Love Expectations (Season 1 of Nata and Phillip's Romance) ✔️

30. 'That good?'

Nata

In my lab, I put the random papers from the only unused bench into a cardboard box so I could go through them later. I massage the remaining ache at the at the top of my neck below my hair and squint. The florescent lights are too bright on a normal day, but after sleeping less than five hours, they burn my retinas with the vigor of airborne acid. I should've brought sunglasses, but that'd get me even more glances than the dozen Kate has already thrown my way in less than an hour.

From the outside, today looks like all other days: I woke up at five and made it to work. I had a double shot of espresso. Twice. I took an Advil. I answered my emails and conducted two out of the three interviews for the new hire for my lab with Samson and Fiona as my panel.

The main difference is that I'm sore.

Not in a way I've ever been.

After I started track in middle school, muscle soreness became the norm. I liked it. It was in a way proof that I worked hard and pushed myself. If I was sore after a run, I took it as a tangible indicator of progress, a more immediate way to know I worked hard than the gradual improvements in physical form or shaving seconds off my best times. Those took weeks, if not months, to achieve.

But being sore from sex? New to me.

Even though one of my fears about having sex with Phillip was that I wouldn't know how to do sex with someone other than Samson, this weekend proved that fear was unsubstantiated. I shift from one foot to the other. The change in position brings no relief, only more awareness of how swollen I still am. How even the light contact with my panties creates too much friction.

I'm sure porn stars are sore from sex, but I've never thought I could be. I guess that's what I get for having sex so many times in two days.

"When are we going to talk about you driving away with Phillip?" Kate places a frozen sample into the lyophilizer and shuts the door.

"There's nothing to discuss." I move my low ponytail to cover the hickey on the spot behind my ear that most definitely is a new-to-me erogenous zone. "I need to go prep for the last interview."

The feel of Phillip's lips kissing their way from behind my ear down to the hollow below my throat—new erogenous zone number two—sends my neck, chest, and face into the kind of overheating they're only used to experiencing from exercise. My stomach flutters.

The no kissing on the mouth policy was a wise choice, because I don't need to catch feels or allow my brain to trap itself into thinking there's something more than procreating going on between Phillip and me. No kissing is a perfect boundary to keep the lines of our deal clear. But no kissing did not save me from enjoying myself. A lot. Phillip wasn't exaggerating his expertise. Everything his did to me I craved more of. I rest my hand on my flaming cheek. Or maybe it's just the novelty part of sex with a new person.

"I was locating a fire extinguisher you two were so hot together on the plane." Kate picks up some bottles with solvent and hands them to me returning me to the here and now. She watches me like I'm a mood ring and will give away what happened without opening my mouth. "The least you can do is tell me what happened after you got into his limo, while I clean up the bench for whomever you end up hiring."

The only available bench somehow became a solvent storage and although I was glad that the last candidate Samson actively been pushing on me flared his nostrils at the sight of his potential place of work. The person I'm interviewing next is who I think I want to hire. She's the only candidate who ticks most of the requirements on my list.

I stack the bottles on a shelf in the dedicated shelving unit. "Thanks for your help."

"And?"

"And what?" I take the final jug and walk away from Kate.