XVIII.

“That’s the lot of it, right?”

“That’s all of it.”

Wendy’s lips were in a pinch, studying the boxes—her boxes—filled with all of her things. There was not much there but her clothes and other sentimental things. Irene insisted to leave the appliances. No need for those rickety ones when her place had better ones, she said. A total of three big boxes. They looked so miniscule in front of Wendy, diminished by the enormous flat of Irene.

“Not much stuff there. I think we need to get you some more things,” Irene said, a flicker of excitement aglow in her eyes.

“I think I’m okay. Let’s focus more on unpacking first.”

Irene pouted. It became such a habit now that Wendy already expected it coming, yet the lethal effect it put on Wendy was still new, ever blossoming each time.

“But I’m tired…” Irene whined and Wendy wondered if Irene had always been so childlike, pure of innocence and naivety in some aspects.

“I’ll do it then. They’re my stuff anyway.”

Another pout. Will it ever stop? “No, no—”

A back hug. Wendy still found the affection a bit of a surprise at times, especially whenever Irene would nuzzle her chin on Wendy’s shoulder and would wrap her arms around Wendy’s waist, squeezing tighter and tighter each second.

“—I need my dose of Wendy right now.”

Wendy laughed, partly because it was funny and cute at the same time and partly because she was speechless. Irene—this Irene—always made her so lost for words.

But it wasn’t only that.

Irene liked to do things spontaneously. Be affectionate with no regard for permission, taking control, being an aggressor, almost. Wendy thought it to be because of Irene’s profession. Being bossy, being in charge became Irene, these qualities ingrained into her being much like how the knowledge of business and economics had been keyed into her brain. She then had the habit of doing things her way, whatever it was and whenever she wanted it.

Just like now and much like the other times.

Being showered with kisses. On the neck. Eeep. It didn’t only tickle—Irene’s kisses had always felt like sparks, tingling Wendy’s nerves alive—but it also felt so damn good.

Irene liked to go in a trail, starting from the crook between Wendy’s neck and shoulder—this bit always sent the highest voltage of sparks; so immense that Wendy never failed to tremble at the instant contact of Irene’s lips on that part of her skin—then Irene goes up, higher and higher, with a certain gentleness yet still managing to give a shock of electricity that intensified Wendy’s heart beat to a precarious level.

Then Irene would reach Wendy’s jaw, leaving a soft peck there that always lasted longer than the rest. She would either go for Wendy’s ear next or head towards Wendy’s cheek. Irene settled for the cheek today.

“You always smell so good, Wendy,” Irene said. Wendy could tell that Irene was resisting the urge to squeeze the life out of her right then.

Wendy tried to compose herself, but failing, her words coming out so breathily, “Is it not because you like me?”

“Your hygiene is very impressive. I like it.”

It was Wendy’s turn to pout this time. Habits did get passed along between lovers. “Okay… just the hygiene?”

Irene giggled, then nuzzled ever more at Wendy. “Silly. I’m just playing with you. Of course I like you,” she said, sealing it with a kiss. A peck, really. But on Wendy’s lips this time, Irene turning Wendy’s face with her hand so she could reach those lips.

When their lips parted, Wendy had to take a moment to gather her thoughts. She sighed a breath filled with dreams and anything else magical, as if she was trying to take some of them off of her to make her return to reality.

Wendy swallowed and was glad that words were forming coherent sentences when they left : “Will I ever get used to this?” And they weren’t even sleeping next to each other yet. Wendy felt beads of sweat forming on the tips of her forehead.

“It feels like a dream, doesn’t it? Being with you. Feels so magical and…right.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way with anyone else before.”

“Me too,” Irene said. “But I’m your first, aren’t I?”

Wendy bashfully nodded.

There was a sly smile that grew on Irene’s lips, obviously amused that she was Wendy’s first. First for everything. First kiss. First lover. And first…erm…if they ever get to that point.

“But I’m not your first,” Wendy said. The bleakness in her tone was a foreboding for something that was definitely not going to lead to what Irene was thinking of—what she was hoping for to happen possibly this very evening.

“But,” Irene tried to douse the incoming trouble with a hug that she hoped would give enough reassurance to Wendy, “I’m yours now. Only yours.” And it was true. Irene meant it because she wouldn’t have anyone else by her side other than the woman she was almost squeezing to death right now.

Still, the frown remained persistent. “Other guys have kissed you before. They’ve done things with you before—”

“Nope, no things. Just kisses.” Was it the right time to admit to that? Probably not.

“Kisses. That’s why you’re such a good kisser. Have you kissed other girls?”

There was some distance now between them. Irene was not pleased with that and she was sure Wendy was not pleased about something else, something of a completely different matter to what Irene was displeased about.

“No girls. You’re my first girl kiss.” That should do it, right?

Irene saw a look