I wish I could say that it surprises me, the way he grips my wrist and traps it against the wall. But just like everything else, this has to be on his terms. He doesn’t want to be in control of me, I don’t think, just of himself. For that, however, he has to minimize environmental interference. Keep the variables constant.

I grin, feeling troublesome. “Like I said, boring.”

“Can you be good? Just for once?”

“I’ll think about it.” My free arm reaches up. Locks around his neck as I pull him down to me. “What’s it like?” I ask against his ear, inhaling sharply when his fingers slide between the slick lips of my cunt. Conor smells like a night out, faint traces of cigarette smoke and brine and sweat, but underneath it all it’s just him. I want to lick the skin of his collarbone, so I do. “To be this boring?”

“You may think I’m boring,” he murmurs against my ear. “But I’ve been fucking superhuman for so long, when it comes to you. Since Edinburgh.”

The tip of his middle finger sinks inside me, just one digit, and my nails dig into his nape, feeling the thrum of his blood underneath. There’s his thumb, too, lazy circles around my clit, glorious, perfect pressure, delicious friction. He listens to every sound I make, pays attention to the way I move against him, and…What turns me on the most, even now, is the moan that feels dragged out of him. The fast, shallow rhythm of his breath that tells me he’s as into this as I am.

“And after that?” I ask him.

He closes his eyes. Slides deeper. I consider myself lucky: I’m easy, responsive. I’ve always been quick at finding my pleasure, alone and with partners. This, though, is different. It’s not just my body—Conor is in my brain, pushing into my soul.

“What about in Austin, Conor?” The pad of his finger strokes the right spot. My body contracts against him in surprise.

“Fuck, you—unbelievable.” His teeth open at the base of my throat. He lets go of my wrist and his hand finds my hip, twitching, tightening around it.

“Do you remember that night, a little over a year ago?” Heat rises within me. Between us. My words are breathy, choppy, damp against the fabric of his shirt. “You needed to talk to my brother. But he was gone, and I opened the door, and—”

His silent yes vibrates through me. “You had been asleep,” he says through clenched teeth. I wrap both arms around his neck, press my breasts against his chest, and he swears under his breath.

“Remember what I was wearing?”

A low groan. He does remember. It was very little, after all.

“You turned around and left. Like you were in pain.” I press a lingering kiss against his Adam’s apple. Run a finger through his hair to pull him toward me, arching to meet his lips.

He draws back, a warning growl deep in his throat.