Three days. That stupid goddamn business trip lasts three days. And it's all I can do to keep myself distracted the whole time. Every time my phone lights up, I practically pounce on it, eager to check the messages, to see if there's one from Rina.

Every time it's a message from anyone else, I feel my stomach sink.

It doesn't help that all day, every day, I keep seeing stuff that reminds me of her. We went out after the first night of the conference to a bar, and just the sight of the dart board they had in the corner got me reminiscing about all the games Rina and I played back in law school. She started out slow, but pretty soon she was whooping my ass nearly every game we played. I never admitted it to her, but I found that sexy as hell.

Skills are always sexy.

I limit myself to two texts a day. Two texts a day is a normal number of texts. The amount of times you would text a friend. Any more than that, and I worry I'd start to scare her off. Start to get her thinking that maybe I'm a little too into this, that maybe our NSA isn't exactly remaining NSA.

And that's the last thing I want to do. Because I know what happens if Rina thinks I can't be professional about our arrangement. If she realizes that I'm starting to develop feelings for her, if she ever realizes how much I think about her, how crazy she drives me just by walking past my desk at work or smiling at me or fucking hell, the look on her face every time I make her come... If she ever realizes that I'm starting to fall for her, then she'll cut off this arrangement.

And I can't stand the thought of that. I can't stand the idea of not being able to touch her ever again. Not waking up with her cradled in my arms every morning, not wandering out into the apartment to find her half-dressed and making coffee, not walking home at night with her, pretending to act prim and proper until the elevator doors close on our doorman and we fling ourselves at one another, not able to wait a second longer before we start touching again.

So I have to play it cool. I have to pretend that this is still just an NSA business arrangement for me. Because otherwise, I won't get even this short amount of time with her. And even though I know it's going to end soon—whenever I manage to knock her up, whenever I manage to put my baby inside her... Even though I know there's an ending in sight, I can't help it. I want to stretch this out, make it last as long as possible while I still can.

Which is why I hate this fucking business trip with every fiber of my being.

Normally I love business trips—great excuse to hook up with some new girls in a new zip code. This time, I don't even check my Tinder account. And when a girl at the conference starts flirting with me, playing with the collar of her admittedly very sexy dress, and leaves a business card with her phone number scrawled across the back on the counter beside me when she heads off to her next meeting, I just slide it straight into the trash can.

Because I'm not interested.

I'm not interested in anyone but Rina.

In other words... I am so fucked.

* * *

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I make it through my third day away. Then it's back onto the airplane, into the cab from the airport, and the whole time, my stomach is tied in knots and my breath is coming harder as I imagine seeing her again. Touching her again, kissing her again. Grabbing her and tossing her across my bed and fucking her until we're both breathless from orgasms.

Halfway home from the airport, my phone lights up with a response to my question—asking whether Rina was home tonight, and wanted to hang out. It's Saturday, so I brace myself for the very realistic possibility that she might not. She might be doing other things. Going out with friends. Going out on a date.

She's free to date whomever she wants right now, of course. That's part of the whole No Strings Attached thing. But I have to admit, just the thought of her with another guy right now turns my stomach into an angry vat of stinging bees. And makes me want to find that hypothetical other guy, whoever he might be, and punch him in the face.

I suck in a deep breath and flick on my screen.

Yeah, sure! Movie night?

I breathe out a sigh of relief. Then I frown a little. Movie night?

Movie night has been an at least once-a-month tradition ever since we've been roomies. We both love really cheesy, terrible thrillers, so we try to make it to at least one crappy new blockbuster a month together. But it's always been very much a friend activity. We even buy our own popcorn buckets—because she likes hers sweet and I like mine salty.

Is she asking me to the movies because she wants to remind me that this thing is casual? That this is just a friend set up, that we're not changing anything else between us?

Any relief I felt at her agreeing to meet up tonight just turns right back into worry the more I think about it. I've never felt like this before. No woman has ever driven me quite this crazy. She's all I think about it, and it's making me feel like I'm going insane.

And yet, I don't want it to stop. If anything, I want this to keep going as long as possible. I want her and I to keep going.

I can't tell her any of that, though, of course. So I write back, agreeing to movie night and suggesting the dumbest, most explosion-filled action thriller I can find at our local theater.

Perfect, she replies with a smiley face emoji, and I wonder what that means too. Perfect, because it's an action movie, and won't in any way wind up being accidentally romantic?

You're over-thinking this, Cannon, I tell myself. Pull it together.

We agree to meet at the theater, since she's still at work and I have to drop my luggage off at home. The moment I walk through the doors, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders, because I'm back. I'm back in our space, back in the apartment that smells like her perfume and her body wash and my shampoo and the mingled scents of both of us.

I drop my luggage in my room, then pause in the doorway to her room to gaze across her bed toward the shower. Memories play in my head. The way we fucked in that shower a few days ago, when I pinned her against the wall, the hot water steaming around us. The way we fell into her bed afterward, and I kissed her and stroked her clit until she moaned with desperation against my mouth, begged me to let her come.

I'm getting hard just being here, thinking about her. But then, she always has that effect on me.

I leave early, get to the theater long before the show time. I buy us tickets, then worry about whether she'll think that's too forward, acting too much like it's a date. Then I buy us popcorn too, because why not, since I'm already here.

Finally, I see her coming up the escalator toward me, and I swear a trapdoor opens up in the bottom of my heart, and any sense I had left falls straight through it.

She looks fucking gorgeous.

She's wearing a strappy little dress that I don't remember ever seeing before—is it new? And she's carrying her tiny purse—her date purse, we always joked, because the rest of the time she carries this enormous, ugly men's briefcase, because it holds more of her stuff.

When she reaches my side, she grins up at me. She reaches up, and for a second I think she's going to touch my arm. Instead, she grabs her popcorn bucket from me.

"Caramel corn," she says, still smiling. "You remembered."

"Of course." I snort and roll my eyes. "We've only been doing this every month for years."

She catches my eye, and her cheeks go a little red. "Right. Of course. So... Should we get tickets?"

"Already got them." I pass her hers, and she stares at it for a moment before setting off toward the theater.

"Thanks. I'll get them next time," she promises.

"Don't worry about it," I reply, even as part of me thinks, Next time.

Inside, we make our way to the seats we normally choose—center and middle, best in the house. I sit beside her and savor the scent of her perfume, the sight of her leg, which she jiggles nervously, inches from mine.

"How was your trip?" she asks, her tone formal.

"Great," I lie. "How was work this week?"

"Great," she echoes.

Finally, as the previews begin, I decide I can't take it anymore. I slip a hand over to rest on her knee, and stop her shaking. She freezes. Glances at me in the dim light reflected from the theater screen.

"So tell me," I murmur as I lean in close toward her. At the same time, I let my hand slide up her thigh. I can't sit this close to her and not touch her. I just can't. Caution be damned. "Did you miss having my cock inside you while I was gone?"

Her lips part, and her eyes flutter half-closed in distraction. I watch her gaze dart from my hand to my mouth, until finally she meets my eyes with her pale blue ones, the hunger already evident in them. "I definitely missed your cock," she whispers.

My mouth quirks into a sideways grin. "And maybe me?" I lift a brow.

"Maybe you too," she admits, and I can't let it show, but fuck, that statement sends a pulse straight to my groin, makes me start to harden against the seam of my jeans.

In front of us, the movie begins, but we're both distracted now. I slide my hand farther up her leg, and slip it under the hem of her dress. She casts a quick, furtive glance around the theater, but I've already checked. There's only a couple other people here, in the back row, far enough away that as long as we're quiet, no one should notice.

"Just be careful not to be as loud as you usually are when I make you come," I whisper in her ear, and I grin when she gasps and tenses against me in response. My hand reaches her panties, and I press my fingers against the thin fabric, tracing the outline of her pussy through them. Fuck, I've missed this. The feeling of her going tense in anticipation—not to mention her perfect fucking pussy, so tight and already wet for me. I can feel her even through the fabric of her panties—not that they're particularly sturdy. It feels like I could rip this pair easily.

I want to. I want to tear them off and pull her onto my lap, make her straddle me right here.

But that might disturb our fellow movie-goers in the back row. So I settle for slowly circling my finger against her, still through her panties, savoring her faint, breathy gasps against my cheek as I do.

"You have the perfect pussy, Rina, you know that?" I murmur softly. "I can't get enough of touching you. Feeling you... tense." I slip my finger under her panties then, wriggle them to one side to allow me full access to her. She gasps again as I part her lower lips and slide a finger between.

I take my time, the way I love to with her. So often with other girls I just want to get straight to the point—enough foreplay to warm them up, but then I want to get the job done. But with Rina? With Rina I want the foreplay to last forever. I want to make her come again and again, I want to make her beg for my cock before I give it to her, and then, even after I do, I want to make her keep coming for me, to see the sexy, longing, lost look she always wears when she orgasms. Not to mention to hear her scream. I love her voice. Especially when she calls my name.

While I continue to finger her, I lean down to kiss her neck, her jawline, the curve of her cheek. I trail my lips along her earlobe, suck her earring between my teeth and bite down on her lobe, gently, just hard enough to make her suck in her breath. At the same time, I add a second finger to her slit, coating both in her juices, slowly.

Then I press my forefinger against her opening, and begin to press it, inch by inch, into her pussy.

She moans softly.

I grin against her neck, and turn to whisper in her ear. "Ah, ah. Remember, we're not alone in here..."

She clamps her lips together and shoots me a look that's half-frustrated, half-turned on. "It's hard to be quiet when you..." She breaks off, because I choose that moment to slide a second finger into her pussy.

She manages not to gasp—only just. I see the effort it takes her, and it makes me grin like hell. "When I what, Rina? When I have my fingers in your sexy little pussy?"

She swallows hard. And then, she does something I don't expect.

She reaches across and undoes my zipper, in one smooth motion.

I lift a brow. She holds my gaze steady, challenging, as she slips her hand under the hem of my boxers and reaches down to touch my cock.

She finds me rock hard already, of course. Just like every time I'm in the same room as her. I can't help it. It's a natural reaction.

She grins at me, though, clearly pleased with her find, and wraps her fingers around the base of my shaft.

In response, I gently ease a third finger into her pussy. Her eyes go wide, and her mouth parts in surprise—lit by the distant flickering light of the movie screen. But I know she can handle three fingers. She can handle my thick cock, after all. This has to be easy in comparison.

Still, I start out slow, curling my fingers inside her and easing them in and out, just a couple centimeters at a time at first.

She eases back into her seat, and then she starts to give as good as she gets. She tightens her fist around my cock and begins to stroke me, back and forth, the same pace that I'm stroking her pussy.

I curve my fingers upward, so they graze along her inner wall, along the sensitive little nub of her G-spot. Her hips buck in her seat when I graze it at first, but she manages to keep quiet, clamp her lips shut over her instinctive moan. And she begins to stroke me faster too, reaching across with her other hand to use both fists, wrapped tight enough around me that, I have to admit, I suck in a breath too, caught off guard.

I can't remember the last time a girl gave me a hand job like this. It makes me feel like a teenager, sneaking around in the backseat of a car parked outside our parents' house or something. And, I have to admit, it's strangely sexy in this setting—in the darkened theater, lit only by the flickers of whatever high-speed car chase is happening on the screen, and witnessed by the poor schmucks in the back row with us.

I get harder thinking about that—about how fucking dirty Rina is willing to be. She's as hungry for me as I am for her, and she's willing to do this in public, get each other off with potential witnesses right there.

God, this woman drives me wild.

I move my hand faster, letting my thumb graze her clit on every inward stroke of my fingers. She falters for a moment, almost loses her grip on my shaft in her distraction. Then she runs her thumb across the tip of my cock, collecting the bead of precum that's gathered there, and keeps stroking my shaft, faster, harder.

I press a little harder against her front wall, just enough to hit her G-spot on every stroke. It doesn't take long before she's bucking in her seat. This time, she does lose her grip on me, and almost all of her control. She moans, loud, and I catch her mouth in a deep kiss to muffle it. She breaks off, eyes shut, body quivering beside me as her pussy tightens and releases around my fingers, spasming with the force of her climax.

I grin when we break apart, my eyebrows lifted. "What did we say about being quiet?" I ask, with a soft tsk.

She responds by sliding off her seat and between my knees.

My eyebrows rise as she peels my legs apart and yanks my jeans down my legs, forcefully enough to make me lift up my ass and let her yank down my boxers too. Then, before I can say anything else, she leans across my lap and slides my cock between her lips.

I grit my teeth and let my head fall back against the seat, my hands running through her hair. She swirls her tongue around the base and underside of my cock, an expert at this, I already know. Last time she went down on me, the only time so far, it took every ounce of self control I had to stop her in the middle of sucking my cock hungrily down her throat. Because I knew I had to save myself, knew I had to come inside her, not anywhere else.

Today, though?

Today, she's not ovulating. Today, it's just us and our oblivious distant audience in this dark movie theater. Today, I don't have to save myself.

Which is good, because it would take a fuck-ton of self control to stop her now. She slides me deeper into her mouth, that sexy little tongue of hers still tracing the underside of my shaft, edging along the crease there, all while her lips contract around me and her fingers slip between my legs to cup my balls, roll them between her thumbs and forefinger. I run my hands through her hair and clench my fists through it, pulling her closer to me, forcing my cock deeper into her mouth.

For a moment—only a moment—she tenses.

"Relax," I whisper, my voice just loud enough for her to hear over the distant sounds of the movie that neither of us are paying a single bit of attention to.

She does. She lets her jaw go, inhales, and lets me take control, pushing her head down against my lap so my cock glides farther into her throat. I hiss through my teeth when I feel my tip touch the back of her throat. Fuck. She's a fucking pro. I've never met a girl who could take my cock this deep.

And then, to my shock, she grips my ass with both hands and draws herself farther forward. The tip of my cock edges down into her throat, and I inhale again, needing every ounce of self control I retain not to gasp at the sensation.

Fucking hell.

I ease up on her hair, draw her back, and she gasps in a fresh breath of air as my cock glides out of her mouth once more. But then she's straight back in, using that tongue of hers to full advantage as she starts to rock back and forth before me on her knees, and I pull her by her hair, closer, then away, then closer again. We find our rhythm, her rocking in front of me, her hands still exploring my balls, her tongue and lips and mouth driving me fucking wild.

My only regret is that there's not a little more light in this theater. As sexy as it is that she's doing this right here in public, out in the open, I still wish I could see her face. Wish I could watch as my cock glides in and out of her pert lips, glistening with her spit. As it is, all I can make out are her eyes fixed on me, and the occasional flare of desire that flashes in them as she tightens her lips, sucks harder.

She uses one finger to press on the spot right behind my balls, and this time I can't suppress it—a faint groan escapes my mouth, try though I might to contain it. That makes her laugh, soft, in the back of her throat, and the vibrations send a whole new wave of sensations shooting up my cock, through my body.

I can't take it anymore. I grip her head and take control, pulling her up onto her knees higher and pumping in and out of her mouth. She loosens her jaw again, relaxes, lets me fuck her face and throat, all the while moaning softly in the back of her throat, just enough to vibrate her mouth around me, and to let me know how fucking turned on she is by this. Every bit as much as I am. She's hungry for it—and that makes her even hotter right now.

Once I take over, it doesn't take long before I'm nearing my edge. I shut my eyes, force my cock down her throat once, twice, a third time, and then, with a guttural growl, I finish deep in her throat. Her throat constricts around me, swallowing my cum, and when I release her hair, expecting her to sit up, instead she just keeps licking and sucking at my cock, cleaning me off completely.

That's almost enough to make me start getting hard again, just watching.

Finally, she slides back up to my waist, my chest. I grab her shoulders and pull her onto my lap, spectators be damned. I kiss her hard on the mouth, swirl my tongue along hers, and savor the taste of me on her lips, the way our flavors and scents mingle.

Fuck. I am so fucked. This woman is unlike anyone I've ever met. Any girl I've ever been with.

She shoots me a sly grin and slides off my lap into the seat beside me, turning to pick up her popcorn again as though nothing happened. But I grab her hand, and she twines her fingers through mine, leans her head on my shoulder, and we sit like that for the rest of the movie. Having missed the first half of the plot, neither of us have half a clue what's going on. But we don't care. It doesn't matter. I'm too focused on her anyway—the scent of her hair, where it drapes over my shoulder, the feeling of her warm arm pressed against mine, her cheek cradled in the crook of my neck. The sensation of her fingers curled through mine, tiny and delicate inside my large hand. I don't want this moment to end.

But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and we push to our feet, walking back to our apartment and our separate lives.