“I’m not drunk,” she blurts, and I frown, catching the concierge’s look of alarm. Yes, I’m a caveman. Confirmed. But she’ll learn. Don’t deprive me. Don’t play games. I smack the code into the panel in the elevator and look over my shoulder, smiling. It drops the moment the minx slips her hands past my jeans. The heat spreads like wildfire. Uncontrollable. Uncontained.

I’m one stroke away from dropping her and taking her here and now. Jesus. My teeth press together, and I close my eyes, willing myself to hold on just a little while longer. I open my eyes and watch as the dial ticks painfully slowly through the floors. Come on.

The doors open, and I’m out fast, struggling to walk with the bulge I’m packing. “No fucking about.” Let’s be clear. She needs to lose whatever sassy streak she’s found and give me what I need before I combust. “I want inside you now. You fuck about, I swear to God—”

“You’re so romantic,” she says, close to a giggle.

“We’ve got all the time in the world for romance, lady.”

I make it to the kitchen—I don’t know how—and let her slip down my front slowly, my body folding, a suppressed moan vibrating at the back of my throat. She’s clinging to me for support, can hardly stand on her own two feet, and I’ve not even started yet. “You know,” I say, sounding in control but feeling anything but, “you’re really not going to be in a fit state to work tomorrow. Strip, now.”

Her surprise is endearing. She thought I’d rip off her clothes. No. I’m starving for her, but this won’t be rushed. Every moment will be slow, giving her mind space to process it. This will be the loudest I’ve ever spoken, and I pray she hears me.

I take her hands from my shoulders and guide them to her blouse. She needs help. Needs me. “Start with the shirt.”

Her head tilts, her hands still. “So, am I in charge?”

I could laugh. Oh, lady, you are so in charge. She rules me. Eases me. Strips me of reason. I’m incapable of thinking straight around her, and I’m constantly fighting with my conscience and my instinct. Instinct always wins. “If it makes you happy.” I watch her as I remove my watch, her eyes clouding, her shaky hands starting to unfasten the buttons. The first one reveals her smooth décolletage. I gulp. The second her breastbone. The third, her bra. Fuck me, if this isn’t fucking about, I don’t know what is. But watching her giving herself to me, albeit slow as fuck, is satisfaction personified.

She releases the final button, exposing her front to me. I’m vibrating. Rapt.

Lace.