He rolled me on top of him, watched my face until it was too much, too intense, and I let my eyes close as I came. I heard the click of the camera, and the heavy thud of it as it hit the mattress and Max was over me again, wilder now, my thighs pressed up in his hands and his brows pinched together in concentration.

Images of lights and shadows pounded against my retinas but this time I refused to close my eyes.

He fell over me, heavy; his mouth moved to mine and we held them open against each other, breathing and on the edge together. He moved his parted lips over my mouth as he moved on top of me and we both began to speak silently.

I’m coming, we said together without sound, begging. I’m coming.

We’d both skipped dinner, so I watched in rapt attention as Max raided the kitchen.

He wore boxers but nothing else, and I registered that I’d never just stared at his body. Obviously Max was long and sculpted, but he was also easy in his own skin. I liked watching him scratch his stomach as he considered the contents of my refrigerator. I got lost in the way his lips would move as he cataloged everything in the produce drawer.

“Women are bloody amazing,” he mumbled, rifling through an assortment of cheeses. “I have mustard in my fridge. Maybe some old potatoes.”

“I just went shopping.” I’d put on his T-shirt and pulled it up to inhale the smell of him. It smelled like his soap, and his deodorant, and the inherent Max-smell of his skin.

“I suspect I last went in May.”

“What are you looking for?”

He shrugged, pulling out a bowl of grapes. “Snacks.” He grabbed a six-pack of beer and grinned as he held it up. “Stella. Nice choice.”

“I’m partial.”

He piled grapes, nuts, and a few slices of cheese on a plate and nodded to the bedroom. “Snacks in bed.”

Back on the comforter, he slipped a grape between my lips and then took some for himself, mumbling, “So, I have a thought,” around his bite.

“Do tell.”

“I’m hosting a fund-raiser at my flat in two weeks. How about we make that our big coming-out night? Max and Sara: blissfully in love.” He snacked on a few nuts and studied me before adding, “I’ll even make a no-press rule.”

“You wouldn’t have to do that.”

“I wouldn’t have to, but I would.”

It took a while for me to sort out what I wanted to say, and while I thought it all through, Max snacked patiently. It was such a stark contrast from Andy, who always wanted an answer as soon as he’d asked the question. The truth is, my mind had never worked that way. Politicians pop questions and answers like verbal racquetball. It always took me longer to formulate what I wanted to say. And, in the case of Max, it seemed that it took me a couple of months to sort out what I felt.