Suddenly, it is absolutely necessary that she do that. Now that I’ve felt what it’s like to kiss her, I can’t go another day without knowing what it’s like to come for her.

“Is this okay?” I ask, my fingers brushing her collarbone, down the soft plane of her sternum.

Amy looks down at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

I shake my head. “I want this. I’ve wanted this for too long.”

“Sometimes I think you hate me,” she whispers.

“God, no. I want to scream into a pillow because of you sometimes, but...”

She laughs and the husky sound vibrates against my hands, reminding me of where we are. “Is this okay?” I ask again.

She nods, her hands never stop moving, through my hair, against my temple, my jaw.

The blouse is held together by a set of small snap buttons, discreetly sewn into the hem. Gently, I pop each one to reveal the delicate white lace of her bralette. Amy’s breasts are small, her rosy nipples just visible through the webbing of the fabric. It’s so much, too much. I’m a deer in headlights. Now that I have what I want in front of me, I have no clue what to do.

I trace the loose triangle of the fabric and goose bumps follow my path like contrails in the sky.

“Wait.” She gathers my hand in hers. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes,” I say, too fast to be believable. “I’ve...fooled around with women.”

She arches an eyebrow.

“I’m bi,” I say. “But I’ve never been with a woman like this before. On purpose. For me.” I glance up at her. “As if that makes any sense to you.”

Amy does everything on purpose.

“It makes sense.” She rests her hand on my chest, her finger hooked over my collarbone. “But if this is your first time, I think I should get to direct the play.”

A girlish giggle escapes me. “We can do whatever you want. But.” I can’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at making you feel...good.”

She tips up my chin. “This makes me feel good,” she says into another kiss. Amy presses in closer, cupping my jaw, trailing her fingers down my throat. “Making you feel good makes me feel good.”

I shudder as she pushes my chef’s jacket off my shoulders. She peppers kisses over my bare shoulder, pulling the thin straps of my tank and bra down slowly. For years I’ve toyed with the idea of touching women I meet, kissing the smiley barista in the alley behind my favorite coffee shop or pushing the nerdy tour guide against the wall down a quiet museum hallway on vacation. But for the last few months, lying in bed at night or daydreaming on the way to work, my head has been filled with Amy. I’ve mapped out this woman’s body. Decided, step by step, what I’d want to do, in what order.