Page 11 of Venus

I’m standing in front of my bathroom mirror staring at a bottle of cologne. I do a final check before stepping out of the bathroom. Pits, deodorized. Face, shaved. Pubes, trimmed.

Teeth? I smile into the mirror at myself.

Sparkling.

It’s not a date. She wants casual. It’s not a date.

But also… she bought a new dress. For me. For her. For us. Whatever ‘us’ means to her.

Not that she told me that outright, but when she texted ‘ I’ll bring the dress ’ in response to my invite, I saw the little preview of a photo at the bottom of the screen.

It opened into the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen: Venus, in red, in her bathroom mirror, biting her lip like she doesn’t know she’s the eighth wonder of the world–or at least the one I’m living in, and that’s all that matters to me.

I splash cold water on my face and dry off before tugging on a clean black tee and jeans. I grab a plastic sack filled with the black licorice and barbecue chips before heading for the door.

The whole way to her place, I’m trying not to overthink it.

This isn’t love. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if she’s serious about not wanting anything real. But it’s something. The way she looks at me makes me want to be her safe place, even if it’s temporary.

By the time I pull up outside her building, the sky’s turning purple, and there’s that edge of chill in the air that confirms fall is fully settling in.

I knock twice. She opens the door with wet hair and no makeup. Barefoot. No dress.

For a second, I wonder if I got the night wrong. I pull out my phone and check. I laugh nervously. “Sorry, I must’ve gotten excited and got my dates mixed up.”

“No, you didn’t.” Then she steps back, letting me in, and says, “Disappointed?”

“Never.”

We settle on her couch, some old horror movie playing on the TV for background noise. She’s in an oversized hoodie and curled up like a cat, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other digging through the snack bag like it’s a stocking on Christmas morning.

“You remembered the licorice!” she mumbles, chewing with a soft smile.

“I remember everything,” I say, watching her instead of the movie .

She gives me a sidelong glance. “That’s dangerous.”

“I’m a firefighter. I like danger.”

“Danger, or adrenaline?”

She tosses a piece of licorice at me, and I catch it with my mouth. She pretends not to be impressed, but I catch her smiling when she thinks I’m not looking.

About twenty minutes in, her feet drift into my lap, stretching her legs. I rest my hand on her ankle, brushing my thumb back and forth. It’s not sexual. Not entirely. Just comfort. A connection that doesn’t need words.

She doesn’t pull away.

Halfway through the movie, she breaks the silence. “You ever feel like something good is about to happen, so your brain starts making lists of all the ways it could go wrong?”

I pause. “Not really, I tend to be an optimist. Why?”

She raises a brow. “That’s where I live, emotionally. Glass half-empty.”

I shift to face her more. “Can I tell you something?”

She blinks at me. “Please don’t say something profound. I’m already emotionally constipated.”

I smile anyway. “I know you don’t want anything serious. And I’m not here to pressure you. But if this thing between us ever stops being casual, I won’t run. Just so you know. ”

She sits up, searching my face like she’s trying to catch a lie before it escapes. She pulls her feet away from my lap, but the distance suddenly doesn’t just feel physical. It’s emotional, too. She’s closing off.

“What if I do?” she asks.

“Do what?”

“Run.”

“I won’t chase you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I lean forward and tuck a piece of curly blonde hair behind her ear. “Instead, I’ll wait right here. Until you stop running.”

She doesn’t say anything after that. Just leans in slowly and kisses me.

It’s not the hungry, teeth-clashing kind of kiss we started with weeks ago. It’s soft. Careful. Like she’s testing shark-infested waters and she’s got an open, bleeding wound.

I kiss her back, just as slow. Just as real.

When we pull away, her fingers are curled around the hem of my shirt, anchoring herself.

“Do you want to stay tonight?” she asks as she slowly lifts my shirt, and her voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“Yeah,” I say, my hand moving to her thigh. “I really do.”

She nods, pulling my shirt off and then her own. I unhook her bra and toss it to the side, sucking one of her nipples into my mouth as we help each other shed the rest of our clothes .

She’s on my lap, wet pussy pressed against my aching cock, both of us trying not to move.

“You got a condom?” she asks, like she’d be devastated if I said no.

“Wallet,” I answer breathlessly, and with her position on the couch, she leans over, digs through my pants that are discarded on the floor, and fishes my wallet from my pocket.

The wrapper is torn off in a millisecond and she slides it down my length like a pro, wasting no time lining it up with her center.

She’s so eager, and the lack of foreplay makes the initial stretch so much slower and intimate. Little by little, she sinks onto my cock until I’m all the way in. She whimpers a bit when she feels the full length of me all the way inside.

With full eye contact, she begins to ride me like she owns me—and who am I kidding? She does. I let her fuck me in the way that feels best for her, grinding herself down hard enough that her clit brushes against my pelvis with each pass.

My eyes roll back in my head and my hands go to her hips when her walls start squeezing me, signaling that she’s close. She begins to bounce higher, harder, and faster. Her beautiful tits bounce in my face, doing their own mesmerizing dance that has the male in me in a chokehold.

“Jesus, V, you’re gonna make me cum,” I warn her, feeling myself reaching that sweet edge .

“Not without me, you’re not,” she breathes out, her face twisted in the pleasure she’s bringing herself.

“Oh yeah?” I challenge, tightening my grip on her hips and anchoring my foot to the ground. “Then let’s get you there.”

Without warning her, I snap my hips up at a brutal pace. Her moans die out into breathless, silent screams as the sensation takes over. She collapses into my chest, giving us a new angle to work with, and I keep up my brutal pace. There’s a cramp forming in my hamstring but I don’t care.

“Ah, Carter, I’m gonna—”

She doesn’t even get to finish her sentence. I explode into her and she’s right behind me, milking me with her silk walls until she’s pulled my soul out of my body.

We’re both spent, and I find myself wrapping my arms around her just a bit tighter as she catches her breath while lying on my chest.

I meant what I said, that I want to stay tonight.

But the thing I want more? Is for tonight to turn into tomorrow morning, and then tomorrow night. Then the next day. Then next week.

My heart hurts knowing that for her, our future won’t extend that far, at least not in the way I want it to.