Page 36 of Sunday Morning

“Does it hurt?” Matt asked.

I shook my head, holding my breath.

He pushed a little more, and I hissed.

“Sarah”—he frowned—“I’ll stop.”

“No! Just …” I swallowed hard. “Move a little.”

“Are you sure?” Sweat beaded along his brow like it was killing him, but it might have been our body heat in close quarters.

I nodded quickly.

He moved in tiny increments. I’m not sure he had even half of his erection inside of me. But it was plenty.

“Yes,” I said, and that seemed to make him move a little faster and a little deeper, but not too deep. “Yes, yes …” I continued to chant because I was certain that’s what women said in the throes of passion.

“Oh God, Sarah …” Matt’s harsh breaths quickened as the tiny motions of his hips became more erratic.

And then, it was over.

More than half the girls in our graduating class wouldhave killed to have Matt Cory’s penis inside of them. But I was the lucky recipient, and I hated it.

I. Hated. Sex.

How was I supposed to write love songs, sexy love songs, if I hated sex?

Why was the clitoris so far away from the entrance for the penis?

Nothing made sense. There were nearly five billion people on the planet. That meant billions of couples did it.But why?

“I love you.” He kissed me between breaths. “I’m never going to forget you.” He deposited kisses all over my face.

It was sweet. I loved him too.

I loved holding his hand.

I loved kissing him.

I even loved the feel of his erection pressed between my legs with our underwear still on.

But I did not love sex.

However, Ineededto hear him say that he would never forget me. That meant that he knew it was just sex. We were breaking up. He would go to Michigan (never forgetting me), and I would go to Nashville.

“This meant everything to me,” he declared with urgency as he continued to kiss me while holding himself up on his forearms. His condom-covered, deflated penis brushed my inner thigh, and the end of it felt warm and squishy. “Maybe fate will bring us back together someday.” He smirked as if his performance ruined me for any other man, so my only choice would be to marry him.

Marriage meant family.

Family meant sex.

Nope. I was not marrying him or anyone.

Matt opened the door and sat on the edge of the seat with his back to me while he removed the condom. I reached for my underwear and slipped them back on before hugging my knees to my chest.

I couldn’t believe it. I knew the first time wouldn’t be Disneyland, but I at least expected Six Flags. Instead, I got a cheap, small-town carnival where the ride broke, and I was stuck upside down for twenty minutes.

Matt lasted more like five, but who was I to point fingers?