“What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” I ask, running my hand over his arm, loving the feel of his warm skin, his muscles.

“In the costume shop, you said I helped you to not think about things. You said the way I made love to you made it so you didn’t have to think at all,” he says, and I tremble as he says made love. I’m warm all over thinking about how he’ll do it to me tonight. “Let me help you that way. Let me help you whenever you need to not think.”

“Like right now?”

He laughs. “But I thought you wanted to see Gramercy Park?”

“I do. I really do. But I want you more.”

“We’ll come back, then, whenever you want.” He leans in close, brushes my hair over my ear, and whispers, “And now, like amorous birds of prey, rather at once our time devour.”

I swoon. “You can’t quote Andrew Marvell, especially when his words are all randy. I told you poetry is an instant orgasm for me.”

He smiles and gestures to the end of the block. “Let’s go to my place.”

I grab his shirt, shaking my head. “We need to go to mine.”

“But I live across the street.”

“I know, but if I go into your house, it’ll feel like a palace and I’ll want to look around and really all I want to do is have you fuck me. No distractions.”

He hails a cab, and we go to the East Village.

28

Flynn

Weeks of pent-up desire rises to the surface.

Along with other things.

To be fair, that’s been risen for a while. Since I saw her outside Gramercy Park. Hey, my woman gives me wood. It’s just the way it is. She makes me happy too, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that she’s taking a chance with me.

Now though? I’m ready to give her something else she needs, something I need too.

Connection.

The second the door clicks shut, I nibble on her neck. Her arms are still wrapped tight around me. I whisper in her ear, “You like it when I take over, right?”

“I do,” she whispers, so husky and sexy. I reach for her hands, removing them from my neck. I drop them to her sides and wrap my hands around her wrists, looking at her gorgeous face. Her hazel eyes pierce mine. Vulnerability, arousal, readiness—that’s what I see in her eyes.

“I need you to put your hands on the kitchen table,” I tell her as I spin her around, walking her to the table, and pressing a hand on the small of her back so she understands. “And lift your ass.”

“Oh, God,” she whimpers as she flattens her back and lays her chest against the wood, her arms stretching straight in front of her.

She looks like a jewel in that dress, with the emerald against her creamy, pale flesh and caramel hair. I take off my glasses and set them next to her.