“Yeah?” I say, propping the pillow behind my head and watching my cock disappear over and over again between her legs. “Fuck, this is so crazy. Baby, what are we doing?”

But even as I’m saying the words, I’m canting my hips off the bed, helping her slide over me. There’s something about seeing her use me like this, use my body to get herself off, that leaves my brain fuzzy, trying to remember why we should ever stop. It’s just enough friction and I’m sure I could come from this alone, the two of us rutting against each other like a couple of teenagers.

Harlow leans back, reaches to steady herself on my thighs, and it’s that slight movement, the tiniest change of angle that opens her up, and lets the head of my cock slip inside.

“Oh fuck,” I say, tightening my grip to keep her still. I feel hot all over, feverish and hungry, and know I should stop this but every instinct fights against it.

Harlow moans and sinks down a little farther. “Do you want me to stop?”

I nod my head but the word “no” comes out instead. Actually a whole lot of curse words come out but I’m not sure Harlow is paying attention to any of them.

“Fuck. Right,” she says, voice pained. She straightens, and moves to climb off me but I reach for her waist, stopping her.

“God. Wait.” I take a deep breath, suddenly aware of the sweat at my temples, the way the sheets are clinging to my back. Every muscle is strung too tight, like live wires ready to snap with the slightest pressure. Her body feels like it belongs to me now. “Just let me... feel you. Just for a second.”

And I must be some kind of a masochist because why else would I torture myself?

Harlow’s skin is sleep-warm and her limbs heavy where they rest against me. I’ll never last more than a minute with her looking down at me—sleepy and needy—with nothing between us.

It takes me only a second to decide, to roll us both over and slip back between her thighs. Her legs fall open, knees bent and pressed to my sides. “I just want to feel you,” I tell her again, trying to ignore the eager way she nods, how willingly she agrees with me. Her mouth is too tempting, lips wet and parted, and I lean in, tasting her. “And if you want... I could pull out?”

She pushes her words out between tiny, biting kisses: “Would you... come... on me?”

There have always been things I’ve been into—things that got me off in the privacy of my own head—sex acts that are hard to bring up in a new, more tentative relationship. I want to be messy, rough, a little dirty, a little taboo. I want to claim Harlow everywhere, try anything she wants, and see the mark of rope and teeth and my spankings on her skin.