Page 83 of Cava with My Colleague

I waggle my hand. “More or less. It’ll be better next time. I can research⁠—”

“It was good,” Jade says. “I know what I like, and I’m not afraid to teach you.” Then she laughs and looks up at the ceiling. “I once said I didn’t want to date younger men anymore because you had to teach them what to do.” Her hand comes up, threading into my hair again and tugging me down for a kiss. “Suddenly I don’t mind that.”

I kiss her gently, softly. I resolve to devote myself to learning more so she doesn’t have to teach me everything. For the first time in my life, I actually want to absorb myself in sex.

“But for now,” Jade says. “I want you inside me.”

Of course this was coming, I knew that. But it hits me that I have a big problem. “Joder, Jade. I don’t have any condoms.”

Jade chuckles. “Don’t want to become a dad again?”

“At fifty-six? Not even funny.” But I am smiling.

Jade turns to her side, lining our hips up and throwing a leg over mine. I shift mine between hers so we’re tangled up, and Jade runs a finger through my chest hair. “I can’t get pregnant.”

My hand pauses in the run up from her hips to her back. “Is this because of your treatment?”

She nods, her hair brushing my chest. “I’m not sad about it. I like being cool aunt Jade to my friends’ kids.”

“I bet you are a very cool aunt. I have not been tested, though, in a long time.”

“You also haven’t been active. I’ve been tested since my last partner.” She shifts to rest her chin on my chest and looks up at me. “I want to.”

Jade closes her eyes as I bend down and press my lips to her forehead. I brush her hair back, smoothing it away as I roll her onto her back.

I settle between her thighs, and the feel of her—warm and soft and wanting—makes my head spin.

“Okay?” I ask one more time.

“So okay.” She lifts her hips, and I slide inside. It feels . . .

I close my eyes tight, holding. Fuck.

“Carlos. Please move.”

I do.

This is . . . everything. Fifteen years of nothing and then this—heat and pressure and Jade gasping my name like a prayer. I freeze, overwhelmed.

“Hey,” she says softly, hands on my face. “Look at me.”

I do. Her eyes are dark and warm and full of something I’m afraid to name.

“You’re okay,” she says. “We’re okay. Just move.”

So I do. Slow at first, learning her rhythm, listening to the sounds she makes. When I hit a spot that makes her cry out, I do it again. And again.

“There,” she gasps. “Right there, don’t stop⁠—”

I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. The feeling of her around me, under me, the little gasps and moans, the way she’s saying my name—it’s too much. I’m not going to last.

“Jade, I’m⁠—”

“Me too,” she pants.

She shatters. I feel it—the clench and pulse and the way she arches up with a cry that she muffles against my shoulder. It’s enough to send me over too, and I follow her into it, years of loneliness ending in this perfect, devastating moment.

We collapse together, breathing hard. I’m still inside her, not ready to move yet, to break this connection.