He tugs his jeans off, and his boxer briefs are black too, as though we planned it that way. I grab his sculpted butt and grind against him in a rhythm he matches stroke for stroke.

“I wonder how many times I can make you come in twenty-seven minutes,” he muses. His finger traces my bra strap and he lowers his face to run the tip of his tongue along my collarbone. “I’m going to bet three.”

“Someone’s got a healthy ego,” I remark, but I’m breathless when I say it.

“Are you really going to argue with me about this?” He lifts off my bra and his mouth encircles the tip of my breast, pulling at my nipple agonizingly slowly.

“You’re right,” I gasp. “Go Miles. Go team.” I’ve decided he can lord it over me as much as he wants as long as he keeps doing what he’s doing. I clutch the back of his head and only then does he kiss his way down my stomach the way I’ve been silently pleading for him to do. His mouth is soft and featherlight as it grazes my skin, but when his face moves between my thighs, his tongue is strong and firm, his movements assured. Dammit, he’s right, I’m so close to coming . . .

He circles his thumb leisurely, then persistently, faster and faster until I shatter around him.

“Oh, God,” I cry out, going boneless.

Pleased, he rises up off his knees and holds one finger up for me to see. I can barely focus on his triumphant expression.

I kiss his fingertip and glide his finger into my mouth. I’m still coming down from the heights he sent me to, and not even his gloating will ruin it. “There’s no way you’ll get two more out of me, though, not with the time left . . .”

Five minutes later, condom in place and me poured over the side of the couch, Miles proceeds to prove me wrong. His hands grip my hips while he thrusts, and I’m rounding the corner on orgasm number two when suddenly, a blue light pops on from under the couch’s armrest.

“Um,” says Miles, his voice strained. At our stillness, the light blinks off again.

“Are those—motion lights?” I ask.

He thrusts again. The light goes on.

“I . . . think so?”

We stay still, testing it out, and I give him a squeeze with my inner muscles.

“Oh, damn,” he moans, his hand sliding along the small of my back as he steadies himself.

I squeeze again.

He thrusts again. The light comes on.

It’s strangely beautiful.

We continue our dance, our movements—and corresponding light show—gaining speed. I reach between our bodies to rub myself, and Miles covers my hand with his so I can guide him, show him what I like. The extra warmth and pressure of his hand sends me over the edge again.