Crossing the line

I remember the exact moment I started falling for him. He had taken me out for coffee because I was feeling down. “Let’s go”, he said, “I’m getting you coffee”. It wasn’t an invitation, it was a command. I remember finding his assertiveness sexy. He refused to let me pay for my own coffee, which I also liked. Boys my age never asserted that kind of confidence- at least not the ones I’ve dated.
I don’t remember exactly what we talked about. All I remember is he had the kind of smile that warmed you up to the bone. And that he was a great listener. And that he had two kinds of laugh- the polite kind for when things aren’t that funny, and the unleashed kind where he would rock his head back and forth while slamming his hand on the table. I liked the latter kind and found myself trying to make him laugh.
The first time he came over, we both knew. In fact we had planned for it without explicitly saying so. That’s how it was with us- we didn’t have to spell things out to each other. Our thought process was so similar we could always read each other’s minds.
He looked at me with such desire that made me feel like he was hungry for my body. I was an oasis to his desert. And I was addicted as hell to that feeling.
He knew when to be assertive and when to be gentle, and I did something I’ve never done with another man: I surrendered and let him take the lead.

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