My eyes fluttered shut. I felt the soft wetness of his tongue, the scratch of his bristle, but oddly the most intimate was the touch of his nose against mine. I breathed in his exhales, and he breathed in mine.

“Promise me you won’t go back to the club,” he whispered against my mouth.

I kept my eyes shut. It was safer. “Okay.”

This was just supposed to be a casual thing, a date or two, but somehow it felt like more with him. He tempted me to want more. He was like the male equivalent of the sirens I’d read about in high school, who promised happiness when disaster loomed.

“Would you do that for me?” I opened my eyes. “Give me what I need?”

He paused, and I knew he’d understood what I meant. The roughness. His eyes gave nothing away. “Maybe,” he said.

Chapter Seven

Colin took me to a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant for supper, where we split a classic Chicago pizza. The couple who owned the place screamed obscenities at each other, so obviously colored by affection that it made my heart hurt just to hear.

Later, back at my apartment, Colin followed me to my door. I unlocked it, but before I could enter, he pulled me back and kissed me. I remained frozen that way, leaning away from him for only a few seconds before melting. He pressed me into the door, kissing me, covering me. Headlights flashed onto us from a car in the parking lot, and he broke away.

Colin turned the knob and eased the door open, guiding me inside. As soon as we were in, I pulled him over to the couch, unwilling to let this turn into another coffee session. He sat, and I climbed on top of him, straddling his erection through his jeans. The hardness of it was intimidating and thrilling.

As a young girl I thought of a boy’s penis as a weakness, a vulnerability that could be exploited by a well-aimed kickball. But now that I was a woman, a cock was a thing of power, something that could give or claim or bruise.

Our mouths met in a kiss, both licking and exploring and biting. The line between taking and being taken blurred. If my stomach revolted at the thought of having sex, with the memory of that other man’s hands still crawling on my skin, that only increased my need. I could do this. I’d prove that I could.

I rocked my hips, pushing my clit onto the ridge of his cock.

“Good girl,” he murmured against my lips. I froze at both the humiliation and the pleasure of his words, then rode him over his jeans. Our kiss broke off from the force of my thrusts. He pulled off my shirt and bra to bare my breasts before he covered them with his hands.

The pleasure from my clit ricocheted through me. Almost, almost there.