Before I’m reduced to begging, he licks me, whisper-soft and barely there. His groan vibrates against my thigh. Spreading me wider, he opens his mouth over me, running the flat of his tongue from my opening to the tight cluster of nerves at the top of my pussy. His thumb brushes my clit while his tongue plunges inside me, setting a steady, fucking pace. With his other hand, he cups my breast, squeezes, pinches, twists my nipple.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” I chant, the words melting in my mouth, slurring drunkenly.

Mindlessly, I rock my hips in time with his mouth. I can’t stop my fist from banging the wall. I can’t stop my knees from tightening around his head. A moan climbs from my belly and wails out of me at the apogee of my pleasure. It feels so good, my mouth falls open on a silent sob. I’m rocking and writhing and his. I’m so completely his right now. He’s eating me out, but he has me eating from the palm of his hand. No one has ever taken care of me this way, this thoroughly, with such selfless abandon and dedication to my pleasure.

Even after I come, liquid bliss spilling from my body and I’m slumped against the wall, he doesn’t stop nibbling, tasting, squeezing my legs, dragging me closer like a bowl he has to lick clean.

“Tru.” Passion and layers of expensive fabric muffle his voice. With tingling hands, I push the skirt away so I can see his face. His mouth and chin glisten and his eyes are glazed. I rub my thumb across his bottom lip.

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

I want that. Even though I just came hard and long, an emptiness swallows me from the inside out. Need burgeons from that void—the need to feel him pistoning in and out, to know the intimate slide of our bodies. I stand on wobbly legs, pull his hand, pushing his shoulder until he takes my place on the bench. He runs his knuckle between my breasts and over my belly until he reaches the band of my skirt where the bodice hangs useless. I reach back and undo the button at the base of my spine. The dress falls to the floor in a vivid cascade, fanning around my ankles. I’m naked and barefoot in his mudroom. I haven’t shed all of the extra weight that comes with this damn condition, but I’m not self-conscious. Not ashamed. He’s looking at me like I’m the sunrise and he’s grateful for a brand new day. He runs his palms up and down my thighs, over my hips. He squeezes my ass, brushes my nipples. I sway under a fresh wave of pleasure but help slide his boxers and jeans off.