He fingers my ass like he’s on a mission, alternating between shallow strokes and going deeper. Then he gently scissors his fingers to spread me open, and I wait eagerly for him to add a third finger. But he gives me a wink and lowers his head to lick at my rim instead, while his fingers continue to drive me wild.

As soon as he curls them and taps on my prostate, I almost shoot off the mattress. Unable to control myself, I begin thrusting down on him, riding his fingers, silently demanding more. My head falls back onto the pillow as my arms give out, and I reach down to wrap my hand around my cock, but he grips my wrist, stopping me. That’s when I start pleading.

“Oh god, oh fuck, please, please, please. Make me come. I need to, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Suddenly, his fingers slide all the way out of my ass.

I sit up quickly, ready to fight him. “Nooo. Why did you do that? I was so close!”

“Do you have condoms?” he asks huskily.

And I’m pretty sure my brain short circuits for a second. Is this really happening? Blowjobs and fingering are one thing, but fucking is another. I’ve wanted to fuck Travis probably since our first kiss, if I’m being honest. But I don’t think I ever expected it to be an option. I don’t believe that sex needs to be reserved for love or anything like that, but with Travis—someone I’m already so close to—this feels like crossing a line that might change me forever.

His brow furrows. “Or do you not want to?”

“No!” I shout. Maybe too loudly. “I mean, yes. Yes! I very much want to, yes. Let’s do that. Right now.”

When he smiles at me, it warms my skin like a physical touch. “So, condoms?”

“Bathroom, under the sink.” I haven’t used any in a while, but I always keep a box with a safe expiration date, just in case.

He gets off the bed and goes to get them, and I use the few seconds to try to calm my racing heart. I want this so badly. Badly enough that I’m willing to leave behind any sense of self-preservation and risk the future heartache when we go back to being just friends.

When he steps out of the bathroom holding a condom, I spread my legs in anticipation. Climbing on top of me, he runs a hand up my ribs. It feels possessive. So does the look he gives me while he’s rolling the condom over his hard cock.

It’s possessive the way he pushes at the backs of my thighs to get me to pull my legs up. Like he owns me, when he hasn’t even been properly inside me yet.