“These fucking shorts.” His hand fists the fabric as his mouth moves to my neck. “Drive me fucking crazy.”

“Take them off.”

“So impatient.” His mouth travels lower, kissing a line across my collarbone. I arch against him, pressing our bodies as close together as possible. My body throbs, craving his attention.

There’s a hum in my blood, a thrill skipping across my skin. Anticipation floods my system like an addictive drug. We’re both breathing heavily, our mouths so close together the same air is being exchanged.

“Please,” I whisper. My heartbeat is an impatient thrum, eager to have him inside of me. To be connected, not just touching.

His hand runs up my thigh and between my legs, slipping beneath the strip of wet lace I’m wearing beneath my sleep shorts. I left my clothes in his bathroom the last time we hooked up, mostly because they were damp and smelled like chlorine, but also because I was wearing comfortable cotton briefs that didn’t add much to the moment.

I planned ahead tonight, knowing what was going to happen, wearing a pink thong that I bought at the mall last summer on a whim. This is the first time I’ve worn the lacy underwear with the intention of anyone else seeing them. Usually they’re pulled out on days I need an extra confidence boost or a lack of panty lines.

One of his fingers sinks inside me. I moan and he groans.

“You’re so wet.”

“Your fault,” I whisper.

His laugh is quiet. I feel it more than I hear it before he moves away and opens the drawer next to his bed. It’s filled with a random assortment of stuff: a composition notebook, a packet of tissues, some gum, and a box of condoms.

He sits up to tug down his boxers and rip open one of the foil packets. I bite my bottom lip as I watch him roll on the condom, warring with my riotous emotions.

Of course he has condoms in his bedroom. This moment that feels so special to me is ordinary for him.

The more I get lost in this, the more it will hurt when it ends.

I’m chasing pleasure that I know will turn to pain.

I shouldn’t have suggested this.

He shouldn’t have agreed.

But I want it. So badly I can barely think straight. Call it lust or hormones or misplaced hope. But it feels like I’m in pain now, and he’s what will bring relief.

Holden lies back down, holding his weight on his arms so he’s hovering over me. I’m caged in by his body, and I’ve never felt safer.

“You good?”

“Yep.” I run a hand down the side of his abdomen, exploring all the hot, hard skin above me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I lift my hips, trying to guide him inside me.

“Flower.”