Jack’s legs are a work of erotic art. Long and muscular, her shins are coated in soft brown hair, with three freckles above her left knee. Her thick thighs strain as she arches off the couch to help me along with the pants, and I think about those thighs under me, around me, squirming beneath my hands as I devoured her last Christmas.

I climb into her lap again, the hard mound of her pressed between my legs. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

I caress her breasts with my thumbs. I trace her flesh, touch and retreat, tease my fingers along the underside of her small breasts. Jack arches back, groans as I wind and unwind her, until she begs with a single word: “Elle.”

Here is what I know about Jack: she likes to be in charge, likes to lead; she likes to be the one who gives, the one who nurtures and nourishes, the one who makes you feel safe and protected and so goddamn precious your heart almost bursts. But one time, in her Airstream, she let me take care of her, and I learned she also likes to hand over that control sometimes. She likes to feel powerless, likes to be teased, likes to plead for what she wants and be denied it still, until the tension and promise and delayed satisfaction make her squirm.

And I love being the person who makes her feel that way. I fucking love to be in control.

So I move my lips closer to her nipple as if to take her in my mouth, but I only blow cool air across her skin before moving up to kiss her throat. Jack pants and makes all manner of desperate sounds as I kiss her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone. I kiss the crest of her right breast until she begs again with just the syllables of my name, and then I take her nipple between my teeth and tug, only for a second, making Jack loosen with relief before recoiling with longing.

It’s so damn hot, being handed this power, being allowed to turn her all weak-kneed and wanting. I’m wet and impatient with my own game, so I push myself up on my knees to get a better angle and cup my hand between her legs. Gently, I press my palm against her, my middle finger disappearing between her legs. “May I?”

Jack growls, “You fucking better,” and I think I momentarily black out. When I regain consciousness, I lift two fingers to my mouth and suck until they’re slick with my spit. Jack watches me, her pink tongue darting out of her mouth to lick the white scar.