Let’s be honest here, there’s no way to get out of a pair of tight jeans with any dignity, especially if a beautiful woman has one hand in your boxers and an arm wrapped around your waist. You always end up frantically kicking your legs in an effort to get the damn things past your ankles. I was a gentleman, though, and helped her off with her leggings—everything else we were wearing had to wait because Simone wasn’t looking for a slow buildup. She pulled me between her thighs and having lined me up to her satisfaction pulled me the rest of the way in. We went at it for ages but finally I looked up to find her rearing above me with the waning moon watching us over her shoulder, her waist bucking under my palms. She threw her head back and bellowed and with that we came together.

She flopped down on top of me, her skin feverish and sweaty, her face buried in my shoulder.

“Fuck me,” I said.

“What, again?” she asked. “There’s no stopping you, is there?”

I was instantly hard again, because nothing gets a man going like a bit of flattery. Yes, when it comes to sex we really are that shallow. It was chilly and I shivered as I rolled her over onto her back. She opened her arms wide but I ignored them and let my lips trace a line down to her belly button. Her hands grabbed my head—urging me lower, but I stretched it out. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen, that’s my motto. I put my mouth where the money was and I didn’t let up until her legs were pointing straight up in the air and her knees were locked. Then I climbed my slippery way back up and introduced myself once more. Simone’s ankles locked behind my backside and her arms snaked around my shoulders and for quite a long period coherent thought was something that happened to other people.

We came apart with a sticky pop and for a moment we just lay there and steamed in the night air. Simone kissed me open-mouthed, hungry, for a long moment and then levered herself off the mattress.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said.