An all-new opposites-attract romance between a widow—who also happens to be a former President of the USA—and a younger man who is her complete political opposite, is coming from author Cecilia London in just a few weeks, and I have a sneak peek for you.
“I would like to talk about where this relationship is going.” There. That sounded good.
“I think it’s going well, don’t you?”
“I meant, more specifically, where it might go tonight.”
“Oh.” He looked as if I’d genuinely caught him off guard. “I see.”
“I’m not being impulsive this time.”
“I can tell.”
“But I also think I need to… discuss expectations. I mean, neither of us are virgins but—” How could I possibly complete that sentence without dying of embarrassment?
“In a way, we are,” he said. “The first time you sleep with someone is a discovery, right?”
Oh, okay. That made sense. I could build on that. “I suppose so.”
“Much of a couple’s initial intimacy is about discovering likes and dislikes, don’t you think? Almost like sexual information gathering. The joy of discovery. Science but fun.”
“Are you comparing me to an archaeological dig?”
He kissed my neck. “I want to know everything about you. That might require some pretty intense studying. And I’m an eager student.”
“That might take a while. I’m much older than you.”
“I am a man of uncommon dedication.”
Didn’t hurt for me to make the journey a little easier for him. “All my internal organs are in the right places,” I said.
“I’m very sensitive so you don’t have to worry about getting a response out of me.”
“That’s consistent with my observations so far but thank you for sharing.”
“I like soft touching but sometimes a little harder.” In case he hadn’t picked up on during any of the times we’d crept toward home plate while spending lengthy periods of time at first and second base.
“Mmm-hmm.” He nuzzled my neck. Apparently he was eager to get to third as quickly as possible.
There went my plan of hiding my fears. I didn’t like that he could read me so well. “My body is not as springy as yours.” I gestured vaguely. “And my parts are not as, um—”
“I have lube,” he said. “And condoms. Even if pregnancy isn’t a possibility, I want us both to be comfortable.”
“I agree. Safe sex is important.”
“Good.” He mock wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Saves us that discussion.”
I was glad he brought it up first so I wouldn’t have to. Any man who wouldn’t insist on taking precautions was not a man I’d want in my bed. His proactivity was definitely a point in his favor. “If you call me ‘Madam President’ during any of this, whether we are undressed or not, whether sensitive places are being touched, or whether parts are inside other parts, I am running out the door and never looking back.”
“No power-tripping pet names. Got it.”
“Oh, and before I forget, I haven’t done this in a while and it’s a little bit alarming.”
He kissed the back of my hand. “Your drought is about to end, my lady.”
We were really going to do this. I slid back into panic mode. “You said you had a crush on me before. You’re not part of some secret club that likes to sleep with former heads of state, are you?”
“Is there such a thing?” He grabbed his phone. “I need to know.”
I yanked it out of his hand. “Don’t.”
He kissed my nose. All that teasing. I couldn’t tell if he was doing it to calm me down or rev me up. “Am I supposed to find your public service daunting?”
He chuckled. “We’ve done almost everything except for what we’re about to do. Why are you so nervous?”
I’d only had one sexual partner in practically the entire time he’d been alive and I hadn’t slept with anyone in over three years but sure, my nervousness seemed unexpected. Yes, we’d done plenty of heavy petting, but we’d kept our clothes on the entire time. Had he forgotten that part? Dry humping without completion did not a fulfilling or particularly novel sexual encounter make.
“I’m not nervous. By the way, no anal. I know your generation is much more into that than mine and I have no interest in crossing that line.”
Alex took one of my hands in both of his. “You’re nervous. You wouldn’t be babbling if you weren’t.”
Babbling? I was still babbling? I hoped I’d started to sound more assured. “I’m just making my likes and dislikes known. Enthusiastic consent, I think it’s called.”
“Or the lack thereof,” he said.
Valid point. “Or the lack thereof,” I echoed.
He mimicked holding a pencil to a writing pad. “’No butt stuff,’” he said, as he pretended to scribble. “Anything else?”
Every time I tensed, he brought me back to a more relaxed reality. I could let myself enjoy this. A little. “No sock puppets,” I said.
He mimed scribbling again. “Is this a long list? Will I need another notepad?”
“No talking about gnomes.” I shuddered. “I hate gnomes. Of all varieties.”
“Is there some reason why you think I would incorporate gnomes, be they garden or otherwise, into any sexual activity we may perform?”
“I’m being thorough.”
“‘Irrational fear of gnomes,’” he wrote. “Anything else?”
“No, I think that about covers it.”
“I’m going to add ‘no sock puppets and/or gnomes doing anal’ just to be safe. Cover all my bases. I wouldn’t want to trigger anything.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the imagery he evoked. “There’s got to be a YouTube video somewhere of sock puppets having sex, right?”
Emboldened by our easy back and forth, he fingered the top button of my blouse. “We could Google it. If you’re more of a voyeur as opposed to a participant in such things.”
I closed my eyes. “I think I’m good.”
“You just need to keep me in the loop. I won’t know what you like unless you tell me. If you don’t like something, tell me to stop. Don’t feel like you have to let me keep doing something because you think I like doing it.”
“I don’t want to say anything that makes it sound like I want you to get off my lawn.”
“Good,” he said. “I imagine it’s a very well-manicured lawn.”