My eyes flutter open as I wake from a doze. My body is warm and deliciously sore and sated, aching in the best possible way. James is out cold on his side beside me with his head nestled against my shoulder and one of his arms draped over my waist. I shift in his embrace, careful not to wake him up, and my heart flutters as memories of our latest round of sex flit through my head.

We were resting as we recovered from the sweaty sex, lying on the bed together and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. But the conversation felt loaded in a way that I’m still trying to pinpoint. I came into this little adventure tonight determined to stay as anonymous as possible, not to say or do anything that might give away who I am or who I’m connected to, but there was something so surprisingly easy about talking to James. Something so disarming about his quiet confidence and genuine interest that kept bringing my defenses down, often without me realizing it.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me while I spoke, like my words were precious gifts. Or maybe it was because he kept kissing or touching me in some way like he didn’t want to stop. Like he couldn’t stop, even if he’d wanted.

Not that I wanted him to. And not that I could keep my hands to myself either.

Our last round started because he was trying to teach me some French, and I was terrible at it, but I insisted on trying just because I didn’t want to stop talking with him. When he was teasing me about my rocky pronunciation of the word “cœur,” or heart in French, he thought it was the funniest thing in the world because he swore it sounded more like I was saying “cur” in English, which has a very different meaning.

And when I tried to tell him to buzz off and that I didn’t want to try anymore if he was going to keep teasing me, he started tickling me. And then we were kissing all over again, with a desire that was somehow even stronger than before welling up between us. He pinned my wrists to the bed above my head and fucked me with a passion I didn’t know was possible, and he never once took his eyes off mine, even as I wrapped my legs around his waist to urge him on.

He doesn’t even know my name.