The One After [SHAWN MENDES]

Chapter 17

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod

It happened!
And.
It.
Was.
Amazing.

"What're you doing?" Shawn asked sleepily.

Oops. I hadn't expected him to wake up considering he'd been snoring softly for the last hour. I, meanwhile, was wide awake from the combo of the chocolate pie's caffeine and the adrenaline of sex.

"I'm big on journaling," I told him.

He sat up and scratched his stomach. "Are you writing about me?"

He'd been pretty open with me earlier, and I respected that. Maybe he was never going to be my boyfriend, but whatever we were needed to be built on honesty. "Yes. Sorry. I just have a lot going on in my head right now and I thought writing it out might still the waters a bit, you know?"

He gave me a quick kiss on my cheek and laid back down. "Make sure to put in that thing I did when you were half hanging off the bed." Seconds later he was snoring again.

"There's that ego," I said softly, though I didn't mean it in a negative way.

Instead of going back to my journal, I shoved it under the bed and snuggled deep in my covers, reveling in the pleasurable soreness a night of great sex provided. I went over how things had transpired because I didn't want to forget our encounter later.

After dessert, we'd moved to the couch and started kissing right away since we were past the point where you have to gauge if the other person wanted to mess around.

Our clothes came off, new body parts were touched, kissed, and licked, and since my period was done, there was no reason not to take things all the way. We moved to my bedroom, and I got out the condoms I'd bought at the store earlier that day, though he'd brought some of his own. We ended up using several of them.

"I've been thinking about this ever since I met you," he said as he hovered over me, both of us quivering with anticipation. "You've told me no before, and I want you to know that you can say it now. I don't want to push you."

It was beautiful that he felt this way, but I'd been sending verbal and physical signals that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Instead of speaking, I pulled him towards me and kissed him hungrily. As we became one, I got lost in every minute of it and felt none of the self-consciousness I'd had with other partners. We intuitively knew how to pleasure each other, yet it was also incredibly tender and, dare I use the word, loving.

I let out a deep sigh as I thought of how he'd held me when we were done. We hadn't discussed him staying over, but he fell asleep after awhile, and I knew he wasn't the type to sneak out in the middle of the night.

I still couldn't sleep so I pulled my journal out again and wrote a little more.

I'm wading into deep and dangerous waters and I don't care at all. After being intimate with him (in a way that wasn't just fucking) I've fallen harder. It's not because he's visually perfect or because he's famous. He's slowly letting me in, and as someone who lets so few people in herself, that means so much to me. I'm letting him in, too, and that's probably going to result in heartbreak.

I have so many questions I'd like answered. He doesn't want a girlfriend right now, but is it because he thinks he might reconcile with Camila? He's on tour getting on stage singing songs about her night after night. That means something, right? Or does he do it because those are the only songs he has? Does it hurt to sing them?

I guess the big question is whether he can ever love anyone else as much as he loves her. He said he likes me, but even when it felt like we were making love, no words that expressed any deep feelings were spoken.