A knock at the door startles me. My heart punches so hard and quick that my hand flies to my chest. I swipe under my eyes with the sleeve of my coat and straighten, checking my reflection in the darkened entry mirror to make sure I’m presentable.
I can’t do explanations right now,
I lean toward the peephole and squint. My stomach flips. Greg fills the small circle, his collar turned up against the cold, hair mussed from the wind, and an expression as unreadable as the day is long.
I unlock the door and pull it open. He doesn’t move, just stands there with his hands in his pockets and his gaze locked to mine.
“Ask me in,” he says quietly. “I have to know about third dates.”
Heat rolls through me so fast it leaves my toes numb. I grab the front of his jacket and drag him over the threshold.
The second the door shuts, my hands slide from his jacket to his shirt, fingers bunching fabric as I surge upward on my toes and claim his mouth. He answers instantly with heat and a low sound in his chest that makes my knees wobble.
His hands bracket my hips, then lower to my waist, then everywhere at once as he backs me into the room. Nothing registers except his touch and the way he tastes.
My hands go feral. My coat hits the floor. Somewhere between one step and the next his jacket slides off his shoulders, and I’m tugging his shirt loose, dragging him with me toward the bedroom because standing still is impossible.
Buttons fumble. Zippers rasp. His mouth never leaves mine, our kisses messy and hungry. His hands skate up my sideslike he’s mapping territory. Our slow burn flirtation goes up in flames, and I let it, pulling him after me with reckless certainty and a heartbeat that thunders against my chest.
The mattress catches the backs of my legs, and I barely register it before I’m falling, pulling him down with me, laughing breathlessly into his mouth as the frenzy softens into something slower and sharper.
Greg braces himself with a forearm near my head, his solid mass presses me into the blankets, and grounds me. My hands slide up his shoulders, over the broad span of his back, fingers digging in just enough to convince myself he’s real. This isn’t some reckless fantasy my brain invented because I wanted to believe in something for five minutes.
He kisses me again, slower now, mouth lingering, forehead brushing mine between passes. My skin’s too tight, too aware, with nerves lighting up everywhere he touches—my sides, my hips, the hollow of my throat—leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I close my eyes and let my head tip back against the pillow as his mouth trails lower with the kind of attention that makes me feel chosen. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue over and around the hardened bud. My breath stutters as surges of pleasure course through me and pool at my core.
My hands slip into his hair as he moves lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses along my stomach. He nudges my thighs open and settles between my legs. I tug gently at his hair, needing the connection while my body starts tilting off its axis.
He touches me slowly, methodically, like he’s learning me, listening to my body’s cues. He draws lazy, dizzying circles around the sensitive pearl knotted with nerves. Heat builds quickly, rolling through me until my fingers fist in his hair and my thighs tighten around his head.
My body answers his call long before my brain can catch up. I whisper his name, breathless and wrecked, and the sound of it spurs him on, his hands steady, his mouth patient, and everything inside me unravels.
My back arches off the bed, a broken sound slips from my lips as an all encompassing sensation crests. My grip turns desperate, tears prick behind my eyes. When release comes, it’s full and dizzying, leaving me shaking, my breath hiccuping, and my heart exposed.
I’ve spent years pretending sex is an act, that it’s no big deal. It’s a performance with an end goal. Physical pleasure and nothing more. But this doesn’t feel like one of those times. The thought hits so hard it steals the air from my lungs.
Greg
I move over her slowly, bracing my weight so I don’t overwhelm her, even though every instinct in me wants to close the distance completely. She watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, chest still rising too fast, mouth parted like her lungs haven’t caught up to speed yet.
The sight hits low and sharp, pulling a sound out of me that I don’t bother swallowing. My hands slide along her sides, thumbs skimming warm skin, grounding myself in the fact that she’s here, this is real.
I settle between her legs, my cock throbbing and ready. But I want this too much to rush. My forehead dips to hers, our breath mingling, my nose brushing her cheek while I take in the way she smells. Her fingers glide over my shoulders, anchoring me in place, and my chest tightens at the quiet certainty of it.
I’ve always attributed urgency to the act, getting to the finish line, earning the right for more. But this feels different, less about finishing than staying in the moment, paying attention to how she responds. When I shift closer, when my hips align with hers, she pulls me closer. Her delicate fingers guide me to her center and I hover there, biding my time.
I cup her face in my palm, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, and she smiles. She exhales my name on a small, timid smile, and my entire body responds. My heart expands. She wrecks me with a single word, a single look.
I enter her with one long, solid thrust. Her back arches and her mouth falls open. I move with her, slow at first, letting her adjust, allowing myself to feel the heat and the slick slide of skin. She arches up instinctively, chasing more. My jaw clenches as I press in fully, every nerve lighting at once. She gasps and clutches at me, thighs tightening around my ass, nails biting at my back just enough to make my spine go rigid.
I hold still for half a heartbeat, eyes locked on her face while sensation rolls through me in thick, dizzying waves. Her lashes flutter. Her lips part on another broken breath. She looks stunned and open and entirely present, and something inside me fractures.
She’s all my heart desires.
I move slowly, keeping my weight balanced on my arms while my body does what it’s been screaming to do all night. Her reactions come fast—soft sounds in her throat, hands sliding up my back, her hips lifting to meet mine.
I drop my mouth to her shoulder, then her throat, kissing wherever I can reach because staying still feels impossible. My teeth graze her delicate skin. She shivers. Her breath stutters. She clings to me and says my name in breathless whispers. My chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with how dangerously right she feels.
