“What if I do…” I lean over him. “This?” And taste him.

“Ohhhh shit, Nadia. You do that and it’s over.” He loses his voice, then. Because I’m not stopping.

He groans, and I’m loving him all over, with my hands, my mouth, my tongue.

We don’t keep score. This isn’t about what he did while I was cuffed to the bed. It’s not even about the necklace currently draped on his upper thigh as I tongue him to ecstasy.

It’s about how much I love his pleasure. How much I love the feel him abandoning control to me. Letting me show him my desire for his release. It’s about…me.

I dreamed of this while trying to fall asleep, so many nights.

Now he’s here and you bet your ass I’m gonna make my own dreams come true. After all, he’s made the rest of my dreams come true.

Most of them, at least. Almost all of them.

I push that away, viciously. Later.

Now, it’s him. This. Us.

It is over fast. I love it that way. I enjoy knowing I can make him lose it in two minutes flat, max. He’s mine. I know him, I know what he likes. Inside and out, I know him.

When he’s gone and done, I kiss his belly, his chest. His lips. He kisses me, unafraid to taste himself on my breath. He works into a sitting position, and we eat our yogurt and bagels, drink our lattes, and there’s no need to talk. Our eyes say it all. The silence itself says everything.

And I’m fully aware that when we’re done eating, he’s going to keep eating…but me, instead of food. That might be part of it.

It’s all a big complicated circle. And I feel no need to figure it out. It works, and that’s what matters. I know him, he knows me, and we work together perfectly.

He finishes first. I’m much slower to finish, both my food and my climax.

He takes his time, this time. No hurry. Not a race to as many as possible. This is about making sure I feel every moment of it, fully.

And I do.

We watch a movie, and a second, until we’re tired enough to sleep—well past three in the morning.

I wake to full daylight through the windows, and Adrian in bed with me, hard, grinning, waiting.

We take our time.

It’s noon on Friday before I bother asking about his trip.

“It was a trip,” he says, as if even talking about it is boring. “Libraries, historical battle sites, lots of driving around in rental cars. Nothing exciting.”

“What’s the story going to be?” I ask.