I don’t know how I’ve managed to retain my self-control all evening. Right at this moment, I’d be happy to drop to my knees and take his dick in my mouth even if all his friends were watching. I just want to feel him. I want him to feel me.

As if he can hear what I’m thinking, he pulls open my jeans and shoves his hand down my pants. His fingers find my folds. I know I’m wet.

“I fucking knew this is how I’d find you. Tell me it’s for me, Rosey. Not Fisher or Jack. Tell me that all this delicious wetness is for me.”

“Of course,” I choke out. “I’m crazy for you.”

He works his fingers hard and fast. I grab at his arm, trying to get him to slow down. I’m so wound up, I know if he keeps going like this, I’m going to be orgasming in a matter of seconds.

“If you want me to stop, tell me to stop and I will.”

I shake my head. He can’t stop. I think I’ll die if he stops touching me. “I’m going to come,” I say, my voice tight and high.

“I know,” he says. “I want you to come. And then I’m going to fuck you on the couch and against the door and in the shower. Come for me, so we can get to all that.”

I whimper. I want that so much. I want to give myself to him. Surrender.

He flips us around, pressing me against the door, and drives his fingers into me. It’s hard and rough, and all I think about is his hand shoved in my jeans, his lips on my neck, his growl in my ear, saying all the things he wants to do to me.

His fingers press against my flesh, and the scrape of his stubble against my skin sends every sense into hyperdrive. Sensation shoots from me and I convulse around his hand.

“That’s right, Rosey. Come for me.”

Stars explode in my vision. I feel like I’m floating and melting and disappearing.

I cling to Byron’s shoulders as my orgasm ebbs away.

I’m panting, my body weak. Byron slides his thigh between my legs to keep me from falling. I’m unable to catch my breath. I’m lifeless.

“It’s like I’m addicted to your sounds when you come. I can’t get enough.”