“I need—”
“What do you need? My fingers? My mouth?”
“Yes. Both. Please, I—”
“Lie down,” he says, and the words make something shimmer inside me. Something magical happens when I’m given permission to do the thing I already wanted to do. I’ve been using all this effort to sit up, but now I get to give in.
I sink against the pillowy-soft comforter, but only for a moment. Soon the fabric’s sliding across my back as his hands grip my thighs, pulling me toward him.
“Oh, oh, I—” All coherent thought leaves my mind. His mouth is on me. His tongue sweeping, then retreating. His lips closing, pulling, sucking, and then opening again.
I can’t keep track. I can’t follow. I can’t do anything but feel.
“You’re amazing,” he says, pressing a kiss against me. “So open.” Another. “So honest.”
“Please,” I say, my voice wavering. “I’m almost, almost—”
“I know, sweetheart. Just let me.” His mouth returns, his tongue repeating a pattern he’s now perfected, and as my pulse increases, as I stand right at the edge, his fingers push inside me, and I fall apart.Everything crashes, collides. I feel wild, electric, but he doesn’t let up. His mouth and fingers continue to move, guiding me through it, the tempo slowing as I come back to myself. And when I curl up slightly, lifting a hand to his head, pushing his hair away from the damp skin on his forehead, he leans into my palm, turning and pressing his lips to the center of it.
Who is he? Who is this man?The rules I insisted on, the secrecy I made him swear to, keep me from knowing his name. Or what he does. Or what he’s really like. I know that the rules are smart and that I set them for a reason, but the circumstances of tonight mean that I’ll never really get to know him, and I wasn’t expecting to mourn that.
But there are things I can still find out about him. Things I’m allowed to learn tonight.
“Come up here,” I say, and he does. We both settle in closer to the pillows, grabbing water from the nightstand and catching our breath, then lying on our sides. Our bodies find the dips and valleys of each other, slotting together, my leg sliding between his.
“That was—”Realis the word that comes to mind. Because I’ve had one-night stands. I’ve had fun, satisfactory one-night stands, but those nights were like pictures of a painting. All the components in the correct place, but ultimately an imitation of the real thing. Only I didn’t know that then. Didn’t know the colors, the textures, the brushstrokes I was missing.
“Amazing,” I say, wincing at the inadequacy of the word.
His lips curve into a smile. “It was,” he says, and I bring my mouth to his, hoping that if my words can’t convey what I mean, I can at least show him.
I roll him onto his back, and he watches through half-lidded eyes as I settle over his torso, my hands playing at the band of my bra.
“What doyoulike?” I ask him, teasing, but serious at the sametime, becausethisis information about him that I get to have. And I’m greedy for it. I need to know.
His hands come to my waist. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do that I wouldn’t like,” he says as he slides his hands up, meeting mine, slowly peeling up the edge of my bra.
I lift an eyebrow. “Really?” I raise myself out of reach, then settle back over him. I spread my legs farther, brushing deliberately against the hard length between his thighs.
He groans, loud and guttural, and I revel in the sound. In the feel of him. Pulsing and vibrant and alive.
“So, if I took things slow,” I say, rocking against him again, “if I did nothing but this, for minutes—”
He curses.
“For hours,” I say, circling my hips, then lifting off him, “you’d be okay with that?”
“I—” He lets out a rush of breath as I lower myself to him again. “I guess I should have been more specific.”
I laugh, and he arches up into me, turning my laugh into a moan.
His eyes shine, want and humor burning in equal measure. “Can I get a redo?” he asks. “Can I tell you what I really want? What I like?”
I nod, desperate to know this piece of him. Desperate to have it.
“First,” he says, “take off your bra.”
Azinglights through my body, and my hands automatically lift to comply. I didn’t realize this was a thing for me, but there’s something about having my brain go quiet, about not having to think. About just following, knowing that it’s safe to do so. That I can just trust in it. That nothing bad will happen if I fall.
