No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

My heart was racing, thumping wildly against my chest.

It was I who had taken the initiative, flirting with him to test the waters. But when he actually responded, I chickened out.

I was breathing heavily, "Ernest, you...."

He took a step closer, cutting off my words and instinctively, I stepped back, trying to escape.

This dance of advance and retreat allowed him to successfully make his way from the doorstep into the house, cornering me against the coat rack. And there we were, both of us holding onto a bowl of chicken soup.

It was impressive, really, how amidst our tug-of-war, not a single drop of the soup was spilled.

My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest...

Ernest remained silent, merely standing close, staring at me.

I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze, regretting deep inside why I even thought of provoking him.

Fanny was the one who pushed me, but she also cautioned that men can't resist a flirt. It was just a spur-of-the-moment decision, and now I felt foolish.

But what's done is done, no use in regretting now.

I had to force myself to stay calm because I knew it was the only way to deal with Ernest. I could tell he was also stirred, touched by my provocation.

But he was trying hard to suppress it, the veins bulging on his forehead were proof enough.

"The soup's delivered, you can go now," I managed to say, barely catching my breath.

Ernest didn't move, nor did he reply.

"Licia..." he interrupted me, his voice hoarse.

My entire being felt on the edge of breakdown, my body responding in ways I couldn't explain.

"Hmm?" My voice trembled as well. It was embarrassingly seductive. I quickly bit my lip, afraid to make another sound.

I never imagined I could be this way, too embarrassing for words.

Ernest's Adam's apple bobbed

visibly under my gaze, and the next second, his hand was at the back of my head, pulling me against his chest, his husky voice right in my ear, "Don't speak."

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"Don't move, and don't speak," his voice was even lower, huskier, "I'm afraid... I won't be able to hold back."

My eyes widened. Was he implying he wanted to fuck me?

"Don't move, just listen," his hand stroked my hair, keeping me still, yet he moved closer, holding me tighter.

I was only wearing a thin silk

, and he was in

T-shirt. The flimsy fabric did

I the heat between uso

I wasn't Fanny, with no medical background or understanding of human physiology, but I knew my body was responding, craving for something.

I was no longer a young girl, well into my twenties, mature in body and mind, yet untouched.

That empty feeling, wanting to be filled, made my heart race.

And I could tell, Ernest wasn't faring any better. His heartbeat, his breathing, and the warmth of his body spoke of desire.

I was attractive to him.

But he made no move. What did that mean?

Restraint, patience, or as Fanny said, maybe not loving enough to touch, or afraid of the responsibility that might follow?

I couldn't let it go, still wanting to test, seeking an answer.