“I want you to come,” he murmurs against my breast. “I want to feel you wet and clenching around my fingers. That way I’ll know you’re ready for me.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

A low rumble of a laugh. His fingers press deeper inside me. His thumb finds my clit. He rubs circles that make me stand on my tiptoes. “You can.”

The pleasure washes over me in waves. My legs can’t support myself anymore, and he eases me down onto the bed. The same plain bedspread I saw when I walked into the room for the first time. How could I have imagined it would lead to this? I feel the stitching against my back. I’m hypersensitive. I can trace the veins of the bed against my back.

He follows me down, supporting himself on his elbow, his other hand still working between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together. “It’s too much.”

He shakes his head, inexorable. It’s like arguing with a mountain. “You’re still too tight. You need to come again. Let me make you feel good.”

The words unlock something in me, and I sigh a relief built up over years. My head falls back over his arm, exposing my neck. He licks me there. Bites me there. Then his mouth closes over my other nipple. He sucks gently while his hand brings me closer and closer to orgasm. It’s like my body is fighting it, fighting against a tidal wave, destined to lose.

He’s making words with his tongue, writing across my breasts, embossing something into my skin. Mine, he writes. Then he bites down on the side of my breast, the flesh there soft and sensitive. I buck against his hand, and then I come in a hard gush, the climax wrapped around me like barbed wire, squeezing, hurting, drawing blood in certain places.

He’s still stroking me gently as I come down.

I look between my legs. I felt a definite liquid explosion. I’ve touched myself before, but it’s been a little bit wet. Nothing like this. His hand glistens with my moisture. “Was that okay?”

His nostrils flare. “That was fucking beautiful. I want you to come like that on my cock.”

Then he pulls off his clothes. His muscles ripple with tension. In the bright light of day, I can see every line of his body, the tanned skin and dark hair. He looks like a warrior.

He pulls a small square from his wallet. A condom.

I watch, feeling suddenly shy as he rips it open and rolls it over his cock.

“Oh hell,” he says, looking down at me. I’m too exposed. Even pressing my legs together does little to hide my naked body. He puts a hand between my thighs and opens me. “I’m not going to last long. Just looking at you makes me want to come.”