The Gentleman's Restraint
From one date to the next, Maxwell and I grew inseparable. Days without seeing each other became unthinkable. Eventually, I discovered that the "Chemistry lesson" he once requested was merely a ruse—a clever excuse to get closer to me. He confessed it one evening, flashing that charming smile of his.
"I've always admired you, MMA," he said. "I just needed a reason to talk to you."
Though his strategy was far from original, his confidence—and, admittedly, his looks—won me over.
On our fifth date, Maxwell made things official.
It was an intimate evening: a candlelit dinner with soft music humming in the background. A beautifully plated meal was paired with a vintage Pinot Noir that must have cost a small fortune. Maxwell never seemed to struggle with money. As the only son of a wealthy oil magnate, he had the means to create moments like this effortlessly.
Still, when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I couldn't resist teasing him.
"So, you're telling me you don't already have a girlfriend—or girlfriends?" I asked with a playful smirk.
He laughed, a deep and genuine sound that made my heart flutter. "I'm a man of principle, MMA. I don't entertain just any woman. But you? You're special."
Hearing that from someone I admired as much as Maxwell melted away any doubt. I said yes.
We spent more and more time together, often to the dismay of our friends. My girlfriends complained about how I'd "abandoned" them, while Maxwell's friends teased him about his newfound domesticity. But we didn't care. For us, it was perfect.
One breezy evening, as we walked hand in hand from a study session, Maxwell suggested we have dinner at his place.
"I made something special, and it tastes almost as good as you," he said with a mischievous grin.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "I didn't know you could cook."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, my darling," he whispered, his voice low and teasing.
When we arrived, I was stunned. Maxwell's apartment was immaculate, furnished with high-end appliances and tastefully decorated. It looked more like a catalog spread than the bachelor pad I had imagined.
"How much do you pay your cleaner?" I asked, genuinely curious.
He laughed. "I clean it myself, but if you're volunteering, I might just fire my nonexistent staff."
We sat down to eat, and the meal was as delicious as he'd promised. Each bite was a revelation, and I couldn't stop praising his cooking.
"You've impressed me, Maxwell," I said, finishing the last of my juice.
"Good. But the night's not over yet," he replied with a wink.
After dinner, Maxwell insisted I stay the night since it had gotten late. I hesitated, but his reasoning—and that charming smile—convinced me.
He prepared everything for me: a warm bath, a fresh towel, and one of his oversized T-shirts to sleep in. Every gesture was thoughtful, every move considerate.
When it was time to sleep, I expected... well, more.
Instead, Maxwell carried me to bed like a gentleman, laid me down gently, and climbed in beside me. But to my surprise, he turned his back to me, leaving a respectful distance.
I couldn't help myself. "Is this how we're sleeping tonight?" I asked, confused and maybe a little annoyed.
He chuckled softly, then turned to face me. Pulling me close, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. "Good night, my love," he murmured.
The gesture was sweet, but it left me conflicted. My heart raced as I lay there, wondering what to do. Should I initiate something, or should I just go to sleep?
I made my decision. Leaning in, I kissed him. His lips were warm, soft, and inviting. The kiss deepened, and soon, I felt a heat rising between us.
But just as I tried to take things further, pulling off the T-shirt he'd lent me, he gently stopped me.
"Don't do that, baby," he whispered, his voice firm but kind.
I froze, a mix of embarrassment and confusion washing over me. No man I'd been with before had ever done that.
I turned over and faced the other side of the bed, unsure of how to respond. Within moments, sleep took over, but his words echoed in my mind: Don't do that, baby.
For the first time, I wasn't frustrated. I was curious. Maxwell wasn't like anyone I'd ever met before, and I wasn't sure whether to be puzzled, impressed, or completely smitten.