“Milk?” Marsha stands over me, holding a small carton of milk, like the ones they used to give everyone in Elementary School. I have to do a double take before saying, “No, Marsha. I don’t want some milk.”

“Well, I don’t know how to help you,” she says. “You won’t accept any of my ideas.”

I laugh. “I just don’t want any milk,” I say.

“It’s not just the milk, dear. It’s the drapes. It’s the purple couch. You’re starting to make me feel bad,” she says.

“Well, I don’t want to make you feel bad,” I tell her.

“It’s this man you’re seeing, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me. A woman knows these sorts of things,” she says. I hate that she’s right.

“Things are going well and that’s all I want to say about it right now,” I say.

It’s been days since I’ve last spoke to him. I don’t know why I’ve hesitated to respond to him. He’s texted me well over five times now. He’s called me twice. I just feel inadequate and totally overloaded with work. Marsha isn’t making this easy for me. Plus, I figure, if he’s going back to Chicago, there’s not much we can do. This is a fling. Maybe it’s time to start treating it like one. I can’t keep placing the importance on him. I need to think about my needs.

“So things have been going well,” she says. “And you think that they’re about to fall apart because of it.”

Therapy 101 with Marsha Farwell. “No,” I say. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. It’s just stressful, okay? I’ve been avoiding him because it’s stressful.”

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” she asks.

“Not really,” I mutter.

“You only get a few chances in life. If you’re hesitating on something, don’t. You have fun with this man?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have a lot of fun with him.” Flesh on flesh. Sweat and hushed moans. Sure. We have fun. We have the most fun adults can have.

“Then go to him. You said you only have a few days to act, right? Stop fooling around and go to him, darn-it!” she says. “Now!”

“Now?” I laugh, but she appears to be angry with me.

“Yes, darn-it. I need you to work on yourself before you can work with this house,” she says. “Now, I’m going to pay you for the full day, but if you don’t figure this thing out with this guy, then we’re done here.”

Is she being serious? “…Okay…” I whisper.

“Okay is right. Now get going,” she says. Then she whispers to herself, “…won’t drink any of my damn milk, well she’s got another thing coming…”

I grab my bag and camera, and slowly walk out of the house. I’m confused, but I’m not here to argue. I’m here to do anything she tells me to do. She also has a point. I don’t have much time with this guy and there’s no reason for me to hesitate.

So I call him. He immediately answers, “Jackie!”

“There you go again with the Jackie stuff,” I say.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks. “Because I really want to hang out with you before the season starts. You gave me a heart attack the other night.”

“I’m sorry, Lawrence. I’m not trying to avoid you. I just sort of got too stressed with things at home. Work and all that crap,” I say. “What about tonight?”

“Whatever you want,” he says. “Just send me your address. I’ll bring the wine.”

“Wine? Fancy,” I say. “I’ll send it now.”

I look over at the window. Marsha is standing, looking right at me. She waves her hand, urging me to get out of there. She’s holding a big glass of white wine in her hands.

“See you tonight,” he says, before hanging up the phone.

* * *

I’ve already drank two glasses of my own wine because I had a half hour to spare. I’m feeling nervous, but the alcohol has managed to calm me down a little bit. I just can’t stop thinking about him. It’s so weird.

I panic when he knocks on my door. I didn’t even have a chance to reapply my makeup, nor am I wearing anything special. It’s just one of those throw on dresses from Forever 21. I’m not wearing panties either. Okay, that was sort of an intentional choice.

I run over to my stereo and turn on some light music. I open the door and the first thing I can think is, “Why does he have to be so God damn hot?” He’s standing there, wearing a tight cut, heather grey shirt. It’s neatly tucked into his jeans. His belt buckle is big and round in the front. His boots are heavy sounding. He knocks the front against the wood floor, before saying, “Hey, darling. You look wonderful.”

Wonderful? Is that it? What about beautiful or gorgeous, or sexy? Wonderful. I knew I should have gotten ready. I probably look terrible to him right now.

“Lawrence,” I smile.

Don’t look at his cock. Don’t look at his cock. I repeat those words in my head, but they don’t do a damn thing. I immediately look down and he notices. He just smiles and leans against the outside wall.

“What’re you gazing at?” he asks me.

“Gazing at?” I gulp and turn flush red. “Nothing. Come in.”

“Ha-ha.” He can’t keep his laughter contained. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Before he steps in, he grabs around my rib cage. Startled, I let my hands in the air. He leans forward and whispers, “Don’t be scared.” He crushes his lips against mine. My chest feels heavy, and the pressure only moves downward before I’m wet.

“What if I want to be?” I ask him. “Scared…”

“You should be,” he says. “I’m the big bad wolf.”

He grabs the back of my hair, but doesn’t pull like I think he’s going to. Instead, his fingers run through the hairs, starting at the scalp. He groans with pleasure.

“I love your hair,” he says. He walks inside and sets the bottle of wine on the table. My heart is pounding.

“Want a glass?” he asks.

I’m barely able to nod. He pours us both two big glasses and hands one to me.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Cheers.” As I take a sip, I close my eyes.

There’s too much tension in the air. When we’re together, the sexual energy in the room is explosive. But there’s something else alongside it that is tainting the moment. I suppose it’s knowing that he won’t be here in a few days.

We sit on my couch and drink, talking about the past, our careers, and what we want with our lives. I’m bashful about what I do. It’s nothing like what he does. My job just takes listening to the homeowner and taking the pictures. Still, he’s interested in what I have to say.

“I didn’t know you were a talented photographer,” he says. “That’s amazing!”

I laugh and shrug. “It pays really well,” I say. “But it’s just a job. It’s not like being on a sports team or anything. It’s not that important.”

He leans back and puts his arm around my waist. I scoot my butt towards him. He’s got a hungry look on his eye, but he doesn’t interrupt the conversation with his desires.

“I sometimes dream about what it would be like if I did things differently,” he says.

“You mean if you didn’t play hockey for a living?” I ask him. “But wasn’t that your dream growing up?”

He nods and glances up at the ceiling fan. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I guess I’m sort of realizing that it’s just another job. It’s not that special, you know? Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if I just left the field entirely,” he says.

“Like, go off the grid?” I ask him.

He laughs, but the idea excites him. It’s obvious. “I don’t know. That sounds kind of… better,” he says. “I’m revealing too much here, I think. I should probably stop.”

“I understand it. It’s not fair to be forced into any role. After you spend time doing something, you want to have other options,” I say.

“Exactly,” he says. “I just want to get away. I feel good when I’m over here. With you. Just us, alone.”

I look up at him with hesitance. This is the second time we’ve been with each other. He doesn’t know me. He knows a small version of me. But it doesn’t matter. I feel it too. I feel good when he’s here with me. I just wish it could continue.

I take his hand in mine and place it on my thigh. I push it closer and closer to the opening of my dress. He glances down and smiles. Then he puts his hand on me. I exhale sharply. “You’re wet,” he says. “Good girl.”

“You… really turn me on,” I manage to say.

“I know I do,” he says.

Cocky bastard. He lifts his hand from my dress and grabs the front, near my breasts. He rips downward and my dress falls down, over my shoulders.

“There we go.”

I’m naked and exposed. I grab his belt and pull it through the loops. My heart is still beating way too fast. I feel like I’m going to explode.

“You don’t understand how much I think of you,” he says. “Everyday in my hotel room, I dream of this.”

“What do you do when you think about me?” I ask him in a whisper.

“What do you think?” he quips back.

His voice is deep and heavy. I already knows what he does when he thinks about me.

“Every day?” I ask him.

He nods. “Every god damn day. But it’s not the same,” he says.

“I know it’s not.” I smile. My back is pressed firm against the back of the couch. He’s leaning over me, but he’s waiting for something.

“Look at me in the eyes,” he says.

I do. I quickly notice how set they are. There’s no analyzing any situations. They’re the eyes of someone who knows how to get what he wants. He lacks any kind of fear. The only thing he has any fret over is himself and the game. This is the only game he likes to play now. It’s the kind of game that leads somewhere, to something more.

“I want to feel you,” he whispers.

His hand reaches down again. He touches my pussy and you better believe I am even wetter now. My legs instinctually open for him. He has the key to his pleasure and he’s going to use it as much as he can.

I gulp and gingerly touch the back of his hand. Two fingers slide in. The back of his hand is rough. There are scars around the knuckles. With this other hand, he caresses around my clavicle. Then, he kisses my neck. Electricity runs through my body. I lay down, now letting my back hit the couch cushion.

I just want him to keep touching me like this. I want him to make me cum. And then when he gives me everything I’ve needed this past week, I want him to unleash all his stress. I want him to show me just how bad he’s been waiting for this.

He opens his mouth and takes me in. Clit against his tongue, lips suctioned, I’m subject to his whim. He slides those fingers into me, faster and faster. I grab his hair and hold on. When he takes off his jeans, and I see his cock, I’m already doomed to explode. I grip his hair harder. I run my hand down to his shoulders.

“You taste so sweet,” he says. “Can I make you cum? Show me how you like to cum.”

He releases, fingers dripping wet. “Are you sure?” I ask him. I have my ways, but men never seem to want to let you have them.

“Shut up and show me,” he commands. The sudden force takes me by surprise, but then I remember how crazy he got last time with me. “This is a man who holds a lot in,” I think to myself.

Without a word, I stand up on the couch. He lowers his body down and rests, waiting for me. I reach down and touch his warm, hard cock. I get the biggest urge to just sit on it, but I also want to savor this moment. I grab the arm of the couch and hold as I lower my ass over his face.

“Sit on my face,” he whispers out loud.

I let my pussy hit his tongue. I drop my backside onto him. He holds both cheeks in his hands. He keeps me level. I let go and close my eyes, feeling incredible. After a moment or two, I start grinding my hips back and forth. I rock my body over him. The pleasure increases with each motion. I can hear the sound of him grunting with pleasure, muffled by me. If he was allowed to, he’d probably eat me out all day. I’m so turned on that I might let him.

As surprised I am by his words, I’m even more surprised with what comes out of my mouth. I get inspired to be bad when I’m with him, to say humiliating things. I’m even moved to be humiliated.

“Eat that filthy cunt,” I whisper. He licks faster and harder. His fingers slide in deep, massaging me.

There’s that feeling again, the one that I’m obsessed with now. It builds and it builds, until it sends me skyrocketing. I can feel the orgasm coming so I pull myself away.

Lawrence looks at me with another one of his smug grins on his face. I look down at his thick, beautiful cock. He knows exactly what I want to do. He motions for me to do it.

“I said cum,” he says.

I sit down and begin riding him. I can feel all my wetness flow down my legs, onto him. I prop my hands on his chest and I’m so excited by how fit he is, how much control he has over his body and every material aspect that surrounds him. He’s not like other men at all. He’s one of a kind. It’s almost like he’s been chosen to stand out. What really excites me is that he chose me.

I cum hard with him. My body rocks and shakes. He pushes me down harder on his cock as I let out a shrill scream. I cover my mouth, but he rips my hand away. “Let me hear you,” he says. He wants me to be authentic. He pushes me to explore new layers of myself.

I fall back onto the couch and he pushes my legs to the side, closing them together. He positions himself behind me and says, “Now, I get to feel you.”

His cock is perfect. The head is the perfect size – not too big. It’s not too pink or dark. It’s just the right color. I reach down and touch his long shaft. It’s thicker than I remember, but somehow he makes it fit.

“Wait,” I say.

“Fuck waiting,” he says.

“But what if—”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” He grabs my ass and holds me.

“Put on some protection. Do you want a baby? Just do it,” I tell him. I’m not messing up this time.

“A baby with you wouldn’t be so bad,” he says. “Now you’re giving me all sorts of ideas.

“Lawrence…”

He reaches down into his pocket and grabs it. He comes back to me, holding me steady. “Whatever you wish,” he says. He slides in nice and slow. His moan is loud and deep.

He whispers, “Turn your head and open your mouth.”

I don’t question it. I do as I’m told. My tongue folds out, resting against my bottom teeth. He spits in my mouth and lowers his own tongue. We kiss like primal animals. He grabs my chin and holds my face near his. I feel him enter me. I fall him sliding in as deep as he can go. I let out a soft moan. He forces it in deeper.

“I’ve met my match,” he says.

I love how he holds me. He grabs me delicately, like I’m the most precious, fragile thing in the world. Yet, somehow he manages to grip with enough force to make me worry he might be the one to break me.

My lips fold over his cock. I feel him tighten inside me, throbbing against my hole.

“You feel too good,” he groans.

I push back against him, just to tease him a little. He gives an exasperated cry. “If I blow this inside your tight pussy right now, you’ll have to forgive me, kitten. You just feel too fucking good.”

“I love how my pussy makes you feel,” I say.

He thrusts in deeper, fixated on me. “It’s so pretty. I love your lips. I love this ass. God, I’m obsessed with you.”

I push back again, gyrating. Our movements are slow and deliberate. It’s the kind of sex that holds passion. A deep-seated feeling lies between us, and it’s one we can’t keep at bay.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I can’t hold back.”

I lean my head back. He puts his fingers in my mouth, sliding them against my tongue. He pulls back against my lips. He thrusts in even deeper.

“Don’t hold back,” I say. “I want to feel you.”

He lurches forward, making a deep grunting noise. His skin is glistening with sweat. His muscles look huge in the low lighting. His eyes are dead set on my tits. He kisses me again, still keeping his fingers in my mouth. He likes things rough and crude. As we kiss, I feel his cock pumping inside of me.

He lets out a huge cry of passion and dark longing. I feel his cock thicken, muscles contracting. He’s cumming and I can’t help but wish that I could feel it more. The kiss doesn’t break, even when he’s done. His hands fall to my neck.

“You make me go crazy,” he says. “You give me everything I’ve ever wanted,” he continues.

“Crazy sex?” I laugh.

“More than that,” he says. “You inspire me.”

“You’re leaving in just a couple of days. You shouldn’t flatter me so much,” I say.

There’s a sudden pause. “Why do we have to stop seeing each other?”

I shrug. “We could still talk, I guess. I’m not exactly thrilled on sticking with a guy who has so much going on in his life,” I admit.

“Come with me,” he says, eyes filled with vision. “You won’t have to work again. I mean, why not? What do you have going for yourself here?”

As flattering as his proposal is, it’s a bit annoying that he assumes nothing out here is important for me. I grew up in Seattle. This is my home. I have everything set up for myself here. I’m not about to leave for some guy, even if he does give me mind-shattering orgasms.

“It’s just not for me,” I say. “I like you, but I don’t want to move to Chicago.”

He groans and grabs my body. He positions me on top of him. I lean down and kiss him. “Fine,” he says. “We can take it slow. We can do whatever you want. I won’t forget these nights, though.”

And I never will either. This was something uncontrollable and special. It’s as if we opened a door to a part of ourselves we didn’t know existed.

But sometimes people aren’t given the option to take things slow. Sometimes, you’re given a curve ball. And in those moments, you crumble into a self you never knew.

As we fall asleep together, I smile and bathe in his warmth. This won’t last forever. Nothing beautiful ever does.