Wrapping my leg around his waist, he gives me the exquisite feel of his erection—hard and thick, straining against his pants. I roll my hips, dying for friction, for touch, for every inch of me to find every inch of him. Reaching for his shirt, I wrench it from his pants and run my hands beneath that crisp cotton, sighing when I feel him—warm, taut skin, the hard ridges of his stomach.

I push him back on his heels and unbutton his shirt frantically, shoving it off his shoulders, yanking away his undershirt, too. Before I can even fully appreciate his body, he whips off my dress, then lays me back down against the sofa, latching his mouth over my nipple through the soft cotton of my bralette. His teeth drag gently, maddeningly perfect as they draw my nipples to hard, sensitive peaks.

The ache I feel is everywhere. My fingertips, my toes, deep inside and exquisitely close to the surface. Concentrated between my thighs, it’s a steady, thrumming pulse that makes my hips seek his. Our mouths meet again, and when our tongues touch, my back arches, my breasts brushing against his chest.

And from there, release is a matter of when, not if.

I lean into Jamie as he moves steadily against me, the thick head of his cock rubbing my clit through our clothes. I reach between us and rub him through his pants, too, savoring how hard and big he is, lower where he’s tight and heavy. I’m too busy enjoying myself to beg him for more than this, but I make myself a promise. Next time, there’ll be nothing between us.

This is frenzied, exactly what I pictured the night we got a little wild at the bowling alley. It’s rushing air and frantic thrusts, uncorked lust that’s been bottled up between us for too long. Laughter and longing overflow as we kiss, as I taste his jaw, his cheek, his lips.

“You’re close,” he says, his mouth softly nipping down my throat.

“Y-yes.”

“I want to make you come.” Oh God. Such simple words, but they make my clit swell, turn my breasts shamelessly needy for his touch. “Tell me what you need.”

I blush as I say it, not because I’m ashamed but because it feels hot to command him. To know he’s going to do it. “More. Rougher.”

He groans like my words are unraveling him as much as my hands that wander his body, coaxing rasped breaths when I catch him by surprise and make him rut against me harder.