Camille brings her hands to my jaw and our lips keep meeting and we’ve become this intertwined entity of fingers and skin and lips and tongues. When we catch our breath, she runs a finger over my lips. She doesn’t say anything, just looks into my eyes as her finger skates along my lips, denting them.

“Tu es si belle,” she whispers.

I don’t understand what it means but I automatically take it as a compliment. When she speaks French, her voice sounds different. More confident. More her, even though I don’t know her at all. It sounds much more sensual than anything she says in English, and I feel something pulsing between my legs. A very ignored body part is reminding me of its presence.

The tip of Camille’s finger slips into my mouth. She comes across so self-assured. Is this really her first time? Perhaps, when you wait long enough, the desire becomes so ingrained within your person that actions just happen, hands know what to do instinctively—like right now, she’s pushing her finger lightly into my mouth. I suck on it and it’s a new sensation that thrills me. I want to feel more of her. Her skin on mine. The weight of her body pressing into me.

She removes her finger from my mouth and I start pushing her down onto the couch. Camille suddenly looks so vulnerable on her back like that, looking up at me, her hair fanned out around her face. She looks less composed. More insecure. But I’ve got this. My instincts, though oft neglected, are quickly coming back to me. The couch is wide enough for me to lie next to her on my side, gluing myself to her, gazing down at her.

I run the back of my fingers along her cheek. How did this even happen? Was it only this morning that I stood in this very apartment, making a fool of myself in front of my temporary tenant? Did my subconscious already know that something was brewing? Is that when the heat started building in my veins? A heat that is now ready to explode out of me, take over completely. I’m consumed by the desire to give Camille pleasure. To let her know how it can be with a woman. Soft and intense and utterly satisfying. This wave of lust we’ve decided to ride is crashing over me. It’s about to drown me in its force. I drag my finger along her jaw and between her collar bones, straight into her cleavage.

The thrill of discovery is unmistakable. Camille is much slighter than Rebecca. Her skin so pale. Her bones so fine.

“I want you,” I say, the words getting half-stuck in the back of my throat. “So, so much.”