I should have been embarrassed by how quickly he'd aroused me, but there was no shame here in this anonymous space we'd created.
Only honesty.
Only need.
He kissed his way down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone as his fingers slipped beneath lace to find me slick and aching.
I gasped, hips bucking against his hand as he began to stroke me with the same confidence that radiated from his every move.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he worked me higher. There was something unbearably intimate about it—being watched as pleasure built, being seen at my most vulnerable by a complete stranger.
"That's it," he encouraged as I began to tremble.
"Let go. Let me see you."
The orgasm crashed through me with unexpected force, pulling a cry from my throat that I muffled against his shoulder.
He held me through it, murmuring praise against my hair, fingers never stopping until the aftershocks had faded.
In the aftermath, I felt oddly exposed—not physically, but emotionally.
As if he'd seen some essential truth about me that I usually kept hidden.
Before I could retreat behind my walls, he lifted me, carrying me to the bed with an ease that sent another flicker of heat through my body.
He laid me down on the cool sheets, his larger frame following, hovering over me with that same intense focus.
I reached for the buttons of his shirt, needing to touch skin, to feel something solid and real beneath my fingers.
He let me undress him, watching my face as I revealed a chest broader than I'd expected, lightly dusted with hair that narrowed to a trail disappearing beneath his waistband.
A body earned through discipline rather than vanity, powerful and unexpectedly beautiful.
"Your turn," he said, hands returning to the straps of my dress.
He slid them down slowly, the silk whispering against my skin as it pooled at my waist.
His sharp intake of breath as he discovered I wore nothing beneath the bodice was more gratifying than any rehearsed compliment.
"You're exquisite," he said, and though the words were common enough, his tone made them sound like a revelation.
His mouth found my breast, tongue circling each nipple until I was arching beneath him, hands clutching at his shoulders.
The dual sensation of his mouth and the fabric bunched at my waist was maddening—half-dressed, half-exposed, caught between states just as I was caught between passion and vulnerability.
He slid the dress lower, past my hips, down my legs, until it joined his clothes on the floor.
The lace followed, leaving me bare beneath his gaze.
"You're overdressed," I managed, reaching for his belt.
He smiled, helping me with the remaining barriers between us.
When he was finally naked, I took a moment to simply look at him—the powerful thighs, the flat stomach, the evident arousal that made my mouth go dry with anticipation.
"Protection?" he asked, proving himself more considerate than I'd expected in this moment of abandon.
