“I want you, Andreas.”
Decision made.
He heard what he wanted to hear, and without moving, he slowly unzips my dress. His fingers trace down my back, sending shivers down my spine as the fabric slips to the floor. I’m not wearing a bra, and the cold air sends a wave of goosebumps over me. My nipples tighten with desire.
“Damn it, Nora!” he growls in frustration.
“What?” I ask, startled.
“What did I tell you about those panties?” he exclaims.
Oh. Shit.
“I wasn’t exactly expecting you tonight,” I bite back in defense.
He leans over and, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, grabs something behind me on the kitchen counter. Before I realize what he’s planning, he’s standing in front of me with a steak knife.
“I hope this was your last pair,” he says sternly.
I have at least two more.
He grabs the side of my way-too-high panties and cuts them open. I send up a silent prayer for my remaining underwear. Before the fabric even has a chance to fall, he takes hold of the other side and does the same. Then, with one swift motion, he tosses the scraps aside. The knife disappears into the sink. Once again, I’m completely naked, and he’s still fully dressed. I feel the wetness between my thighs. Every inch of my skin tingles, screaming for his touch. His eyes roam over me, from head to toe. His gaze darkens, and the warm brown of his irises shrinks to the thinnest slivers. As if whatever restraint he had left vanishes entirely, he lunges at me with ferocious intent. Grabbing the inside of my knee, he lifts my leg and, without warning, slides a finger inside me. I cry out, clutching at his neck with one hand while the other grips the edge of the kitchen counter for dear life. Drunk, balancing on one leg, and pulsing around his deliciously moving finger, I fight to stay upright, but deep down, I know he won’t let me fall. He kisses my neck passionately, and then a second finger joins the first, expertly finding that sweet spot inside me. My response is instant, I dig my nails into his neck, hard enough to leave marks. Tomorrow, he’ll have five little crescent moons as souvenirs. I moan, my body taut and trembling. He lets go of my leg, but it hooks instinctively around his hip. His free hand cups my breast, squeezing it firmly.
Animal.
“Andreas, I can’t take it anymore,” I moan desperately.
“Just a little longer, sweetheart, you’ll come when I tell you to.” I don’t doubt it for a second.
I’m dancing on the edge of release. His hand shifts from one breast to the other, then glides down my stomach, teasing my belly button and the soft patch of hair below. Yet, he never falters, never breaks the rhythm of his fingers inside me. His thumb finally finds my clit. And just as he begins to rub firmly, he whispers in my ear: “Come for me, Nora. Now.”
I explode on command, screaming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last spasm until I’m spent. Then he carefully withdraws his fingers and pulls me into his arms. I cling to him, trying to steady my breathing and find the strength in my legs again. I feel his hardness pressing against me, and I instinctively push my hips forward.
“I want all of you, Andreas,” I whisper.
“That’s not going to happen.”
I startle, afraid to wake up from this blissful dream.
“What? W-W-Why not?”
Fear grips me—fear that he’ll leave again, just like before, and I’ll be left naked and vulnerable for the second time in two days. Andreas sees the panic in my eyes, cups my face, and kisses me. His gaze locks on mine, steady and sincere.
“You’re drunk, Nora, I don’t want to do anything you might regret tomorrow. If I have you, it’ll be with your full, sober consent.”
Relief washes over me—he’s not planning to leave—but frustration simmers beneath it. Why won’t he take me now?
“Damn it, I shouldn’t even have done this,” he curses. Wait, what? “I’m sorry, Nora, when I’m with you, I can’t control myself.”
“I’m not sorry. Why would you be sorry?” I ask, bewildered by the gap between his words and his actions.
“You’re shivering. Let me take you to bed. Is it up those stairs?”
I nod. I am indeed cold. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
I crawl into bed naked. Andreas tucks me in, and for a moment I fear he’s going to leave. Thankfully he doesn’t. Relief floods me as I watch him kick off his shoes and strip down to his boxers. He slides into bed beside me and wraps me in his arms. The room is dark, and the warmth under the covers is intoxicating. We lie spooned together. Andreas is the first man to share this bed since I moved in—or since David, for that matter. I can’t describe how good it feels to be in his arms. I also can’t describe how scared I am to wake up tomorrow and find him gone again.
“Why would you regret this, Andreas?” I ask softly.
