The Spare Key

Roy stood in the dim glow of the bedroom lamp, staring at the neatly made bed. It should have just been a piece of furniture, but in that moment it felt like it was a test he hadn't studied for.

From down the short hallway came the faint sounds of running water, the soft clink of toiletries shifting against the bathroom counter, the nearly imperceptible shuffle of bare feet against tile. Each small noise landed inside his head like an echo.

When we get upstairs, can we, like, just go to bed right away?

The words looped endlessly, cheerful and hopeful and devastating all at once.

Roy dragged a hand down his face and exhaled slowly through his nose. Could he actually go through with this? He had to, he reminded himself, the thought arriving with the stubborn inevitability of gravity. Michelle was wonderful. Bright, kind, affectionate, endlessly enthusiastic about a future that seemed to glow brighter just by existing near her. Any man would be lucky to be with her.

He was lucky to be with her.

And that was exactly why he couldn't keep her.

The logic circled him like a tightening ring. Michelle deserved her real life. Her real future. Friends, opportunities, dreams that weren't shaped by a supernatural loophole and a selfish wish made on a drunken night at a bar. The only way to set things back on track was to let the wish run its course. Which meant, of course, that he had to sleep with her.

Roy swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

He had slept with other women this week. The wish had made sure of that. Those encounters had felt surreal, unreal in ways he hadn't let himself examine too closely. While he hadn't gotten used to the idea of being thrust into relationships with strangers, Roy had to admit that having sex with beautiful women wasn't entirely unpleasant. Sure, he felt uncomfortable with the ethical ramifications of his new lifestyle, but so far he hadn't found any other way to allow these women to move on with their lives. And so, even with his moral qualms, Roy had never felt so sexually satisfied.

But Michelle was different. Michelle laughed too easily, trusted too completely, looked at him like he was something steady and permanent in a world that had been anything but. Yes, she was an adult, nineteen, fully capable of making her own choices. But it still felt wrong. When he thought of her, a beautiful young woman just starting out, being saddled with a middle-aged man as her boyfriend, it felt unfair.

Add to that how **** she was, having been rejected by her own mother, the very fact that he was with Michelle made Roy feel like some of the things her mother had said might have a seed of truth in it.

All he wanted to do was protect her from being hurt.

But he had also promised Elaine.

The memory of Elaine's voice, gentle but firm on her front porch, slid through his thoughts.

You take her to bed. You make her feel loved. The way a woman needs to be loved. Emotionally and physically.

Roy groaned softly under his breath.

It was the right thing to do.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Both truths sat in his chest, pressing against each other until breathing felt like work.

He **** himself to move, stripping off his shirt first, then his trousers, folding them with unnecessary care and setting them on the chair in the corner. The ritual felt absurdly formal, like he was preparing for a ceremony instead of... whatever this was. He hesitated only briefly before stopping with his blue boxer shorts. Even though what they were about to do was implied by their conversation, it felt presumptuous to get naked before she came into the room.

So he just stood there.

Waiting.

Should he sit on the bed? Lie down? Lean casually against something like he'd seen in movies? Every option felt wrong. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet hum of the apartment, the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, the faint rush of plumbing in the bathroom as the water shut off.

He felt like an intruder in his own home. Like someone had handed him a script written in a language he only half understood.

The bathroom door opened. Roy looked up. Michelle stepped into the hallway, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to dim around her.

She wore only a pair of blue panties. Her hair spilled loosely around her shoulders, still slightly damp from where she had splashed water along her neck. Her skin caught the lamplight, glowing like a beacon of beauty. She stood there for a heartbeat, smiling at him with bright, unfiltered excitement.

She was breathtaking.

The smile spread wider as their eyes met, her whole face lighting up with delighted certainty. Then she laughed, a quick, breathless sound, and ran toward him.

"Michelle..."

He barely had time to react before she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist. Instinct took over. He caught her, his hands sliding under her, gripping the curve of her hips and the softness beneath them as he steadied them both.

Her lips crashed into his.

The kiss detonated through him.

It wasn't tentative or shy or careful. It was eager and bright and overwhelming, full of everything she felt and wasn't even trying to hide. Roy felt himself sinking into it, losing track of the edges of his thoughts. Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her fingers tangling into the back of his hair as she kissed him with a reckless, joyful intensity that left him breathless.

Her laughter softened into quiet hums against his mouth, each sound vibrating through him like a live wire. The world narrowed to warmth and closeness and the dizzying taste of her.

He turned instinctively, taking a few unsteady steps toward the bed. His knees brushed the mattress before he lowered her carefully onto it, her body sinking into the sheets while her hands tugged him down with her. The last of his restraint blurred beneath the rush of sensation and momentum as clothing was pushed aside, skin meeting skin, her giggle bubbling between kisses as she reached between his legs.

"Mister man," she laughed softly, her voice playful and breathless, "I do believe you finally got me my house key. Should we see if it fits?"

He didn't bother answering. With her hand guiding him, soon he was sliding into Michelle's vagina. It was tighter than he had expected, although he realized that since this was probably her first time, he should have anticipated needing to go slowly. Everything in him ached to gallop ahead. Instead, surprising even himself, he was able to stop for a second.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he whispered.

"Shut up and do it already," she said with a grin.

And so he did. He pushed, she trembled. He pushed again, deeper this time. She winced, but didn't pull away. Roy had never had sex with a virgin before, never been anyone's first time. He'd heard that it was painful for the woman, but that the pain didn't last long. Of course, he was no expert, and he was figuring things out as he went, so even with Michelle's enthusiasm, he was careful.

At least at first.

It was difficult to restrain himself. It felt incredible to be inside her. Not only was she tight, but every inch he gave to her, she held onto for dear life, her legs wrapped around him, her insides clenching with all her might. She wanted him there, she wanted him inside of her. It was obvious that this was an important moment for her, feeling him, being with him, and so he didn't try to rush things, giving her the time to experience it.

But Roy's restraint wasn't limitless. After what felt like an eternity of exercising his willpower, he began to thrust. Not a quick, greedy pace, but a soft, gentle, rocking motion that felt heavenly as he slid in and out of her.

And then she moaned.

There was nothing quiet or gentle about the sound that came out of her mouth. Her moan was feral, hungry, and most of all, loud. Roy was glad his walls were thick, so he wouldn't have to answer to his neighbours for Michelle's pleasure, but also because he had no intention of stopping until he was done. This had gone beyond trying to free Michelle from his wish-induced relationship. Now Roy was having sex with a stunning young woman, and he wasn't going to stop until he found release.

"Roy," Michelle said, panting as he picked up his pace, "Baby... I think... I'm going... to..."

She froze, then she shook and moaned even louder than before. Roy paused to let her enjoy herself, not wanting to detract from the experience.

"Was that... I mean..." she said after the shaking subsided, "I think, maybe, I just had an orgasm."

"I'd say," he said, looking into her eyes with more affection than he had thought he held for her, "and it looked like a big one. Was it good?"

"It was amazing," she said, then kissed him quickly. Then she tightened the grip of her legs and said, "Your turn."

And so he began again. This time there was no easing in. Roy was committed. Michelle was in step, matching every move, attempting to anticipate his needs. For a woman with little sexual experience, she was an exceptionally intuitive lover. The pleasure of being with her went far beyond her beauty. Lying with her, touching her, being inside her, felt as good as anything Roy had ever experienced.

"Give it to me, baby," she panted. "Give it all to me."

And he did. Soon he was the one shaking, struggling to hold himself up on his arms. Fountains of sperm blasted out of him and into Michelle, filling her up. She held him tightly as he came, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his chin. She loved him, she loved sex with him, she loved his release inside of her.

When he was finally spent, Roy slid out of her and shuffled beside her on the bed. Laying on his side, staring at the ceiling as the last of his heartbeat gradually slowed from a thunderous roar to something closer to normal, he felt her hand on his chest, tracing lazy circles in his chest hair. The lamplight illuminated the room with warm glow, but it was her presence that truly lit up the room.

Michelle curled against him, one leg draped loosely over his, claiming him as a pillow she had no intention of surrendering. She pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder.

"Thank you for that," she murmured, the words warm and drowsy and completely unguarded. "I'm glad it was you. I love you so much."

Roy closed his eyes for a moment, half asleep from the post-orgasm drowsiness.

"I love you too, Michelle," he said in his daze.

She shifted closer, impossibly closer, her nose brushing lightly against his collarbone before she kissed him again, slower this time, softer, the urgency replaced by a gentle, lingering affection that made his chest ache in an entirely different way.

"I really do," she whispered, as if she needed him to understand the weight of it.

"I know," he replied, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the sheets when he tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Me too."

She sighed contentedly, her body relaxing fully against him, the tension she had carried all day finally dissolving. He felt it happen in small increments; her breathing evening out, her grip on him loosening, her lips pressing one last absent-minded kiss against his skin.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

Roy listened to the rhythm of her breathing, slow and steady, and stared into the dim room. He held her a little tighter, resting his cheek lightly against the top of her head.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged at him too. His thoughts blurred, tangled with guilt and relief and warmth and dread, all folding together into something heavy and inescapable.

Still holding her, Roy finally let his eyes close.

And the apartment fell silent around them as sleep claimed them both.