She slipped her hands under the lapels of his robe as she ground down on him, and he shoved away his spiraling thoughts. He cupped her face with both hands and brought her mouth down on his. Her hair was wet and cold as it hung like curtains on either side of his head. He lowered his head and began lavishing attention on her breasts, letting his hands slide down over her throat and collarbones, noting the hissing sound the stroke summoned from her. He let loose a shaky sigh when he reached her breasts. They were two perfect handfuls, and he kneaded them, reveling in the feel of those gorgeous brown peaks stiffening under his touch. When he lowered his mouth to one tight nipple, she moaned.

“Oh my god, Max,” she panted.

“Does this feel good?” he asked, switching to the other nipple.

“Yes,” she breathed, and she shifted on his lap. She was wet and warm, and his hips bucked up against her without the involvement of his conscious mind.

When he could no longer take it, when he felt he was in danger of coming without getting to use one of those condoms—without getting to be inside her, the prospect of which blew his goddamned mind—he fell backward. He pulled her with him, thinking of her saying yesterday that she found pleasure more easily when she was on top. Also thinking, as she fell with him, how very much he enjoyed looking up at her.

They kissed like that for a long while, sipping and nipping, their tongues tangling. The moans she was making were driving him wild; it sounded like she was drunk on pleasure, and he loved it. But when they started to shade into frustration, he tore his mouth from hers and said, “Condoms are on the nightstand.”

She looked down at him, blinking dumbly, then in the direction of the nightstand, then back at him. Her pupils were blown and her lips were red and puffy, and he never wanted to look at anyone or anything else again. He had done that. They had done that. Emotion was cresting inside him again, but he forced it down and made himself adopt a teasing tone when he said, “You know, should you find yourself wanting them.”

She wanted them. She slid off him, and he sent a silent, soothing assurance to his poor beleaguered dick. She’s coming back.

She did come back, but she was fumbling with the condom wrapper, so he took it from her and sheathed himself. He stayed on his back, and she looked at him inquisitively. He raised an eyebrow. She was in charge at this moment. She was always in charge when it came to him, whether or not she realized it.