I know it’s wrong. I know it’s disastrous. Most of all, I know I’m going to regret it. And still, I kiss the spot where his neck meets his chest, scraping it with my teeth. Then I wait for a beat before rolling my tongue over that sliver of flesh and sucking it into my mouth, applying pressure.

“I—”

I cup him through his pants and feel his swollen, huge erection pulsating against my palm. Twitching. Daring me to squeeze. I look up at him and blink innocently. “You were saying?”

That’s when he lets go of whatever is left of his tattered self-control. He grabs the back of my hair and walks me backward until my back slams against the wall. He kisses me so hungrily I think he is going to tear a chunk off my face. We’re all teeth and tongues as we frantically push each other’s pants and underwear down in the hallway. We kick them aside. Neither of us makes a move to the bedroom. We both know how fragile this is. How easily one of us can pull away.

I reek, and my legs are unshaven. I know Joe doesn’t care. We’re naked from the waist down but still wearing our sweaters. His hand finds my center as I grip his cock. I start pumping while he plays with my juices. I am so wet I should be embarrassed, but I’m too drunk to care.

“Shit,” he hisses into my mouth, devouring me. “You’re so wet.” He drives two fingers into me, stretching me, preparing me.

I rub my thumb against the head of his penis, moving a pearl of precum over it. “Look who’s talking.”

“Ever?” He stops, pulling away from me as he looks into my eyes seriously.

“Yes?” I ask, panting.

“This is very important.”

“Okay.”

“Can I fuck you?”

“Yes,” I say, relieved. I grab his face and kiss him. “Yes, please. Please fuck me.”

He pins me against the wall and drives into me in one go. He is bare. He nails me against the wall, pounding into me like an animal. It is drunk. It is raw. And there are tears everywhere. We both cry silently as I hold on to him. His head is in the crook of my neck. There is nothing sexy about what we’re doing. We’re two broken people trying to be whole together, knowing it is doomed. That we’ll fail.

“Presley,” I pant, digging my fingernails into the flesh of his neck. “Are you still seeing her?”

He grunts, pushing deeper and harder into me. Shame floods me. My pleasure is so tangible I can taste it in my mouth. The dark tang of him. I’m about to come, and I know exactly what I’m doing.