We’re in the elevator. All three walls, the doors, and the ceiling are mirrored, reflecting multiple images of an incredibly hot man standing opposite a big-eyed girl with red, slightly swollen lips. We’re only ascending five floors, but I sense that the journey I’m making is vast. I feel like I’m teetering on a precipice, about to step off into an unknown world, and my life will never be the same again. I’m not even aware that I’ve fallen silent, slipped deep inside myself.

“Reagan.”

My head snaps toward him.

Adler is looking at me with something approaching concern. “You look like little girl lost.” In a step he’s in front of me, taking me in his arms, and kissing me so softly and tenderly that I instantly feel safe. “I won’t ever hurt you. Unless you want me to.”

I take a breath and hold it, thinking I need to remember these words, to keep them safe inside me.

He holds my hand as we walk along a dimly-lit corridor with black, lacquered walls. The keycard clicks in the slot of the door, and a luxurious room opens up. It’s the Prime Suite; I remember it from the photos. Red satin walls, oriental screens, and mirrors everywhere. The bed is huge with a black satin coverlet, and there’s a full-size living room with a sunken marble bath. The floor-to-ceiling windows present a sweeping city view.

Adler takes my hand and leads me into the room.

“Let’s have some champagne,” he says, opening the fridge and retrieving a bottle. While he pours, I pad around exploring the room. The bathtub is full of hot water, bubbling gently. There’s a wide, black screen on one of the bedroom walls on a set of runners. When I push, it slides to the side, revealing a curious assortment of hooks and fittings. I look back at Adler with a questioning eyebrow.

“For the special requests I mentioned earlier,” he says. “But we have no need of them tonight.”

We stand by the window and sip the champagne. He’s behind me, a little off to the side, and we chat about the city as he points out various landmarks. Inconsequential talk that calms the fizzing in my veins, prevents it from bubbling over into panic. His nearness is intoxicating, his clean, spicy, masculine scent filling my nostrils with every breath I take. I concentrate on the view, on his large, long-fingered hand as it points to one thing after another, and of the coldness radiating from the glass.

Casually, he strokes my bare shoulders, my neck, my jawline. I shiver, yearn for a firmer touch, to be pressed against his body, taken in his arms. But I understand that it’s my job to be still. I sense that I shouldn’t put my arms around him, unfasten his shirt, grope his muscles, as I’ve been longing to, but wait until he’s ready.

He moves directly in front of me, then lifts my chin with a fingertip and stares into my face.

“Do you come easily?” he asks.

I swallow. “Kind of. Only with a vibrator.”

“By yourself or with a partner?”

“Both.”

“What’s your favorite position?”

“Spoons, I guess.”

“Do you like to be taken hard?”

“Yes.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

My head spins. “I don’t know,” I say. I feel hot and embarrassed, like I want to run away right now. But with each question, my pussy clenches, and I can feel my panties getting wetter and wetter. I like being interrogated like this, forced to answer these intimate questions.

“Do you like to have men go down on you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” To be honest, I don’t love it. It’s nice and soft, but it never gets me off.

“Do you like to suck cock?”

I blink. In my fantasies I do, but the reality never matches up. “Yes,” I say, very deliberately, and he looks pleased.

“Can you take it deep?”

“A little,” I lie.

“Have you had anal sex before?”

“No.”

“Have you thought about it?”

Warmth floods my cheeks and my pussy clenches again. “Yes.” In my deepest, darkest fantasies.

The corners of his lips twitch. “Does it seem wrong?”

“Kind of.”

“Do you like to be watched?”

“Maybe.”

He takes my glass from my hand and places it on a nearby coffee table.

“Now, show me that beautiful lingerie.” He unfastens my zippers with deft fingers, seeming to already know where they are, one at the side and the other at the back. He slides the dress off my shoulders and unpeels it from my body until it falls to my feet. He picks it up, lays it over the back of a chair. I’m trembling under his gaze, which moves languidly from my breasts to my thighs, to the very damp crotch of my panties.

“Turn around.”

I do as I’m told, completing a slow circle. Relax, I tell myself. Don’t think about your imperfections. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? When I meet his eyes again, they’re burning with desire. He likes my body. He reaches out and slides my bra straps from my shoulders, pulling the soft cups down until my nipples spring into view. As his thumbs chafe them both at the same time, a sound escapes my lips. He rolls them between finger and thumb, pinching a little, and a white-hot bolt of pleasure shoots through me.

“Sensitive nipples,” he comments. “Take your panties off.” I hesitate, take a deep breath, then hook my fingers into the sides, slide them down, and step out. I’m still half dressed, still in my bra, stockings, and garter belt, but to all intents and purposes, naked, and totally open to him. He is staring at me, and the anticipation is killing me. His cock is hard, tenting the expensive fabric of his pants, and all I want right now is for him to throw me onto the bed and take me. I’m a big pool of need, my pussy so wet I’m most likely dripping onto the floor.

Then he puts his arms around me and backs me against the window. I gasp as the cold glass makes contact with my upper back and ass cheeks. His hand slides between my legs, and when he finally touches me, I think I’m going to pass out, or come on the spot. He strokes me back and forth, caressing my neatly trimmed fur, spreading my labia, brushing the tip of my clit. As his finger slides inside me like liquid fire, I’m so over-sensitized it almost hurts.

“Mmm.” He makes that big-cat purring noise again. “You only come with a vibrator. Really? That’s funny, because I feel like you’re not far off right now.” He’s right. If he keeps sliding his finger in and out like that, it might tip me right over the edge. He adds another finger, and they curl inside me, moving independently, and I’m aware of each knuckle, each finger pad, as they fan out and flicker and twist, seeming to caress my pussy walls in a hundred different ways at the same time. His other hand pulls one of my breasts completely out of my bra, and he kneads it firmly as he finally brings his lips to mine again. His cock is hard and urgent against my belly, and his tongue is forceful, and I suck on it, wanting to draw all of him inside me.

“I want to devour you, Reagan,” he murmurs. “Make you mine. But I want you bared to me first. Do you know what I mean?” I make a nuh-uh sound of incomprehension. He slides his fingers out of me and taps my mound. “Have you ever shaved it before?”

I haven’t. Monica is always trying to get me to go to the salon with her and get a wax. She says it makes everything more sensitive, but I’ve never had the balls to do it.

“No,” I say in a small voice, feeling ashamed. I do feel like the only woman in my entire generation who doesn’t have a bare snatch. Like there’s something uncool and loserish about it.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s not that I don’t like it. I just like to see everything. And I’m pretty sure that you’ll like it, too.”

I press my lips together. “I could shave it now, I guess, if that’s what you want?”

He grins, a little cockily. “I’d prefer to shave it for you. Don’t worry, I’ve got a very light touch.”

I hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

He steps away from me and takes off his jacket. Then he unbuttons his shirt quickly, carelessly. I suppress a groan of frustration. I’ve been wanting to do that for him so bad. As he throws his shirt aside, my mouth falls open. His torso is beautiful, even better than I imagined. Big, bulging pecs, a perfect washboard stomach, and those lovely diagonal muscles that make grooves just above the waistband of his pants. The tattoo that I’ve been trying desperately to see covers his right pec. It’s a phoenix with script above and below it. I observe this in a kind of a daze because his big, strong hands are now unfastening his belt, undoing his zipper, and his pants are falling to the floor, revealing muscular thighs and the biggest erection I’ve ever seen. His stretchy black boxer briefs are barely enough to contain it, and the long, thick outline is clearly visible. He wraps his arms around me, and I greedily run my hands all over his back and shoulders, desperate to touch him all over. He stiffens then catches my wrists in his iron grip, and I look up at him questioningly.

“I guess I don’t like to be touched too much,” he says.

What? I bite back a sound of frustration. That body is made for being touched. His skin is like velvet, stretched taut over an undulating landscape of hard muscle. It’s the ultimate girls’ playground.

He reaches behind me and unfastens my bra and unclips my garter belt. Then he guides me down onto the nearest chair and unhooks each stocking before rolling it down carefully, then slipping my shoes off, too. When I stand, the remaining scraps of lingerie fall away, and I’m completely naked. Without my shoes, he towers over me, and I barely come to his shoulder. His nipples are at my eye line, dark brown, flat, and gorgeous, and I long to lick them. But what can I do with a guy who doesn’t want to be touched?

He leads me over to the bath and tests the water. “It should be perfect,” he says.

I tie up my hair and slide in obediently. It is, lusciously hot with lots of fizzing Jacuzzi jets, deep at one end with a high, sloping shelf on the other. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a razor and a box of blades. He deposits them at the edge of the bath and then he takes off his underwear. His cock is beautiful, huge and very clean-looking. At first I look away, embarrassed to be staring. But why the hell shouldn’t I? As he climbs into the water, I feast my eyes on it. I used to think cocks were ugly, but his is like a work of art, a marble sculpture. I imagine it inside me, in my mouth, and I’m dizzy with desire for him.

“Come here,” he says, sitting on the shelf. He pulls me onto his lap, his erection jabbing against my hip, and he kisses me softly, one hand caressing my breasts. “We’ve got to let the water soften your skin first,” he murmurs, “otherwise the razor might be harsh the first time.” I’m startled by his gentleness, this change of pace. I suspect I’ll never know what’s coming next with this man, and the thought fascinates and scares me in equal measure.

I’m now eye to eye with his pec tattoo. The text is in Latin. I studied it for two years, but the grammar is tricky, and I can’t figure out the meaning of the words. Quam minimum credula postero.

“What does it mean?” I ask, my finger trailing an inch above his skin.

“It comes after carpe diem in the original poem. It means ‘trust little in what tomorrow may bring.’”

“That’s kind of dark.”

He shrugs. “It could be. Depends how you look at it. At the time I had it done, I was sick of everybody with their carpe diem tattoos, making out that they were all about seizing the day without even knowing what the original poem meant.”

“Did you take Latin?”

“For six years. I loved it actually. We had a good teacher, and we even learned how to do composition.”

“Wow, you’re a man of many talents,” I say, aware that I still know absolutely nothing about him. He smiles, and his hand closes on my breast again.

“There’s only one talent that I’m interested in now.” He tweaks my nipple, quite hard, and I cry out. He does the same to the other, pinching them both at the same time, and the effect is electric. It hurts, but it hurts so good.

“Do you like it?” he breathes in my ear.

“Yes.” He pinches them twice as hard, and I feel like they’re connected to a pair of jumper leads as the shock radiates all the way down to my clit.

“Okay, I think you’re ready now.” He lifts me off his lap. “Go sit up on the edge of the tub.”

While I clamber up, he puts a new blade on the razor.

“Now lean back and spread your legs.”

I prop my weight on my hands, but I’m shy to open my legs and show him everything.

“Wider,” he says.

Slowly, I spread my knees little by little, squirming with embarrassment. He waits patiently, gazing at me, until my legs are far apart enough for his satisfaction. I feel deeply uncomfortable, having him stare at me like this, but also very aroused. He reaches for a bar of soap, lathers it in his hands and spreads it all over my pubic hair. Then he takes the razor and begins to shave.

The first bit is easy, as he shaves away the tiny patch covering my Mound of Venus, but when he moves down to my labia, I hold my breath and ball my hands into fists. He’s very careful though, pulling my sensitive skin taut and shaving in tiny, gentle strokes. When he’s done, he puts down the razor and scoops up water in his hands, splashing it all over.

“Perfect,” he says, surveying his handiwork. I feel very bashful but curious to see how it looks. Reflexively I reach down and touch it. Wow. It’s very different. Incredibly soft and silky with no hint of stubble.

“Did I miss a bit?”

“No, it’s good,” I reply.

“Good. Now turn around.” I freeze. No way am I going to give him a close-up of my rear view as well. His eyes bore into mine. Before I know it, I’m turning around and kneeling on the shelf, with my upper body lying flat along the edge of the tub, and my ass poking out of the water. I’m so grateful that I can bury my face in my hands. This is too much. I’ve had entire relationships with guys who have never had a good look at my asshole before, and now it’s only inches from a stranger’s face.

“Spread your legs a little wider,” he says.

I obey, my shame deepening by the second, and I hear his breath catch. At least he must like what he sees.

He soaps me up again, and the razor touches my skin, making very light strokes along my ass crack. Again, no pain, and he’s done in seconds. He rinses, then runs a finger from my clit to my asshole.

“Perfect,” he proclaims. As his finger lingers on my asshole, gently circling, I let out a moan. I had no idea that could feel so good. He chuckles. “Like that?”

I do. In fact, I find myself wishing he’d slide his finger in a little. “Maybe,” I say.

He pulls me into the water and kisses me again. He’s a kisser, and that’s a rare and beautiful thing in a guy.

“You’re beautiful, Reagan. So beautiful and perfect,” he breathes. Then he climbs out and brings towels for us before helping me out. His erection seems even bigger and harder than before, and I wonder how he maintains such self-control. Once I’ve toweled myself dry and let my hair fall loose again, he sits on the edge of the bed and stands me in front of him, facing the mirror. The sight of my pussy is startling. It hasn’t been that bare since I was maybe thirteen years old, and there’s no hiding anything now. It’s a natural innie, but my outer labia are now slightly parted, the darker pink inner labia peeking through. It looks kind of obscene. It’s no longer a hidden slit; it’s a thing, hungry and needy.

“Like it?” he asks.

“I guess.”

“You will.” He pulls me backward onto his lap and parts my legs, opening me to the mirror. I watch, hardly daring to breathe, as he spreads my labia with his fingers before dipping a finger into my wetness and then rubbing it over my clit. He begins to make little circles while whispering in my ear, telling me how beautiful my pussy is and how amazing it’s going to feel gripping his cock. It’s fucking hot, and my hips starts to make little jerks of their own accord. My vision blurs as I look in the mirror at a gorgeous man and a girl, totally lost in lust, with his hand between her thighs.

Suddenly, Adler lifts me up and throws me down in the middle of the bed.

“I have to taste you,” he growls and dips his head to my pussy. He tips my thighs back and plunges his tongue right in. Oh. This feels good. Different, but good. I swear he’s a couple of inches inside me, his tongue muscular and agile as he flicks it back and forth. Then he moves onto my clit. That touch of his tongue on my sensitized bud is incredible, and when he sucks it, drawing it into his mouth, I almost levitate off the bed.

He keeps it up, making tiny circles, sucking, and his rhythm is perfect, not too fast, not too heavy. My mind fills with thoughts of his body, thoughts of that big, thick cock and how much I need it inside me, and something new is happening inside me. It’s nothing like the small, focused explosion that comes from the vibrator. It’s more gradual, something slowly building, deep and serious. Like the moment before a storm breaks or the tension before an epic sneeze. Time seems to separate, and I’m blissfully falling through space. My breath comes in huge gasps. I clutch at the sheets. I shudder all over. And then a big boom detonates between my thighs. My clit pulses, and a series of superfast spasms shoots deep inside me, right through my core, and all the way to my finger ends. Adler keeps licking me, keeps up that incredible rhythm, until the spasms recede into gentler waves and gradually fall away. I burst out laughing.

Adler climbs up the bed and arches over me, his biceps and shoulder muscles bunched. “Having fun?” he asks, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

“That was an orgasm. What I told you about before, with the vibrator, that was not an orgasm. It was just a nice kind of buzz. This was more like a—like an earthquake. Or a volcano. Or maybe both at the same time.” I start laughing again like a lunatic. I feel so blissed out, yet stupid it’s taken me this long to realize what an orgasm should feel like.

“There’s no substitute for human touch.” He gets up and retrieves our champagne, and I have a celebratory swig.

“I love your smell, your taste,” he murmurs, and when he kisses me, I can taste myself on his lips, sweet, salty, and musky. Suddenly, I want to taste him, too. I reach for him, turning my body so I’m on my knees. He allows me to grip the base of his cock, but as I dip my head toward him, his hand presses on the base of my throat.

“Later. Now I need to be inside you.” Keeping his hand on my throat, he pushes me back down. He reaches into a bedside drawer, pulls out a condom, and tears open the foil packet with his teeth. He rolls it on expertly, then, holding his cock in his hand like it’s a big, dangerous tool, he presses it against my entrance. Pinned down by his hand, I am helpless as he sits back, watching himself enter me. This is real, I realize. He’s not joking or messing around. He’s got me exactly where he wants me, and I’m incapable of moving, of escaping him.

The first inch is incredible, and then my muscles tense up. He’s really big, and thick. But he takes it slow, a little at a time, and gradually my muscles yield to him until he’s all the way in. I cry out as his pubic bone butts up against my clit, and I’m a little shocked I’ve managed to fit him all in. The look in his eyes is dark and almost cruel as he lets go of my throat and pushes my thighs up toward my chest, folding me almost in half, before he begins to fuck me.

He moves slowly at first, and I see the tension in his muscles, how much it’s costing him to hold back. And then something snaps in him, and he begins to thrust in earnest, pounding into me. Initially, it’s too much, but soon pleasure takes the place of pain and I welcome his long, powerful strokes. He changes position often, lifting my legs over his shoulders, then twisting me onto my side. When he pulls out of me, I know immediately that he wants me on my hands and knees, and he makes me assume the position, head down, ass up, back arched, before he enters me again. His cock rubbing along the front wall of my pussy forces wild, animal sounds from my mouth. He presses a finger on my clit, and then he plunges into me, his hips butting my ass so hard that I can barely stay on my knees. I come a second time while he’s pounding me. It’s different again—fast, strong ripples grip his cock while I muffle my cries with the pillow. When I’m done, he flips me onto my back and lays his weight on top of me. One hand is in my hair, tugging hard, while the other is clamped over my mouth, and he screws me hard and jerkily until he comes with a gasp.