There must be forty condoms in there. A chaotic pile of foil packets in every brand and variety, crammed into the drawer like a pharmacy exploded.
"Oh my god, Bernard."
"In my defense, these were here before you moved in." He rummages through the pile and holds up a blue packet with silver lettering. "Not these. Definitely not these."
I squint at the label. THIN ICE. "What's wrong with ‘defense never felt so good’?”
Bernard laughs beneath me, his muscles flexing in a way that soothes me and sets me even more at ease. “Tucker Stag endorsed those until they didn't work, and now he has twins."
A full-body shudder runs through me. I might be experiencing big feelings today, but the desire for motherhood is not among them. “Put those in the trash."
"Gladly." He tosses the Thin Ice packet across the room and produces a regular condom and a small foil packet of lube. "These are the good ones."
I take the condom from him. My hands shake slightly as I tear the wrapper. I scoot back further down his legs, feeling the hair on his thighs tickle my bottom. He watches me, patient, and when I fumble the first attempt, he covers my hands with his and guides me, rolling it down his length, slow, together.
His cock is massive, erect, with skin so taut it’s like suede over a hot iron. I want to taste it again. I am about to have this inside my body.
"Now the lube," he says. "Just…yeah, drizzle it. Make me slick."
I tear the lube packet and spread it over him, and the slide of my hand on the condom makes him groan and thrust into my fist. He's hard, thick, and ready, and I'm terrified, desperate, and certain all at once.
"Whenever you're ready," he says. "Your pace. You're in control."
I brace my hands on his shoulders. His hands settle on my hips. I rise on my knees, position him beneath me, and begin to lower myself down.
He slides into me like he was meant to be there. “We’re doing it,” I exclaim, and I laugh along with him.
“Yeah, we are, Ella. Fuuuuck.”
I freeze halfway, breathing, adjusting. There's a stretch —not quite pain but not quite comfort, the feeling of my body making room for something it hasn't held before. Bernard's hands tighten on my hips, but he doesn't move. He waits. His eyes search my face.
"Okay?" he whispers.
“Yeah.”
I sink lower. Inch by inch. The stretch becomes fullness, and the fullness becomes something I don't have a word for—connection, maybe, or completeness, or the feeling of a lock clicking into place. My body takes him in, and I rest there, seated fully, and I feel so close to him, so full of so many things.
"Ella." His voice cracks. "You feel — fuck — you feel?—"
"I know."
I start to move. Slow at first, rocking my hips, finding a rhythm that works with his injured leg and my inexperienced body. His hands guide me, not directing, just steadying, letting me find my own pace while his hips rise gently to meet mine.
His mouth finds my breast. Lips and tongue on my nipple, and the dual sensation of him inside me and his wet mouth draws moans from me so loud, I’m grateful the condo is empty.
"Oh my god," he breathes against my skin. "Ella, look at you. You're so fucking beautiful, do you know that? Do you have any idea…"
I roll my hips harder. His hands grip tighter, sinking into the soft cushion of my backside. The rhythm builds, and I find it: the angle, the pressure, the pace that makes everything tighten and climb. “I think I might come again, Bernard,” I whisper.
His eyes are molten. I see the drive there, the professional athlete attuned to his task, which is apparently destroying me with orgasms. His hips thrust up off the bed to meet mine, and the sound of our bodies together fills the bedroom.
"Christ," he groans, and his eyes are locked on my chest, watching me move above him, watching my breasts bounce with each thrust. "You are a goddamn masterpiece. Every inch of you. I can't — Ella — I can't believe?—"
His praise pours over me like warm water. I take what I need. I brace my hands on his shoulders and ride him, and I feel powerful in a way that has nothing to do with silks or nursing or passing a test. I feel powerful because Bernard Houser is looking at me like I'm the sun and he's been living in the dark.
I cannot imagine anything ever feeling this incredible. His body under mine, his hands on my hips, his mouth worshipping my skin. It's everything. It's all I want.
I come a third time, and this one breaks me open. I feel it in my spine, in my fingers, in the roots of my hair. I clench around him, and he groans my name and thrusts up hard, once, twice, and I watch his face as he comes, too.
