“I’m scared, too, Sara. I’m scared I’m your rebound. I’m scared we’ll cock it up somehow. I’m scared you’ll tire of me. But the thing is,” he said, smiling, “I don’t want anyone else. You’ve rather ruined me for other women.”

He must have taken hundreds of pictures of me as I finished undressing, climbed back on the bed, watched him prowl over me and tell me more of how he felt: distracted, insatiable, like he could thank Andy then kill him, like he was sincerely worried he wouldn’t ever be able to get enough of me. Every reaction I had, he captured, obsessed over.

Hovering above me, he trained the camera on my torso, where his body brushed against mine. I closed my eyes, lost in the way he felt and in the soft sounds of the camera clicking. When I opened them again, my eyes met his.

I reached out, angling the camera toward my neck. He took the shot, letting me lead as I positioned it higher, and higher still. He looked at me through the lens.

His hands shook as he adjusted the focus, taking shot after shot of my face, of his fingers tracing my jaw or cupping my cheek, as he held the camera away to capture us kissing.

And then everything in the moment became about the feeling of his mouth on me, and the feeling of his hair in my hands, his tongue moving over me, his lips pressing words into my skin. I felt every breath he took and every small sound he made. I could feel his mouth get hungrier and more urgent as he moved down my body. Slowly, he pressed two fingers inside me and sucked on my clit in earnest, pushing me to come. I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to hear my voice in my head. I wanted to only feel him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered when I’d given up and cried out, when I’d finally stilled and he’d crawled over me, kissing me deeply. “It’s staggering how it affects me.”

I reached up and dragged my nails down his chest, urging him to use my body to get what he needed this time, to feel everything he possibly could. My hands moved on their own accord, roaming and scratching, pulling him closer and pushing him back so I could see him when he reached between us to position himself against me. I tickled down his stomach, feeling his muscles clench underneath my fingertips.

I whispered, “Please.”

He groaned, exhaling as he lowered his body over mine and pushed into me fully. The sensation was astounding—everything all at once—the feeling of his chest on mine, of his face against my neck, of my arms around his neck and hands diving into his hair, of his hands pulling my thighs around his waist, of his hips pivoting as he moved in me.

Please don’t ever let this end. I don’t want this moment to stop.

We were out of words, and covered in sweat, and this, I thought, this is what it’s like to make love.