He hooks his fingers into my panties, then pulls them down. He straightens, observing my form now clad only in the lights coming in from the window behind him. For a long moment he takes me in, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest. I quake in anticipation of his touch.

“Condom?” I rasp.

He retrieves the jacket he placed on the couch and produces a foil square from one of the pockets. Then he pulls down his boxer briefs, springing from the confines of the dark material. My fingers curl, wanting to touch his length, to feel him warm in my palm, and I shift against the velveteen slipcover. He takes in another long breath; at no point have his eyes left my body, and with each small movement from me, his body grows tighter, more ready.

Kneeling at the end of the bed, he takes hold of my calves and pulls me down to meet him, and my legs splay, revealing what’s left of me he hasn’t seen. He draws a hand over me slowly. “Jesus, Bennet.” His eyes glaze. “You feel so good.”

I writhe as he makes another pass across me, aware of the easy glide of his hand over the slick folds. I watch through hooded eyes as he coats his shaft in my wetness.

He leans over me, a hand resting beside my head as he positions himself at my entrance. “Ready?”

I arch my hips in assent, greeting his tip with my warmth. “Please.”

He slides into me smoothly, farther and farther in until he’s sheathed to the hilt. He begins to thrust. I raise my hips to meet him, shuddering at each partial withdrawal, clenching at every plunge. He holds me, our bodies pressed together from shoulder to pelvis, physically locked. The pressure in me builds.

We grind against one another, the press of his hand above my ass maintaining pressure exactly where I need it until I’m digging my nails into his back. My breath is a startled snarl.

A twist of his hips, and I’m biting at the muscle between his shoulder and neck. I’d be embarrassed by how quickly he’s brought me to the breaking point, but I can’t hold back. I don’t want to with him. Not ever. He maintains his pace as my climax shatters me, the relief excruciating.

Goosebumps appear on the skin before me, and his body tenses. “Bennet,” he cries, and I pull his face to mine. I kiss him, stroking my tongue along his as he releases, thrusting and shuddering, then slowing. He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on mine. There’s sweat on both our brows now, and we’re panting.

“Holy shit, Bennet.” His skin is blotchy and red, his hair tousled from my grip. It’s the most disheveled he’s ever looked and the most appealing, surpassing even the image of him in glasses.