Romance Test

Get Behind This

"The condoms are in the kitchen," he announces into her shoulder that he's kissing; and Emilia peers at him in confusion. He lifts his face and meets her eyes. "I need to get them."

"Oh, right," she says.

Why didn't he get them when he was leaving the kitchen? Emilia just can't stop analysing everything. She wonders if he was going to do something else - not the 'normal' shag she requested - and then he changed his mind. Alternatively, maybe, he likes to do it in the kitchen; that's why the condoms are there; and she wasn't supposed to ask to go to his bedroom. Or was it he who suggested it? She can't quite remember now.

Emilia is close to losing her bottle. How do people even manage to hook up?! Do they just intuitively know how to go through these steps - or is there some sort of a secret manual?

"Emilia."

She blinks and stares at him.

"I need to get up, love," he says evenly.

She scampers off his lap, which adds to her anxiety; because when she moves, without her bra restraining her tits or her clothes hiding her body, there's a lot of visible jiggling. He rises and looks down at her. Emilia clenches her hand to stop herself from grabbing the nearest piece of fabric to cover herself.

Is it OK to ask a bloke who's supposedly going to shag you in a couple of minutes if you can get under his duvet? Emilia's asking for a friend.

He gives her a fleeting smile, which seems almost distracted, and leaves. Emilia releases a shaky breath and crawls to the headboard of his massive bed.

His bedding is just as pristine and faceless as the rest of his flat. Also, either he's taken classes on professionally making his bed, or he's got a maid or a butler, since the whole set up of four identical pillows and the wrinkle-less duvet are just too perfect.

Or maybe he doesn't sleep in this bed, she suddenly thinks. Maybe, this is a 'shag bed.' He said he didn't normally have guests in his flat - but quoting her favourite telly doctor, everybody lies.

She's torn between the need to catch her breath and the fear to break some rules of a casual hanky-panky. She's not proud of using this term in her mind, but currently her mental vocabulary is limited by the impending panic attack that she's been warding off for the last half an hour. She has no mirrors in her bathroom, except for a small one above her sink; and she tries to never change in public places, like a gym or a shop; and when she takes a shower or a bath, she makes sure to look down at herself as little as possible. She hasn't taken her clothes off in front of another person - and especially, a man - in seven years. Emilia needs a moment.

She decisively jerks at the edge of the duvet and weasels under it. You aren't a weasel. More like a coypu, Emilia's inner voice rears its ugly head again.

Shut up, Kate, Emilia orders.

Oates comes back; and somehow in the two minutes he was gone, she's forgotten he's not wearing a shirt. How on Earth is Emilia supposed to feel adequate next to a man who, below his neck, looks like Henry Cavill, chest hair and massive arms included; minus the weird overly defined pectoral muscles and abs that look like a Dairy Milk chocolate bar?! Oates is basically built like Jason Momoa, height and width wise. Were he a celebrity, it would be OK, because they are virtually a different species - but he's a real life man, who just happens to have good genes and works out! He's large, heavy, and mind-blowingly fit!

He's also barefoot. Is this something men do to prepare for shag?! He opens the buckle on his belt, the zipper whizzes; and he pushes his trousers down. The sound that just burst out of Emilia isn't even human.