WARNING: This chapter deals with sex so if you're uncomfortable reading something of the sort, I suggest you wait for the next update. Otherwise, enjoy the lemony goodness.

Anne

I set the newspaper down and looked out the foggy window. It was raining outside and the night sky was a dreadful shade of grey. I hadn't spoken to Mark since I ran out on him last week. I saw his roommates, Roger and Mimi, when I was grocery shopping and I did my best to stay away from them. They don't need to know why I left him that night. They don't need to know my secrets in general.

I missed him; I missed him a lot. How he'd film at the worst and most embarrassing times. His crooked smile and hunched shoulders. And those blue eyes that were always full of emotion, whether or not he wanted them to be. Of course I'd never admit the fact to anyone other than myself, but deep down I knew it was the truth.

I don't know what compelled me to do it, but I found myself pulling on a flimsy pair of shoes and running outside. After only a few seconds in the downpour, my clothing was soaked through and heavy. I splashed through the slushy mess on the sidewalks and made my way to the loft. But when I got to the door, I just stood there. I didn't know whether or not to knock or to just hope that someone would open the door by chance. I raised my hand and hit the door softly.

Once, twice, three times.

I heard some shuffling around from the inside before Mark appeared at the door.

I launched myself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so, so sorry Mark." I sobbed into his chest. "I feel terrible."

"It's okay." He stroked my hair. "Please don't cry."

"No, I had no reason to treat you like shit when you were nothing but nice all day, walking on eggshells around your mother for my sake."

"You're forgiven. It's alright." He hugged me back and I finally felt myself relax. "Anne, I love you."

I had to consciously clench my jaw to prevent it from sagging.

He loved me.

Say something!

"I love you too." I leaned in and gave him a kiss, my hair leaving wet spots on the front of his shirt.

"You're shivering. And soaking wet… Did you not have an umbrella?"

I shook my head, spraying him with droplets of water. "I wasn't thinking. I just came on an impulse."

"I'll get you something warm to change into." He laughed, pulling me towards his bedroom. "How do sweats and a t-shirt sound?"

"Anything's better than wet jeans." I followed him, my damp shoes squelching on the wood floor.

He loved me.

I could barely focus as he pulled random articles of clothing out of his chest of drawers. My mind was reeling. It was odd, now that I had begun to think of it. Just saying it didn't seem to do it justice. There are 23 different words for "love" in the Greek language. Maybe if I knew it I would've been able to make him understand that I meant it.

I unzipped my sweatshirt and tossed my jeans onto the floor.

"You're cold." Mark stated the obvious. "Come here." He pulled me too him and I was shocked at how warm his skin was against my own. His hands only made the goose bumps worse.

I pulled out of our embrace and reached for the clothing lying on his bed but Mark grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him, capturing my lips in a slow, moist kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair and tugged the hem of his shirt upwards. Mark pushed me backwards until the back of my legs hit the bed. I slowly lowered myself down, pulling Mark on top of me.

We broke apart, just staring at one another for a moment. He ran a hand up my side, inadvertently ticking my ribs.

I shivered and wiggled away from his hand with a laugh. I moved one hand to his neck and pulled him back down to me. We became a writing mass of hands and lips and skin until my hand landed on the waistband of his jeans. Mark tensed and pulled away. "Do you want to…?" He asked, obviously struggling with a tactful way to phrase the question.

"Yes," I breathed, struggling to undo the button.

He covered my mouth with his own and brought a hand down to help me get it done. "Anne…" Mark said softly, brushing strands of hair out of my face. "Are you sure?" He asked gently. "I want this… I want you. But I don't want you to regret it if something were to happen to us."

"I'm sure." My hands returned to his jeans, struggling with the silver buttons.

"Oh, wait a second." Mark said, pushing my hands away for a minute. He fished out a wallet from his back pocket and took a square package out. He grinned sheepishly and tossed it onto the milk crate next to his bed, landing among coffee mugs and messy notebooks.

He pulled my face to his, smiling before planting kisses down my neck and along my collarbone. I finally popped the button and pushed the loose material from his hips to the floor, leaving him in only his boxers.

"This is uncomfortable." He laughed, wrapping his arms around my waist. "So, so uncomfortable."

Mark

Anne laughed and ran her hands up and down my back. "I love you. And I love your freckles." She fell silent as her hands made their way down my stomach and past the waistband of my boxers. My eyes grew heavy as it traveled even lower, exploring the sensitive skin. My hips bucked and she looked at me with wide eyes, obviously startled.

"Is that okay?" She sounded like a child, as if she was seeking approval.

I dug my fingers into her shoulders and groaned. "Yes, yes…"

Satisfied and encouraged by my responsive, she quickened her ministrations. I felt that familiar tingle and realized this experience wasn't going to last much longer at the rate we were moving.

"Anne," I said as I abruptly grabbed at her wrist. "Honey, you have to stop."

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked quickly.

"God, no! Not at all." I answered breathlessly. "I'm just worried that… I don't want to waste our first time." She nodded and backed off a bit. "You're entirely too clothed, you know that?"

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "And what are you going to do about it?"

I reached behind her and fumbled with the clasp on her bra, unhooking it after a few seconds. I hooked a finger around the skiff of panties she was wearing and raised an eyebrow. "Does this even qualify as underwear?"

"Hardly." She answered, helping me pull them off.

Anne bit her lip as I moved my hands downwards and held onto my shoulders for support. Her hair tickled my neck as she rested her head on my shoulder. "Oh," she whispered heavily "…oh…" She held my arms tighter.

"Mark, I'm ready."

I gulped and my mouth suddenly felt dry. I nodded and reached over to my makeshift bedside table. Anne gave me a hand putting it on, both of us blushing furiously.

I grabbed her hands in my own and looked into her eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She gave me a sweet smile and nodded, laying back into the pillows.

I swallowed nervously again and looked down at her, blonde hair fanned out across the pillow, the anxious look in her eyes.

I slid my hand between her legs, nudging them open as I crawled over her. He eyes widened in anticipation and I counted to three before slowly entering her. She gasped and tensed immediately, grabbing my arms hard enough to leave bruises.

"Relax…" I said, stroking her hair. "Breathe, Anne. Just relax." I kissed her and she took a deep breath as I pushed farther. I stopped for a minute, letting us both get accustomed to the new sensation.

"I'm okay, Mark." She reassured me, cupping my cheek in her hand. "It's okay." After a little while, we found a smooth rhythm that worked for the two of us, our hips moving in sync. Her breath came in short spurts, as she alternated between holding her breath and gasping for air.

"Are you alright?" I asked, trying hard to articulate what I was thinking. It was too different and amazing for me to verbalize, let alone say something intelligent.

Anne nodded, fat tears spilling from her cheeks.

"Please don't cry."

"It's supposed to hurt; it can't be helped." She sniffed, giving me a watery smile. "There's nothing you can do besides going slow."

"Whatever you need, tell me. I'll stop if you want me to. Don't hold it in."

I propped up on my elbows over her and watched her face, neither of us speaking. Again, the only sounds that filled my ears were the sheets beneath us and the deep breaths I was taking to maintain control of myself.

"I love you."

Anne

I could tell by the way Mark's eyes were squeezed shut that he was getting ready. His jaw was clenched tightly and his face was pink with exertion.

"Oh god," he breathed as his muscles tightened. "Anne… I'm close…" The pace of his hips quickened and matched his short breaths.

"Keep going." I whispered, lacing his fingers with my own.

"Oh, god." Mark's eyelids fluttered and he gripped my hands hard as he came. He collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily. The muscles of his back and shoulders trembled. We didn't move or talk for a few minutes. Mark raised himself up onto shaky arms.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

Instead of responding, I kissed him; slowly and deeply. "Yes."

He looked skeptical as he pulled away and slowly got off of me. He stopped for a second, contemplating what to do. He settled in his bed beside me, lazily draping his arm across my waist.

We were just awkward. It was one of the defining points of our relationship. And sex personified that. Goofy, slightly uncomfortable, and all-around different.

"So that's sex…" He mused quietly.

I nodded in silent agreement.

"Are you sure you wanted to do that?" He asked, brow furrowing with concern. He looked different without his glasses on, almost unlike himself.

"It's not like we can do anything about it now, can we?" I replied, snuggling closer to his chest. His heart was still racing, even after the passing minutes.

"I'm sorry." He said, wrapping and twirling strands of my hair around his fingers. "I wish you could've… you know... enjoyed it."

"Mark, are you insane? Who wouldn't have enjoyed being doted upon by the person they love? I'm fine. It was fine. Just give it some time." I insisted.

"Well, what did you like? What was it like for you?" He asked, reaching for his glasses.

"Mark, don't over analyze this. It's just sex."

Never thought I'd hear myself say that.

"But I want you to enjoy it. If not now, than later." Mark said.

"If you want the truth, it wasn't fun. Being stretched beyond capacity and comfort wasn't my cup of tea. And the friction was the absolute worst." I said, trying to explain what I knew he didn't want to hear.

"Sorry."

"Quit apologizing! I told you that it couldn't be helped and we'll just have to practice to get it right."

"So was this make-up sex? Or just regular?" He laughed and kissed me.

"Can't it just be what it is? We'll cross the make-up sex bridge when we come to it." I ran my fingers across his cheek, just noticing the little scar he had just below his chin. "How did you get that?"

"An accident on a see-saw in pre-school. I landed on the ground too hard and my chin hit the handle bar." Mark replied, his eyes drooping more with each word. "I think we really wore each other out." He whispered, giving my waist a squeeze.

"Mmm hmm." I murmured as I rolled over.

"If Roger asks, what are we going to say?" Mark asked into my neck. "Would you be okay with me telling the truth? Or would you rather me lie? Because I can keep secrets from him, I've been doing it for years-"

"I love you, you idiot. Now good night."

So... Mark and Anne had sex. I don't know whether or not I shoud vomit or giggle. I'm going with giggle at the moment because the thought of Mark Cohen naked makes me revert back to school girl tendencies. Believe it or not, this was my first time (no pun intended) writing something sexual. Usually I just imply sex rather than write it out. So tell me whether or not you liked it. That's always important.

And I must stress the importance of the switching of point of views- I will do this very rarely because I hate jumping around like a jack rabbit. I only did it for this chapter because I didn't want the experience to be one sided.

Harper's Pixie: Maureen is just a bitch sometimes. We all know where that's going to lead... The reader (but not Mark) might find out what's going on with Anne in the next chapter. I'm experimenting with foreshadowing and the response it gets. Personally, I adore reading stories where I know more than the characters because I find myself wanting to scream "No, you idiot! You're wrong about the whole thing!" But maybe that's just me...

lost my rent: Just because he's Jewish doesn't mean he can't eat pork products. It all depends on whether or not he's conservative/reform/etc. And if you want to think that he wasn't eating it, just make believe he was cooking it for Anne.

IDontOwnEmotion: Our lovely Mrs. Cohen... she's quite the card. I just love imagining some crazy Jewish lady wearing sweaters in Scarsdale. That always brings a smile to my face.

Dave the L's gal: Well I'm glad you enjoyed my non-one shot! I try hard to write this well and keep it interesting and still manage to spark some intrigue.

SaoirseGreene: You'll find out soon enough what's wrong with Anne. Oh, and Mark too. Even though it's really Anne's fault that things get so screwed up. Silly love-struck girl! I've said too much already!

vahvprincess77: I'm trying to balance school work and writing as best as I can, hence why the updates are a week or so apart. Give or take a few days. Thanks for the review :o)

-Ella