I rolled my eyes in that way teenage girls do, and she reached for my hand.

“Always take a compliment, Caroline. Always take it for the way it was intended. You girls are always so quick to twist what others say. Simply say thank you and move on.” She smiled in that quiet and wise way she had.

“Thanks.” I smiled back, busying myself with the spaghetti sauce and turning my face so she couldn’t see my blush.

“It breaks my heart the way young girls pick themselves over, never thinking they’re good enough. You make sure you always remember, you’re exactly the way you’re supposed to be. Exactly. And anyone who says otherwise, well, poppycock.” She giggled, her voice lowering a bit at that last word, the closest she would ever come to swearing. Grandma had a list of bad words and really bad words, and poppycock came close to approaching the latter.

The next day at school I mentioned to a friend that I thought her hair looked great, and her answer was to run her hands through it with disgust.

“Are you kidding? I barely even had time to wash it today.”

Even though it did look fantastic.

Later on after gym class, I was changing in the locker room when I observed another friend touching up her lip gloss. “That’s pretty. What’s the name of that color?” I asked as she pursed her lips in the mirror.

“Apple Tartlet, but it looks terrible on me. God, I have no tan left over from summer!”

Grandma was right. Girls really didn’t take compliments well. Now, I’m not gonna lie and say after that day I magically had no more bad hair days or never picked the wrong lipstick again. But I did make a conscious effort to see the good before the bad and really look at myself in a more clear way. Objectively. Kindly. And as my body continued to change, I became more and more aware of features I could look at positively instead of negatively. I never thought of myself as lethally gorgeous, but I did clean up well.

And so now, as I stared into the mirror in the bathroom, knowing Simon was waiting for me, I took the time to take a little inventory.

The dishwater-blond hair? Not so much dishwater. It was shiny and golden, a little wavy and curly from the saltwater it had been cooking in all week. The pale skin? Nicely browned up and, dare I say, a little glowy? I winked at myself, holding back a maniacal giggle. My mouth had that slightly pouty lower lip, just full enough to trap me some Simon and not let him go. And the legs I saw peeking from below the lace just covering my thighs? Well, not so bird-like anymore. In fact, I think they were going to look pretty spectacular wrapping around Simon’s…whatever I felt like wrapping them around.

And so, as I smoothed my hair once more and mentally ran through all my internal checklists, I was wildly excited about the night ahead. We’d raced back to the house, practically disrobed each other in the entryway, and after begging a few moments of girl time, I was now ready to go out and claim my Simon. Because who was kidding who? I wanted this man. Wanted him for my own, and did not, would not, share him with anyone else.

Brain for once was finally in agreement with LC. Especially since she’d crawled up Backbone and slapped Brain right in the stem, telling her in that special way only she could that we needed this. We deserved this, and we were ready. Nerves, well, they continued to circle in my tummy, but that was to be expected, right? I mean, it had been a long, long time, and a little bit of nerves was normal, I expect. Had I been stalling all week? Maybe.

Kind of.

A little.

Simon had been more than patient, content to take things slow, at my pace, but for crying out loud, he was only human.

I was adamant that Nerves not be allowed to turn another Spanish night into the land of cuddle and coo. I turned in the mirror, trying to see myself as Simon might see me. I smiled in what I thought was a seductive way, flipped off the light, took one more deep breath, and opened the door.

The bedroom had been transformed into something from a fairy tale. Candles flickered on the dresser and nightstands, bathing the room in a warm glow. The windows were open, as well as the door to the little balcony overlooking the sea, and I could hear the waves crashing, romance-novel style. And there he stood: hair tousled, body strong, eyes blazing.

I watched as he took me in, dragging his gaze down my body and back, a smile spreading across his face as he appraised my outfit of choice.

“Mmm, there’s my Pink Nightie Girl,” he sighed, holding out his hand. And when I stalled for just the tiniest second, Backbone picked up my hand and gave it to him.

We stood in the darkened room, a few feet apart but connected by our woven fingers. I could feel the rough texture of his thumb as he traced circles on the inside of my hand, the same circles he’d traced weeks and weeks before when I began to fall under his spell. Our eyes full of each other, he took a deep breath.

“It’s criminal how good you look in that,” he said, drawing me toward him and giving me a little spin so he could better see the pink baby doll nightie. As he spun me, the lacey edges flipped up just a little, showing off the accompanying ruffled panties. A low noise sounded in his throat, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was a growl? Damn…

He spun me back closer, grasping my h*ps and pressing me against him, my br**sts crushing into his chest. He placed a tiny kiss below my ear, letting me feel just the tip of his tongue.

“So there are some things I need you to understand,” he murmured, nuzzling with his nose, his hands brushing up under my nightie to fluff my ruffles and grab a handful of backside, catching me by surprise. I gasped.

“You listening? Don’t get distracted on me now,” he whispered again, flattening out his tongue and dragging it up the side of my neck.

“It’s kind of hard to focus with your distraction poking me in the thigh,” I groaned, letting him bend me backward just enough so that my entire lower body was pressed against him, his hard places perfectly content to mold my soft places around them. He chuckled against my neck, now dotting my collarbone with his trademarked baby kisses.

“Here’s what you need to know. One, you’re amazing,” he said, his hands now traveling up to the small of my back, fingers and thumbs massaging and manipulating. “Two, you’re amazingly sexy,” he breathed.

My hands now hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders as our pace began to transition from slow and easy to fast and frantic. Now his hands were sneaking around front, his nails lightly scraping along my tummy, lifting my nightie so we were skin to skin, nothing left between us. I ran my hands up and down his back, my nails much more aggressive, digging in and anchoring him against me.

“And three, as amazingly sexy as this pink nightie is, the only thing I want to see for the rest of this night is my Sweet Caroline, and I need to see you.” He panted in my ear as he picked me up, straight up, and my right leg went around his waist on its own.

Once again, the Universal Law of Wallbanger dictated that legs went around h*ps when they were offered.

He walked me backward to the bed and set me down gently. Leaning over, he pushed me backward on to my elbows. Shirt hanging down off his shoulders, he winked at me, nodding at his state of undress. I reached forward, crooked one finger behind the button on his khakis, and snapped it open. Seeing no peek of boxers, I gently nudged his zipper down just an inch or so, exposing the happy trail that led down, down, down to where all good things were found. Sweet mother of pearl. Commando.

“You got something against underpants?” I whispered, raising one knee and forcing him between my hips. Forcing. Right.

“I’m against your underpants, and isn’t it a shame they’re still there?” He smirked, pushing his h*ps into me, letting me feel everything.

I dropped my head back, silently pushing down Nerves when she threatened to bubble up just a smidge. Piss off, Nerves. This was happening.

“No shame. I have a feeling they won’t be on for long.” I sighed, laying back to stretch my arms over my head, lengthening my body against his and encouraging his lips to further dance along the hollow at the base of my collarbone. I could feel him licking and sucking between my breasts. I arched into him, anxious to feel more. I needed more. He began peeling the straps of my nightie down, baring me and allowing him the access he needed to make me orbit the planet.

Feeling his mouth on me, on my breasts, hot and wet, tickling and sloppy, was unreal. So I told him so.

“That feels unreal,” I moaned in to the top of his head as the scruff from his light beard roughed my skin pleasantly. His lips closed around my right nipple, and my h*ps went off on a tangent of their own, bucking wildly beneath him, both of my legs now wrapped firmly around his waist. Lips and tongue and teeth now lavished across my cleavage, which spilled out over the edge of the nightie as he alternated between breasts, loving them equally. I was surrounded by Simon, and even his scent was turning me on, equal parts peppery spice and thick Spanish brandy.

Nonsensical words poured from my mouth. I was aware of a few “Simons,” and one or two, “Yes, that’s good,” but mostly what I overheard from myself were things like “Mmph,” and “Erghh,” and a rather loud “Hyyyyaeahhh,” for which, frankly, there is not a correct spelling.

Simon sighed over and over again in to my skin, his actual breath a turn on as I felt it wash over me. My hands had been left free to roam in the wonderland that was his hair, and as I swept it back from his face I was rewarded with the amazing sight of his mouth on me, his eyes closed in clear worship. He bit down lightly, closing his teeth around my sensitive skin, and my hands almost tore the hair from his head. It felt phenomenal.

His other hand was running up and down my leg, encouraging me to grasp him tighter between my thighs as his wondrous fingers began to come ever closer to the edge of the lace. It was the last boundary we had yet to cross: the lace frontier.

I felt my breathing still as he went on final approach, his fingers brushing just under the edge of my panties, barely brushing. His breathing slowed as well, and as he continued to touch me gently, his face came back up to mine, and we had this moment, this quiet moment, where we just…stared. Awe—it’s the only way I can describe the feeling of his hand ghosting over me, delicately, reverently. Our eyes locked as he eased his hand further underneath the lace and then, with achingly perfect precision, he touched me.

My eyes fluttered shut, my entire body awash with so many sensations. My breathing started back up again, the intense pressure that had been circling all around and inside and out was now like a low-level hum, just beneath the surface of my skin. I moved with him, feeling his fingers begin to explore me, and I let out the tiniest moan. It was all I could let out. The feelings were so intense and the energy—oh my goodness, the energy that surrounded us in that moment.

I was sure Simon was unaware of the entirety of the emotion that flew around behind my closed eyelids. The poor man was just finally getting a little touch. But as his fingers became more deft and sure of themselves, something incredible began to happen. That teeny tiny little bundle of nerves, which had been dormant for centuries, began to spark to life. My eyes flew open as a very specific warmth began to move through me, starting at the center of my being and working its way out.

Simon was most certainly enjoying this. His eyes were hazy and crowded with lust as I writhed underneath him. I knew he could feel me tense and come alive.

“God, Caroline, you’re so…you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes now crowding with something a bit more than lust, and I felt tiny pinpricks behind my eyeballs.

I threw my arms around his neck and held him close, tearing at his shirt to get it off, get it off him so I could feel everything. He lifted himself from me for only seconds, ripping off his shirt in an exaggerated way that made me giggle but yearn for him even more.

Lowering himself back on to me, he slipped further down, his lips tracing a path down to my belly button. Circling it with his tongue, he laughed into my tummy.

“What are you laughing at, mister?” I giggled, squeezing his ear. He was below the nightie now, his face hidden from me. Poking his head back out, he let loose a slow grin that made my toes point.

“If your belly button tastes this good—fuck, Caroline. I can’t wait to taste your pussy.”

There are certain things a woman needs to hear at different times in her life:

You got the job.

Your ass looks great in that skirt.

I would love to meet your mother.

And when used in the just the right context, in just the right setting, sometimes, a woman needs to hear the P-word.

This could be better than Clooney.

The moan that came out of my mouth when he said that word, well, let’s just say it was loud enough to wake the dead. He let his tongue trace a path from my belly button down to the edge of my ruffles, and then with loving precision, he hooked his thumbs underneath the lace and dragged them down my legs.

There I was, spread out on top of PillowTown with a pink nightie bunched up around my midriff, all pertinent parts on display, and damn happy about it. He pulled my h*ps just to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees. Sweet Jesus.

As he ran his hands up and down the tops of my legs, I lifted up on my elbows so I could watch, needing to see this wonderful man tending to me, taking care of me. Kneeling between my thighs, with his khakis unbuckled and halfway unzipped, hair at atomic heights, he was stunning. And on the move.

Once again letting his tongue lead, he planted open-mouth kisses along the insides of my thighs, one side and then the other, with each pass getting closer and closer to where I needed him most. Carefully lifting my left leg, he hitched it over his shoulder as I arched my back, my entire body now aching to feel him.

He gazed at me for a moment longer, maybe even just a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. “Beautiful,” he breathed one more time, and then he pressed his mouth to me.