Erotic Encounter: Our First Time

The Fight and the Consequences

"I don't know why you're so upset that I asked you to relax with talking to other guys. It's not like I'm forbidding you. I want you to have friendships with whomever you want—as long as they're friendships!" Michael says calmly. My jaw tightens and I turn to him.

"Because you didn't ask me. You walked up in the middle of my conversation and got between us like a territorial gorilla!" I shout. Our argument has moved away from the club, away from the car, and away from the door. I stand in the living room of his house, taking off my heels with as much indignation on my face as possible. However, I don't think this maneuver is helping my stance—literally. Taking off my shoes yields six inches of my height, sinking me back to five feet tall. In order to continue this "conversation," I have to stare up at my boyfriend. Lovely.

"I got between you two because he was putting his hands on you. It looked like he was grabbing your boob!" He yells, and I try not to smile. It took him this long to finally raise his voice, and I'm happy about that.

"But he wasn't. He touched my shoulder. That's not a problem, and if you weren't drinking jealousy juice you'd agree with me." I cross my arms and stare at him. He shakes his head in frustration and starts heading to the kitchen and pours a glass of water.

"Then why did you dance with him afterwards?" He asks, his voice lower. I inhale sharply, but still accept the glass he offers to me.

"Because I was mad at you, and I wanted to dance, but I didn't want to dance with you. He wanted to dance, so we danced. So what?" I shoot back. He shakes his head once again, sipping the water like it's a lifeline.

"You let him put his hands all over you while you danced—don't deny it, I'm sure of it. And I know you were teasing him, because he was still hard when we left the club," he spits out. I swallow drily, not sure how to respond.

"It's not like I touched him to get him worked up. We were dancing," I say, trying to find something. Anything. Hurry up, speak! "And it's not like you should care about him putting his hands on me anyway!" I begin, getting worked up. "It's not like you do it to me!"

Why the actual—-why did I say that?

His head whips toward me at lightning speed, making me immediately regret saying anything. "Because I haven't been all over you yet, you let another man touch you? Is that how this is going to go?" I shake my head quickly, now panicking that this is going to go down a road that we can't come back from.

"No, that's now what I meant. It's not like that!" I plead, walking toward him, my heart starting to beat so fast it hurts.

"Nah, sunshine, I get it. You let a man touch you like that in front of me, I can only imagine what you do when I'm not there. You're just going to run around behind my back like that? I don't have the energy to deal with people who can't remember who they're supposed to be in bed with," Michael spits out. The heart beating in panic turned very fast to rage while he monologues, causing my blood to run fast and hot. 

"If you think that I would ever do that, then you obviously don't know me as well as I thought you did and I shouldn't even be here," I growl. My heart keeps beating my hard, my breath trying to steady me to no avail. We stare at each other in silence, trying to determine where to go from here. We're both breathing heavily, and I can feel the anger and hear from his body radiating from several feet away.

Then he crosses the room and aggressively pulls me to him, snapping me into his chest. I look up into his eyes, and he meets my gaze, holds my glare. Instantly, our lips are locked in a hot kiss, tongues sucking the life out of one another. He squeezes me closer to him and moves his hands to my hip, digging his hands into me.