I take my hand from her lips and put it around her throat, settling it onto the necklace. Walk her across the room. Bend her over the bed. Put her hands on the bedspread, the way I want them. “Keep yourself up. I won’t have you ruining that stylist’s hard work.”

The sound she makes is soft. Desperate. It touches every part of me and pulls them all toward her. It’s obscenely beautiful, the way she’s bent over the bed. Haley’s arms quake with the effort of holding herself up so she doesn’t ruin her hair. “You’re so good for me.” I run my thumb down the divot of her spine, lower and lower and lower until I can reach between her legs. “Mmm. You’re fucking soaked. Is it the Christmas decorations, darling? Don’t lie to me. If tinsel gets you this wet, I’m leaving it up all year.”

I push three fingers inside of her. Haley catches herself in time to save her hair and her makeup. She struggles for breath, and everything about her has me painfully hard. The slick heat of her around my fingers, the delicate lines of her body, the panting. Jesus. It hurts to be this hard. To want her this much. But it’s a good pain. I didn’t think that would be possible. Not for many, many years. This is the kind of pain that begs to be released and can be released by fucking Haley.

“It’s rude to deny me an answer,” I murmur.

Haley swallows. “You’re dressed.”

“You don’t like the clothes?” Why not finger-fuck her slowly, tortuously, while I wait? Haley moans at the first movement.

She has to be red in the face now, though I can’t see it in this light. I don’t need to see it. Her whole body heats up with it. “I love you naked,” she manages.

I’m a patient man, but I’m out of patience. She wriggles when I take my fingers away, frantic, and I undo my zipper. Pull out my aching cock. Shove myself inside of her so hard she gasps. Her hands curl tight on the bedspread. Haley spreads her thighs wider to make room for me and Jesus fuck, she’s tight. “But when you’re still—dressed—it reminds me—of how you were—”

“When we first met?”