I wake up with sunlight in my eyes. I pause, my brain foggy from sleep, wondering how the light in my room is reaching me at this angle.

Then I remember I’m not at home.

I’m in New York.

In a hotel room.

And Marina is…

I slowly turn over in the bed and look beside me. Marina is lying on her side, her cheek on the pillow, blonde hair spilling around her like a halo. Her eyes are open but drowsy, focused on me, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Fuck me.

For a moment I thought that maybe this had been a dream. That there was no way one of my deepest fantasies could have come true.

But here she is.

Here she is.

Looking like an angel.

I can hardly believe it.

We had sex last night.

Her first time.

My first time with her.

It was…I have no words.

This isn’t even writer’s block.

Being so deep inside of her, feeling and tasting every inch, watching her gorgeous face as she came, hard, squeezing me into a new atmosphere—it’s indescribable what she was doing to me. I don’t think I’m talented enough to even try.

It was the best sex I’ve ever had.

It was more than just two bodies reaching for a climax together.

It was more than just getting off.

It was about the two of us, together, finally. All these years, all these desires, coming to a head, a connection taken to another level, one I didn’t even anticipate.

It was bloody spiritual is what it was and believe me, I am not a praying man. But I will make this woman my religion if she lets me. I will worship at her altar for another glimpse at the heaven I saw last night.

“Hi,” I say back to her, still so dumbfounded.

The sight of Marina on my bed is a hit to the gut.

The sun is streaming in through the window, bathing her skin in a diffused glow, and her face is absolutely gorgeous. Peaceful and vibrant all at the same time. She’s unreal, and just staring at her, lying beside me in the same bloody bed, makes me feel crazy. She moves something deep inside of me, something I don’t think I can ever move back.

“How did you sleep?” I ask, my voice low, as if I might make the moment disappear, as if she’s a ghost that might dissolve right in front of me.

“Like a baby,” she says, lifting her arms up with a little stretch. “This bed is amazing.”

“I thought maybe it might have been more than just the bed,” I say, smiling.

A slow grin spreads across her face and it’s another punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. “Your cock was pretty amazing too.”

Fucking hell. As if the sight of her bare tanned skin against the white sheets, knowing she’s naked underneath, wasn’t enough to get me hard, then she has to say the word cock and it’s immediately springing to life, thick and hard as rebar.

I exhale through my nostrils, fighting the urge to jump her.

“You have to be careful when you use that word,” I warn her. “It’s like an invocation. You’ll summon it.”

She bites on her lip, smiles coyly. “What? The word cock? Or just me, talking about your cock and how I want to be best friends with it.”

I laugh, my blood turning molten. “You are asking for it.”

“Yeah,” she says, her tone anxious, excited. “I am.”

Damn. I thought that Marina being a virgin and all—correction, ex-virgin, thanks to me and my cock she wants to befriend—that things would be a bit awkward, that she would be shy around sex or talking about sex. But that hasn’t been the case at all.

I slowly sit up, lift the covers to make room, getting a look at her naked body underneath, and climb over her, the mattress moving beneath my weight. I straddle her, my thighs on either side of hers, my erection thick and hard, bobbing above her stomach. I lean down, bracketing her shoulders between my arms, and slowly run my lips down her forehead, over her nose, until I place them flush on her mouth.

“Mmm,” she says softly. “This isn’t a bad way to wake up.”

“It’s enough to make me a morning person,” I murmur, nibbling on her bottom lip before leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth to her jaw.

She raises her arms, lacing her fingers behind my neck. “Can we get room service after?” she asks, her voice drowsy. “Or are you planning to make me your breakfast?”

“Breakfast of champions,” I tell her, pressing myself down against her skin.

She lets out a soft gasp as I suck the soft skin on her neck, my head swimming from her raw taste.

“God, Laz,” she moans, breathy, sweet.

“I answer to both of those,” I tell her against her neck.

She takes her hand and places it under the covers, unsure at first, hesitating, and then she’s reaching down between us and stroking the tip of my cock. I don’t even have to raise my head to know she’s got a devilish twist to her lips.

A moan falls out of my mouth as her fingers get a better grip, the weight of my body against hers adding crucial pressure. I close my eyes, succumbing to the feeling as I work my mouth down her golden neck, and start rocking my body gently against hers. The friction on her soft stomach is incredible, my precum adding just enough slickness.

Before I get carried away, I pull back and kiss and suck my way down her body. From her shoulder, across to the soft hollow of her throat, down between her breasts, my hand cupping them perfectly, one at a time. I love teasing around her nipples, love how she arches her back, pushing her breasts up, so ravenous for my lips, for my touch.

I want to tease her, make her squirm. Prolong it as long as possible, doing long, circular laps with my tongue and then blowing lightly. I watch her skin erupt in shivers, her nipple becoming harder, pinker, and it’s torture not to put it between my teeth and give it a sharp tug.

“Oh god,” Marina whimpers, her hands running through my hair and tugging on the ends. My eyes close, loving that dose of pain. I want her to do it harder but right now, this is about her.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” I tell her, my voice rough with lust. “Tell me what you need.”

She takes in a deep breath, like she’s readying herself to tell me, then grabs my head and places my lips on her nipple. “There. Harder.” She hesitates, her voice lowers and shakes. “S-suck.”

I smile at how brave she’s being when I know all of this is so new to her. Then I do as she says, nipping the hardened end and giving it a long, hard suck into my mouth. She yelps, then settles into a low, throaty groan, her vibrations rattling me to my very bones. The rigid ache of my cock is almost unbearable now, and all my thoughts are being stolen, directed to my very need to be inside of her.

But I wait. She’s bound to be sore after last night.

I shuffle backward on the bed until my head is between her legs and then start lapping her up, my tongue sliding over her from cunt to clit, luxuriously slow. The way she tastes, smells, feels—I’m not sure I’ll ever get my fill. I’m loving this as much as she is.

And I know she is. The longer I lick her, the harder the pressure of my tongue, the louder her moans, the more she bucks her hips up into my mouth. When I finally suck her clit between my lips, sliding a few fingers into her cunt at the same time, she comes hard.

“Fuck!” she yelps, “Oh god. Oh god, Laz. Laz.” Her voice trails off into moans that shake me to my core. She’s so fucking beautiful like this, her body trembling beneath me, throbbing against my tongue. She’s becoming undone.

But I’m not done yet.

I’m only getting started.

With borderline desperation, I grab the base of my cock and straighten up, gripping her hips, the covers falling back behind me. Sitting back on my knees, I thrust into her, barely able to control myself.

She feels so good. A silky, tight fist that won’t let go.

She cries out, her eyes widening, but I can’t help it. There’s no time to do this gently. There is a fire raging inside me and she’s the only way out of the flames.

I take a firm grip of her thighs, my hands sinking into her soft, smooth flesh, and hold her legs back while I pull out then push myself in again. She’s watching my cock slide in and out of her, and I’m watching too, crazed by the raw, primal sight of our bodies giving each other pleasure and how we fit so perfectly. Darkness against all this sunshine. Who would have thought that this moment, this us, could have ever happened?

“Does that feel good?” I manage to ask, my voice breaking as the pleasure floods over me. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she says softly, staring up at me. There’s a quietness in her eyes, a peace that I know too well. That same peace lulled me to sleep last night. “I love the feel of you inside me.”

Good thing she didn’t say cock. I’m not going to last long as it is.

I push into her further, slowly moving back out. Slow, slow. Warm. Slick. This feels so good without a condom, it makes my hair stand on end.

“Please don’t stop,” she says. Her voice is raspy, quiet, and so disarmingly beautiful when I’m turning her on. I could do this until my dying day, just this endless give and take, this exquisite pleasure I get from seeing her features soften, her body responds to me like she’s answering questions I didn’t know I asked.

I don’t stop, but I need to change it up if I want to keep going.

“Lift up,” I whisper to her, briefly pulling out and putting my hand beneath her left cheek, rolling her until she’s on her side. I grab her leg, admiring the soft curves of her thigh as she straightens her leg against my body. With my grip on her thigh, I slowly push myself in and out of her, sliding in even deeper than before. I’m hitting a sweet spot, and her mouth is falling open while her eyes pinch closed. She’s soft and aimless as my thrusts become quicker, and I’m reveling in the look of her beneath me.

I slip my hand down to her clit, so swollen, pink, and wet, and begging for my touch again. Her body tenses and she lets out a shaking breath as I rub my finger around in taunting, teasing circles, light as air.

She begins to buck into me again, wanting more pressure, wanting so badly to come on my cock and my hand. I give in because I’m bloody delirious for her pleasure and because my own thrusts are becoming sharper, quicker, my hips slamming into her at a rate that will make me expire sooner rather than later.

So much for taking it easy this morning.

But even if I’m being a bit rough, even if she’s sore and sensitive, she’s moaning in pleasure and I can tell she’s close to coming. Her body is shaky with strain, her breaths short and quick.

“Turn over,” I tell her gruffly, pulling out again and flipping her over on her stomach. I scoop my arms around her waist and pull her up until her gorgeous arse is right in front of me, two full cheeks I have to prevent myself from biting. That will come later. I wrap my hand around her waist, loving the sight of how small she looks against me, and position myself again.

“Make me come, Laz,” she says softly, her head down and her blonde hair spilling forward over her face. I don’t want to let her hide. I reach forward and make a fist in her hair, pulling it back so her neck is arched, the side of her face exposed.

“I’m working on it,” I tell her, tugging back sharply.

“God!” She cries out in a breathy burst of pain and then moans, “It’s working.”

With one hand pulling on her hair, I lean forward until my damp chest is pressed against her back, my cock so deep inside that we both suck in our breath. I slide one hand over her throat. I tighten my hold, choking her lightly, and put my lips to her ear. “How do I feel?” I whisper, licking up the rim.

Shivers erupt beneath me and I feel her throat moving against the palm of my hand. “Safe,” she manages to say. Her answer surprises me. She swallows and I let up the pressure.

“How do you feel?”

“Needy,” she groans. “Desperate. Mad. I feel like I might lose my mind. I need to come, please make me come.”

I moan, addicted to her own admissions, her own feverish hunger. The way she begs. I circle my hips, my fingers tightening around her neck and hair while my chest slides up and down against her skin. In turn she thrusts her arse back at me, and all thought and reason and sense of self are obscured by her satiny feel, the tight clench around my cock that threatens to take me to another world.

If she’s losing her mind, so am I. I’m no longer myself. Just an animal. I piston myself into her, over and over again, the headboard slamming against the wall. I can see us in the reflection of the painting above the bed, me fucking her raw, deep from behind, my muscles flexing as I push in, fast, hard, our skin blistering from such wild need.

My fingers work her clit, harder, faster, so slick and messy, slipping and sliding against her. Then she’s coming, and her pulse on her throat is racing into my palm. She cries out again, loud, frenzied, like she’s being obliterated in the most perverse way. The way she yells my name pulls the trigger.

I’m clutching her throat, her hair, and I’m coming. It’s like a dynamite set off deep inside. It blasts right through me, flattening my nerves.

Bloody hell. I don’t even know where I am right now.

I collapse against her, gasping for breath, burying my face in hair that I already feel holds all my whispered words, the words that never make it to paper.

Fuck. She holds every fucking part of me in that big, beautiful soul of hers.

I can’t swallow properly and my breath is slow to return. There’s always a moment of clarity after you come, and this one holds an earth-shattering truth.

You will lose everything if you lose her.

I don’t know why my mind is automatically going there, but it is.

I blink it away, shake my head, and slowly pull out.

I lie down beside her and she turns her head to face me. Her eyes are glazed, her cheeks bright red. I’ve left pink fingermarks on her neck.

She looks thoroughly fucked.

A lazy smile spreads across her lips.

“Room service?” she asks.

“Well, if it isn’t famous poet Lazarus Scott,” Jane says dryly as I approach the table. “Who apparently has some super human ability to not look like a piece of shit after a night of drinking.”

I laugh and sit down in the booth next to her, causing her to move over and spill her coffee onto the saucer. “Good morning to you, too. Too bad we’re not related by blood, you could definitely use some English in you to help you deal with this.” I wave my fingers over her face.

“Very funny,” she says. She does look worse for wear, bleary-eyed and pale with smudges of old makeup under her eyes. Doesn’t help that I think she’s in her pajamas.

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with being British,” Naomi says and I look across the table at her. She doesn’t look as bad as Jane and if I’m not mistaken, there might even be a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

I squint at her and smile and have a feeling we’re both on the same page right now. As in, we both got lucky last night.

“Where’s Marina?” she asks and now I know for sure she’s onto us.

“She’s coming,” I tell her with a smirk.

“I bet she is,” Naomi says, taking a bite of her eggs.

We’re in a diner around the corner from the hotel. Jane and Naomi already got a head start on brunch, which is fine because Marina and I had room service earlier. Followed by more sex.

Followed by more sex.

And suddenly I’m hungry again.

“What is she doing?” Jane asks. “She is coming, right? I feel bad I didn’t get to see her as much as I should have.”

“Well then come down for Christmas this year. Bring your boyfriend. I’m sure your dad would love to meet him.”

She scoffs and gives me the death look which is further exaggerated by the fact she kind of looks like death. “Yeah, right. Getting out of that house, leaving LA, that was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well you could always come visit me, you know.”

“And me,” Naomi pipes up.

“And me,” Marina says, standing at the end of the table. Naomi looks up at her and scooches over on the bench so she can sit down. “By the way, what are we talking about?”

She’s smiling, big, all teeth, all joy, looking around the table and pausing at me when she catches my eye. I can’t help but smile back.

Naomi clears her throat. “We were talking about Jane coming to visit all of us for Christmas and bringing her boyfriend.”

“And it’s a maybe,” Jane says. “Where were you?”

“Me?” Marina points to herself. She blushes. “Oh, I was just doing my makeup. Had to really cake this shit on to cover up my hangover.”

“You weren’t even drunk last night,” Jane says.

Marina shrugs, a tiny smile on her lips. “Still felt like ass this morning. Must have been the champagne.”

I stare at Marina’s neck. The reason she was late was because she had to whack on a lot of concealer to cover up the hickeys and marks I left on her neck. So in a way, she wasn’t lying.

“Oh, you feel like ass do you?” Naomi says, looking her up and down. “I don’t. Only Jane does. Wonder why.”

Jane frowns and then winces, as if the action hurt her brain. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing much,” Naomi says. “Except you’re the only one who didn’t get laid last night.”

Marina stiffens. I laugh. Jane rolls her eyes.

“Oh, of course,” she says. “I should have figured something happened with you two.” She gestures to us with a dismissive wave of her hand before she sips her coffee.

“You’re not mad?” I ask. Not that it would matter but since Naomi gave me a lecture last night and threatened to cut my dick off, I thought Jane would lurch into overprotective friend mode as well.

“Mad?” she repeats. “I’m too hungover to be mad. No, listen. This needed to happen and I’m glad it finally did. If Marina had to lose her virginity to someone, I’m glad it was my stepbrother.” She pauses. “That still sounds so weird.”

“I’m glad it only sounds weird,” I tell her.

She looks across at Marina and grins. “I guess it’s my fault for giving you that condom.”

“What?” I ask. “Condom?”

Jane gave Marina a condom?

“I wanted her to be prepared. I’m not sure if you guys were trying to hide your attraction to each other over these years, but it was pretty obvious last night what was going to happen. Glad you got it over with.”

Not the best term to use.

“We got nothing over with, Jane. Don’t be snide.”

“I’m not being snide,” she says, mimicking my accent. “You know what I mean.” She looks at Naomi. “Let’s talk about the guy you screwed last night then since you didn’t come back into the room until five this morning.”

I’m grateful for the attention to go to Naomi now and enjoy the fact that we’re all looking at her like a bug under a microscope, but Jane’s comment has me bothered. As much as I’ve wanted Marina, as much as I’ve dreamed about finally being inside of her, feeling her from the inside, I didn’t get anything over with.

But, fuck. What if she did?

I look across at Marina. Even though Jane is badgering Naomi about her hook-up, Marina is watching me, her expression tentative.

Was that what Marina was doing with me? Did she sleep with me to finally get it “over with,” losing her virginity? Was I just a safe bet? Is that what she meant when she said she felt “safe” this morning?”

Marina is frowning at me now and I’m not sure what expression is showing up on my face. Fear, maybe. I guess that’s what happens when you sleep with your best friend and don’t have a discussion afterward to what any of it meant. It meant everything to me—it might have just been a stepping stone for her.

Oh fuck. What if this is just part of a lesson to her. The art of seduction. The very thing she asked me to teach her.

What if she’s going to take what she learned from me and use it on the next guy? After all, according to her, most of her problems came from the fact that she had no real physical experience with men. That she was so nervous about having sex with them, she’d freeze up. Now, now that doesn’t stand in her way anymore.

“Laz?” she asks quietly.

I need to hold it together. My mind is running away from me and it’s not running to a nice spot. I know my own shortcomings, my own habits, and over-analyzing anything right now about our relationship isn’t going to be good for anyone.

“Sorry, I was thinking,” I tell her.

“I can tell. What about?”

“The flight home,” I lie. I lie because there’s no way I’m going to tell her my real fears right now.

“Ah,” she says, buying it because I probably do look scared right now. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you nice and liquored up at the airport bar.”

“Ugh, don’t mention liquor right now, I’m going to be sick,” Jane says. “Lucky for me, I’m taking the Amtrak back to Boston. I’d hate to be crammed on a plane for five hours all hungover.”

“Again, Jane, you’re the only one in pain,” Naomi points out.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “But aren’t you guys all on the same flight?”

“Same row,” Naomi says.

Jane gives her a devious grin. “You should take the middle seat between these two.”

“As long as I get a window,” Marina says.

“Oh hell no,” Naomi protests. “I always have to have the window.”

“No,” Marina says, eyes full of panic. “I like to look out it and dream.”

“Yeah well I get airsick. Don’t you remember when we flew to Chicago?”

Marina looks at me. “Laz,” she whines.

“Don’t go crying to your boyfriend,” Naomi chides her. “Like a crying kid running to their mother.”

But I’m stuck on the word boyfriend.

Is that what I am?

What are we?

I look to Marina for the answer.

She gives me a small, shy smile.

I smile back.

Nod.

Guess that’s what I am.