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And that’s enough.

I fetch the condoms from the dresser and I push him onto the bed.

He groans as I wrap my hand around him.

Pump him once.

Twice.

Until his eyes close and his head falls back.

I take my turn tasting him. Teasing him until he’s panting. Until I’m the one who can’t take it anymore.

Then I slide the condom over him and I shift into position.

He looks up at me as I lower my body onto his.

As his tip strains against me.

Then every perfect inch.

I give myself a moment to soak it in, but it’s too much. Too intense.

I’m the one who can’t handle it.

So I bring my hands to his shoulders and I use them for leverage and I fuck him.

When I’m close, he brings his thumb to my clit, and he rubs me to orgasm.

Pleasure builds inside me, winding me tighter and tighter and together.

And then I’m there.

Completely unraveled.

And it feels so fucking good.

And altogether terrifying.

Because there’s no way this can work.

If I don’t kill him, I’m dead.

And for the first time, I think Elena might be right.

I might not be able to do it.

And I might not be able to get off this island alive if I don’t do it.

I try to enjoy his orgasm, and our clean up, and our post sex cuddle. But I can’t.

Eventually, he asks if I’m ready.

I say I am.

We go to the couch.

He sets the timer.