large.

Not the plus sizes.

Not the sizes that made up SONNY’s purpose. Its mission statement.

Their offer missed the entire point.

I didn’t want to seem ungrateful but… what the fuck?

“Ted, am I misunderstanding this? They don’t want the plus sizes?”

“Correct,” he said. “I know it’s disappointing, but my retail team assures me this is actually quite normal.”

“But that’s why I made SONNY in the first place. So women could find these suits in stores.”

“SONNY will be featured on their home page. The search engine revenue will be huge! Plus, nobody shops in person anymore. Everything is online. We can talk about it more after the launch. I got them to agree to a two-week pause so we can test the waters a bit more. And once they see how well SONNY sells, we can discuss increasing the size run for next season. This is an amazing deal, Sunny.” He reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear.

“This is just how the industry, how business works, trust me.”

I wasn’t so sure that I did. I’d started building that Ted wall for a reason.

Then Ted checked his watch. “I have to run.”

He gave me a peck while I stood there, sort of blank-faced, trying to sort through my feelings. Mostly, though, I was pissed.

“Congratulations again, Sunny, seriously. You’ll be drowning with these types of deals after the launch. This is just the beginning.” He smiled, his perfect, laser-whitened teeth on full, dazzling display.

When the door closed, I sat down on the bench by the front door. I felt winded almost, like my brain couldn’t catch up to my heart. What. Just. Happened?

For better or for worse, I didn’t have time to spiral about the offer. Dennis was on his way.

He rang the bell at 7:30. I’d closed the curtains, dimmed the lights, and just blown out a Diptyque Feu de Bois candle so that my apartment smelled like a bougie bonfire but I wouldn’t have to worry about a potential fire hazard while my legs were hopefully in the air.

I opened the door in a light-blue silk minislip, feet bare, skin glowing, hair loose and wavy, as though I always hung out in the apartment like this.

He stood there holding two bags from Eataly, wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron. He had Georgie on a leash. He was speechless.

“Wow,” he finally mustered, keeping his eyes on me as he crouched down to unclip Georgie, who ran off to find the Golden Girls.

I pretended there was nothing out of the ordinary about what I was wearing. But I didn’t speak, either. I took one of the bags from him, used it to hike my slip up ever so slightly, and sauntered, slowly, down the hallway, giving him a chance to take in the bottom creases of my butt.

The door shut. Dennis was behind me faster than I expected.

I put the bag down on the counter and gasped.

In one movement, Dennis had wrapped his thick arms around me, pulled both of my breasts out above the silky triangle top of my dress, and cupped them with his enormous hands.

He kissed my neck so slowly that my skin tingled in anticipation for the warm, liquid contact of his lips, his teeth, his tongue.

He lifted my breasts up, pressed them together, then slid his hands under them as he slowly let them down.

He continued sliding his hands down me from behind: down the curves of my waist, down the outside of my thighs. As his hands climbed back up my body, he began kissing and gently biting, making my knees buckle, making me throb.

His bare hands to my bare chest, his mouth all over the sides and down the back of my neck, he began walking me, slowly, toward a built-in bookshelf that stood to the right of the couch, gently grabbed my wrists, then placed my hands, palms open, against it.

He dropped down onto his knees, pressed my legs together, flicked his tongue against the tight space between them, rising up, higher and higher, until I arched my back, and widened my stance so that his entire mouth was pressed against me, hot and wet, pulsating and begging for mercy.

My eyes rolled back into my head as I let out a gasp.

He stood up, pulled my chin toward his mouth, then kissed me hard and deep.

I caught his bottom lip between my teeth and bit it gently, then pulled it lightly.

He groaned. We continued making out at a tangled angle while he untied his apron, pulled his shirt over his head, and stepped out of his shorts.

The choreography was masterful, the waiting delightful agony.

It was heavenly, submitting to his total control, when I was so used to managing every. Single. Little. Detail.

Oh. My. God.

He’d entered me with the guidance of one of his hands, while the other somehow found its way toward my front.

He pressed down on the front of my pubic bone while thrusting into me at the same time, and the effect caused me to grip him tighter, arch higher, and nearly pass out from pleasure.

We continued like that until I saw stars in my eyes.

Then he turned me to face him and kissed me, so gently, so lovingly, it shocked me into a whole new level of oblivion.

We walked backward like that, two partners in a dance, his left leg following my right leg, my left leg leading his right.

We stopped as I felt the backs of my knees graze the arm of my couch.

I leaned back, trusting that he’d guide me down to safety and softness, and he did: He led me slowly down onto the mint-green couch that started our meet-cute.

I looked up at him from the vantage point of a throw pillow and reached my hands toward his face.

I held him there, staring into his eyes, marveling at the passion that flamed around his pupils.

Both of his arms stood like pillars on either side of my shoulders, his bent legs on either side of my legs.

We barely fit, and yet, we fit perfectly.

Made for each other. Then he kissed me, gently, lovingly, again.

“You’re so incredible, Sunny. How am I this lucky?”

Then he lowered himself on top, slid himself into me, the strength of his arms never once allowing him to collapse, and we turned into one giant, rocking, undulating wave—until finally, we both crashed.

We lay there, quiet and still, his face buried in the crook of my neck, until our synchronized breath slowed back to normal and the sweat began to dry a little.

We listened to the sounds of sirens and car horns from the street below, of people laughing and cutlery clicking from the open windows of nearby apartments.

Finally, he pulled himself up. Then he took my hand and pulled me upright.

He hooked his pointer fingers under the delicate straps of my slip, which had never left the middle of my waist, shimmied the silk top half of it back up, over my breasts, then put the straps on my shoulders, one at a time.

Then he took my hands and kissed my collarbone, then my left cheek, then my nose.

When we’d locked eyes again, his returned to their gentle, resting state.

Only they went deeper into me now than they ever had before.

Neither of us could speak, but it didn’t matter.