“Listen …” He sighed and took a seat next to me on the bed with his legs dangling off the end. “I haven’t walked in your shoes. So I don’t know what’s been planted into your brain. I liked what just happened in the doorway. It’s that simple for me. I liked it. I’d like to do it again. And I don’t want to feel guilty for being a consenting adult with you. My opinion should mean nothing to you. So while I’d like to tell you to spend more time touching yourself than worrying about going to Hell, it’s not my place.”

After letting his words resonate for a moment, I released my breasts and stood on my knees, swinging one leg over his lap. “Fisher …” I laced my fingers together behind his neck while positioning myself so his cock (covered by his briefs and shorts) was pressed between my legs again, much like the previous night.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, eyeing my mouth while his hands gripped my hips.

“I like how you feel between my legs, naked fisherman.”

“Fuuuck …” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gripping my hips tighter while pushing me down a fraction—pushing into me a fraction.

Cock.

Briefs.

Shorts.

“Yes …” I closed my eyes.

“Don’t say that,” he said with a strained voice and lines of tension along his forehead.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

He prodded me like he, too, knew that point of no return was a mile behind us in a foggy rearview mirror.

My hands ghosted down his back. His hands gripped my butt.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

I spread my legs wider, allowing him to push into me a fraction more.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Each move a little harder.

Each breath a little more ragged, just like his next words.

“I.” Thrust.

“Want.” Thrust.

“Inside of you.” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

“So fucking bad.”

I did too. And while I knew it would be different, that it would be painful the first time, I still wanted it. I wanted it with Fisher. Instead, we were dry humping harder than two people had probably ever dry humped. I swore his cock, briefs, and shorts were halfway in by that point—like a clothes condom—and soaking wet from me … and maybe a little from him too.

“Fisher!” I seethed when he ducked his head and bit my nipple and tugged it like he was trying to rip it off.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

“No.” He released my nipple and grabbed my hand when I reached between us, sliding my hand down the front of his shorts and briefs. “Not a good idea.”

I kissed his neck. “I promise I won’t. I just want to feel you.”

He groaned or grumbled, clearly warring with the decision to stop me or trust me to not cross the next line.