Every kiss builds into the next. Every touch becomes more intense, more searing.
He pays attention to every sound I make.
It’s not just where he touches, but how. Like he’s noticing everything. Every reaction. Every breath.
Letting each of it be his guide.
And it all comes to play when we’re both naked on my bed, his lips kissing up my thighs, his fingers tracing my pussy.
“You’re so wet.”
“Is that—” I gasp slightly as he applies more pressure “—a complaint?”
“Fuck no.”
His hand tightens at my hip, and he buries his face against me. Teasing me. Tempting me. Taking me to the point of no return and beyond.
The orgasm begins low in my belly and goes on forever. But through it all, he never lets up.
And when at last—at last—he settles his body on mine, his hard cock pressed at my entrance, I feel it.
Not just desire. The first dregs of love. It’s all I can do not to cry when he thrusts into me.
I do the next best thing. I scream.
Later, my head is on his chest. His hand is tracing designs along my bare back slowly.
“What now?” I ask.
His hand stills for a second. “What do you mean?”
“I have a bad track record,” I say finally. “With men. Dating. All of it.”
“That’s on them.”
“Statistically, it can’t all be on them.”
“Sure, it can.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “That’s easy for you to say when you were just inside me.”
He chuckles. “It’s still the truth. But there’s one good thing.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “What’s that?”
“Those guys were idiots. And I’m a man who learns from his mistakes.”
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that I’m a little sore between my thighs. That’s no surprise. We were up half the night getting to know each other on the most intimate level. So I’m not complaining.
The second thing I notice is that it’s quite.
Too quiet.
I blink, disoriented for a second, the room still dim with early morning light.
I shift and reach for him.
My hand meets empty sheets. My stomach drops.
