of caution I possessed had deserted me. Here I was—on a dark, deserted stretch of beach, my neighbors fled to the city—inviting the stranger inside. And not just any stranger. The one I’d seen a week earlier, possibly casing my house. I won’t blame the vodka. My dad used drink as an excuse for every wrong thing he did, and my mom’s excuse was my dad. I was drunk, yes, but I knew what I was doing. I felt awake, alive, fully conscious—more conscious than I’d felt in years.
Inside, I flipped on the lights and headed for the front of the house, stumbling slightly over the corner of a thick Tibetan carpet. Aidan was right there to grab me, and the grip of his hand on my upper arm sent warm waves through my body. In the kitchen, Aidan gazed around like a kid on Christmas morning. I was glad for how awestruck he seemed. He’d been taking care of me, and I’d been helpless. But now we could switch roles. In my house, I was in charge.
“I’ll give you a tour,” I said, and in my own mind, it was an invitation to more than that.
He lit up. “I’d like that. When I worked your party, I wasn’t allowed inside.”
I shrugged out of my coat and hung it in the hall closet, then held out my hand for his.
“Take off your jacket,” I said.
He stripped it off and handed it to me, and I thought, First piece of clothing, off. My heart was beating so loud I thought he would hear it. I couldn’t help it—my eyes went up and down his body, taking in the broad shoulders in a soft blue button-down, the flat stomach and narrow waist, the long legs. I took a deep breath, and met his eyes, only to find him watching me, appraisingly, like he knew what I was thinking. I felt a blush spread across my face. But I had no intention of turning back.
“Come,” I said, and took his hand.
I led him through the living room, over to the wall of windows that faced the ocean. “The water’s right there.”
“I know. I can visualize it even at night. I love this place.”
It was full dark outside, and our own reflections stared back at us. Aidan stood behind me, a full head taller, his outline blurred—or was that double vision from the drink? Our eyes met, and he put his hands on my waist. I leaned back against him, feeling his hot breath on my hair. He kissed my neck, and I shivered.
“Show me more,” he said.
Show him more? Did that mean what I thought it did? I imagined undressing for him, unbuttoning my top, taking off my bra, my jeans, my panties, while he watched me in the window. The vision sent a sweet ache right down to my thighs. I would have done it then and there, but he took my hand and led me toward the living room, and I realized, no—he actually wants to see more of the house. For a second, I wondered if I’d gone crazy, imagining that a man so much younger, so good-looking, wanted me. But he did want me. If he also wanted my house, those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.
We made a circuit of the room, and I demonstrated its features like Vanna White showing off prizes. Touchscreens ran the lights and the blinds and the music. A soaring French limestone fireplace dominated the great room. I touched a button and flames sprang to life in the grate. We stepped through the French doors onto the terrace, and I flicked on the outdoor lights. The pool sparkled invitingly, but it was too chilly for a dip tonight, and certainly for a skinny-dip. The deck had its own built-in kitchen complete with pizza oven, enormous grill, hidden beverage drawers, and firepit. He admired it extravagantly, as the wind caught his words, and cut through the filmy fabric of my shirt.
“It’s cold,” I said. “Come back inside.”
The media room featured a wet bar and a giant television screen, surround sound and two rows of leather recliners. He was a very appreciative audience, but I was getting impatient. If he didn’t want to do anything, I’d rather that he leave, so I could retreat to my bed and wallow in my sorrows. But how to find out what he had in mind, short of coming out and asking?
I had an idea.
“I even have a light show. Come on, it’s in the master,” I said.
I took him by the hand and led him up the dramatic hanging staircase to my bedroom. We lay down side by side in the dark, on the enormous bed, with its mountain of pillows, and looked up at the ceiling. I pointed the remote, intensely aware of his body, inches from mine.
“Watch.”
My voice was full of barely suppressed excitement. I pressed a button, and the ceiling above us began to change slowly, from black to indigo to bluish gray to glowing pink. The sound effects moved in sync with the dawn, evolving from the soft whoosh of the night breeze to the first stirrings of the birds to joyful chirping at the break of day. I shifted closer to Aidan, so our legs were touching. My body against the bed was liquid and melting, thrumming with the thought of what would happen next.
“That’s incredible,” he said.
“Just wait. Sunset’s so beautiful, it’ll make you cry.”
We lived a perfect day together watching the colors wash across the ceiling. From the fresh light of early morning through the beaming radiance of noon, through the gathering of shadows as the day waned, our fingers intertwined. He raised my hand to his lips and turned it over, kissing my wrist, then my palm, slowly, lingeringly. The brush of his lips against the skin of my hand made me dizzy, and I thought, It’s been too long. And, Why shouldn’t I? And, I deserve this. At sunset, rapturous colors—pinks and lavenders, ochers and golds—cascaded across the ceiling accompanied by soft music and the sound of lapping waves. The round, red orb of the sun was beginning to touch the water. As we watched it sink into the waves, he moved his right leg until it rested between my two, and I knew then it would happen. I paused the display at the moment the sun disappeared into the water, then looked into Aidan’s eyes. His face was bathed in the spectral glow, his eyes dark with lust.
“Isn’t it magic?” I whispered.
“You’re magic,” he said.
The line was corny, but I ate it up. He pulled me toward him and took my face in his hands. I was conscious of my own heartbeat, of this singular moment in time. In bed with a complete stranger, I could forget who I was. I could become a different woman. My lips parted. He kissed me, and I kissed back harder. His tongue tasted sweet and tangy, of limes and vodka. He pulled my head back, kissing me with such fury that it was almost a bite, then moved his mouth to my neck, my ears. I thought, I’ll have marks in the morning, and I loved the thought of that. My insides turned to mush, and I arched my back, quivering with need, pressing into him until I felt the bulge in his pants. I moaned and reached down for his belt buckle. No hesitation, no shame. I wanted him that badly.
He grabbed me and pulled me on top of him, so I was straddling him. His eyes were locked on my face, the pupils dark, as he grabbed me by the butt and pressed himself against me through our clothes. I rocked and squirmed, aching with need.
“Is this what you want?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“What do you want me to do to you? Say it.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Say please.”
“Please.”
“Strip for me first,” he said, and his voice was rough. “Go ahead.
