I free Julien’s penis, which is only half-hard, and stroke it gently. He must have some worries he’s hiding from me because his shaft has never been anything but rock hard before. I suspected as much, what with the deep crease that had settled between his eyebrows at some point during the show and never left until I kneeled before him.

In the three months we’ve been dating, I’ve never gone down on Julien. He hasn’t gone down on me either. We’ve had lots of sex, to be sure, but it’s been… what some would describe as “plain vanilla.”

Not that I didn’t enjoy it. I loved it—loved Julien’s tenderness and the care he took with me. So gentle, so considerate. And yet… It’s starting to feel a little forced as if he feels kid gloves are in order because I’m such a delicate flower. And because I’m the woman he chose to be his wife.

The mother of his future children.

I say, screw that.

If only I had the guts to tell him the mother of his future children can be fucked harder and in many positions far less demure than the missionary! But it’s too difficult to utter those words. So I’m going to show him instead.

Sitting on my heels between his widespread knees, I shove my thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and push them down. He lifts his ass for a moment so I can pull them off, together with his boxers. I wrap both my hands around his flesh and pump him. With every stroke, his member grows bigger, harder, hotter. I shift one hand to his sac. My other hand continues to press and rub, and after a few moments, my thumb can no longer touch the tip of my middle finger.

My breath hitches as I gaze at his now fully erect shaft throbbing against my palm.

With a quick glance at his eager face, I bend down and take him in my mouth. Julien groans through clenched teeth, and his head falls back against the sofa. I push lower, feeling him bump against the roof of my mouth, the inside of my cheeks, the back of my throat. And then I push more.

Julien gasps loudly and threads his hands through my hair.

Spurred by his reaction, I give my caress everything I’ve got, moving up and down his length, my tongue circling him, my fingers pressing at the base. Faster, harder, greedier.

His breathing becomes shallow.

“Jesus, woman!”

He fists his hands in my hair, pulls me back until only the crown is inside, and then drives in. I’ve had oral sex before, but it’s never felt so erotic, so heady, empowering even. And when he comes, I drink him in.

I wonder how he’ll qualify my initiative once his orgasm has waned. Will he praise me and say I should do that again, or will he admit he’s disappointed to see how slutty his fiancée really is? But before I have time to envision the full implications of the latter scenario, Julien picks me up, lays me back on the couch, and spreads my legs.

“Need to taste you,” he explains, yanking off my skirt and panties.

Do I dare to interpret his remark as a sign that he doesn’t mind my sluttishness? Perhaps, he even approves of it. Should I ask him?

But there’s no time because in the next second, Julien buries his head between my thighs and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my center. My lids flutter shut.

Sweet Lord, I needed this.

“You taste like paradise for bad boys,” he mutters before his mouth comes down on me again.

As he tongues, kisses and sucks me, pressure builds. I begin to writhe and to buck up to his mouth. But suddenly it’s all too much. I use my hands push him away so I can get a respite.

“Don’t fight it, sweetie.” He captures my wrists. “Ride it.”

And so I do.

When I peak—shaking as if I were having a fit—Julien growls his approval and licks me clean.

I had no idea he could be like this.

Desire darkening his gaze, he yanks his shirt off, removes my sweater, and scoops me up. He carries me to the bedroom, but unlike previous times, he lowers me to the floor instead of the bed. Picking up a condom from the top of my night table, he sheathes himself.

And then he pushes me to the wall and cages me with his body.

I put my hands on his hard chest. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t make me ask twice.

As he plunges his tongue between my parted lips, I suck it, tasting myself and Julien, the mixture of the two tastes is incredibly hot. My hand reaches down between us and I palm him, my body singing with desire.

Julien dips two fingers into me, then out, only to be replaced by his shaft as he lifts me against the wall. Sweet pleasure shoots through every part, every cell of my body. I shut my eyes, my whole being focused on Julien thrusting deeper and deeper into me. I can’t move. I’m filled and pinned to the wall with my feet not even reaching the floor. There’s nothing I can do to regain a measure of control, nothing I can hold on to, except the man who’s impaling me.

I grip his neck and wrap my legs around him, allowing him to drive into me deeper still.

My muscles clench and throb around him, the pleasure building, building, building. He squeezes my ass, pushing up. I push down, meeting him. Our flesh slaps together with every pump.

Julien’s face contorts into a mask of pleasure and pain, sweat breaking on his forehead. He dips his head and sucks on the side of my neck, just above the arch of my collarbone.

I moan his name.

He slams into me with more force, his breaths jerky and his eyes blind. “Come… for me.”

Whether it’s his words or the frantic tempo of his thrusts, I come.

A few thrusts later, he does, too.

Afterward as we cuddle under the covers, I wonder if what happened tonight will change things between us. I wonder if the change will be for better or for worse.

Will he still admire and respect me, knowing this about me, knowing how much I enjoyed the rougher, rawer sex we had tonight? I didn’t just enjoy it—I freaking loved every hot, sultry moment of it. All the orgasms I’ve ever had before pale compared to the ones he wrung from me tonight.

As if reading my thoughts, Julien pulls me to him and kisses my lips.

I grow dizzy as his tongue caresses mine in slow, powerful strokes. His hand tight on my nape, he devours my mouth in a way that’s new, more passionate, and more demanding than before. But there’s something else to his kiss, an emotion I can’t quite pinpoint… Then it suddenly hits me.

Desperation.