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of his hands pushed my panties to the side, and I was anything but miserable.
    Black danced around the edges of my vision, and all the feeling in my body seemed to narrow to that one spot where he was touching me, and holy heart failure, it felt amazing. His fingers hit a spot inside me that had me arching up and towards him. His head dipped, and he started dropping kisses across my chest.
    My hands had a mind of their own as they kneaded at his back, and then slipped around to his stomach, where I flicked open the button on his jeans. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and his lips crashed against mine. He kissed me fiercely, pressing me down into the mattress. The kisses kept building—harder and faster, and I needed something more. I slid my hand along the taught skin of his stomach, to the front of his jeans. Then his lips broke from mine with a groan. He didn’t pull back, but kept his lips millimeters from mine. His breath came out in a rush.
    “Oh God, Bliss . . .”
    He placed a final lingering kiss on my lips, and then pulled back until he was kneeling above me. I heard the metal clink of his zipper, and kept my eyes focused on the frame of his shoulders as he fiddled with his clothes. He stood for a few seconds, and I fixed my eyes on the ceiling. I wanted this. Badly.
    I was about to repeat my mantra again when his lips and hands came back to me—frenzied, almost desperate.
    I could feel the pressure building low in my core, and every muscle in my legs was pulled tight as I waited for what I knew was coming.
    Then he dragged my panties down my legs, and his body settled into the crook of my thighs, and it was like I’d just been submerged in ice.
    I was about to have sex.
    With a guy I’d just met, who I knew absolutely nothing about.
    And He knew nothing about me . . . including the fact that I was a virgin.
    And God, I wanted to go through with it. I was sick of being a virgin, and he was unbelievably sexy, but this wasn’t me.
    I couldn’t do this. Not with him.
    I just . . . couldn’t.
    I froze up beneath him, but his mouth continued worshipping at the juncture between my neck and shoulder.
    I should have told him I was a virgin or that I wasn’t ready. It wouldn’t have been pretty or easy, but at least he would have understood . . . probably.
    Instead, my eyes locked on the porcelain cat cookie jar I’d inherited from my great grandmother, and my brain created a ridiculous excuse out of the first thing that came to my mind.
    “Stop! Cats! Stop . . .”
    What the hell was I saying?
    I put the heels of my palms against his shoulders, and pushed up slightly.
    He pulled back, his eyes dark, his hair mussed, and his lips swollen from our kisses. I almost changed my mind then. He looked almost irresistible. Almost.
    “Sorry, love. Did you say cats? ”
    “Yes, I can’t do this . . . right now. Because . . . I have a cat. Yes, I have a cat that I need to, um, get? Take care of! I have to take care of my cat! So . . . I can’t do this. “I gestured between us, hoping to God that I didn’t sound as crazy to him as I sounded to myself. Improbable.
    I don’t even have a cat!
    I don’t know what synapses misfired in my brain, but I wanted to kick myself. I wanted to punch myself in the face until I lost consciousness. Right about now, I could probably dive into a pool of hydrochloric acid without even a pep talk.
    His brain must have been as clouded as mine, because he paused for a few moments, processing, then looked around.
    “I don’t see a cat.”
    My throat was getting dry, the way it always did when I lied. I was a terrible liar (as evidenced by, well, me).
    “That’s because . . . it’s not here. Yes. The cat that I own is not here because . . . I have to go get her. I forgot, I was supposed to go pick her up.”
    He glanced at the clock, which now read 12:20 AM.
    “You’re supposed to pick her up now?”
    I pushed at him again, and this time, he rolled off of