He breaks away at the sound and begins to step backwards, pulling me with him until his legs hit the ottoman. He nudges it away with his foot and then there’s nothing between him and the front of the chair. I tear at his apron and shirt and he makes quick work of my top and bra. Dragging him down for another searing kiss, I pull his tongue into my mouth and drink him in until I have my fill.

How can this be life now?

His hands drift down to undo the button of my pants and I move away the slightest bit, pulling them down myself along with my panties. Ryan digs a condom out of his back pocket and soon he’s fumbling with his belt, tearing it open, and pushing his shorts and boxers to the floor. I’m pulled back flush against him a second later and his hands cup my bottom as I gasp and arch my back. Ryan sits in the chair, holding my hand and gazing up at me with lust-filled eyes.

Whenever we’re both standing, he’s so much taller—forever towering over me by at least half a foot. I’ve always liked our height difference, and I’ve always secretly liked the idea that he could toss me against the wall and have his wicked way with me if we ever felt so inclined. But now, looking down at him, I’m wondering if this way is better. He’s staring up at me like I could tell him to do anything in this moment and he’d do it. It’s a powerful realization.

Riding my newfound high, I crawl into his lap and straddle him in the chair, adjusting myself until we’re lined up perfectly. I ease myself down little by little until he’s fully inside and his head falls back with a groan. I’m never going to be able to read in this chair the same away again.

“Damn, Sullivan,” he sighs, sounding breathless and drunk as I continue to slide myself steadily up and down. “How is it this good? How can you always feel this good?”