He makes eye contact with Michelle, who crawls towards us on her hands and knees—where am I getting this from?—and kneels between my legs. She’s breathing rapidly, raggedly, and I can feel the heat of her breath against the most sensitive part of my body, before she even touches me. She kisses me, with agonising slowness. No one has ever made me wait like this, or made me want them so badly. I realise I’m also breathing through my mouth, too fast, gasping and trembling. When I feel the tip of Michelle’s tongue against my clit, I start to come. Barely daring to believe what I’m doing, I cup the back of her head in my hands—even her hair feels like thick satin—and tilt my hips towards her, so she has to take more of my body into her mouth. It makes me think of every time some terrible boyfriend has pushed my head against his crotch, and I’m overwhelmed with feelings—I’m guilty, angry, ashamed, powerful. I pull back a little bit, trying to give Michelle room to breathe properly, to move away. But she moves closer to me, as if she’s trying to breathe me in. Her fingernails dig sharply into my flesh, and I cry out, I can’t control how loud I am and I don’t care who hears me.

Steadying herself by holding onto my thighs, Michelle gets off the floor, stooping to kiss me, softly. I can taste myself on her. It’s warm, slightly spicy, undeniably human. And when she takes both of my hands in hers, and pulls me up, so that I’m standing, facing her, and says ‘my turn’, I can’t wait to get on my hands and knees. Tentatively, using my left hand for balance, I use my right hand to stroke her clit. It feels enormous against my fingertips, hot, and soaking wet. Closing my eyes, I push my lips, then my tongue, against her. She gasps again, and growls. The sound is shocking, it’s raw. Now she’s got her hands in my hair, and she’s pulling me into her, and I can’t breathe but it feels right, I feel completely lost in her.