He’s around the table, hands on my body, lips on mine, all before the satin even hits the floor. “You know what else is great about living alone,” he murmurs. “We can do this anywhere.”

Sucking on my bottom lip, he grips my arse. Lifting me up, he wraps my legs around him and carries me to the nearest kitchen counter. He rests me on the edge, and sticky, maple kisses make their way down my neck. I lean back on my elbows as he bypasses my collarbone, licking each nipple before kissing down the valley of my breasts and beelining for his destination.

The second he reaches the top of my slit, my lungs constrict in anticipation. He changes direction, his mouth teasing me everywhere but where I need him most.

Hands push my thighs farther apart, opening me up, preparing me for him. A swipe of his tongue has me jolting out of my skin, followed by delicious circles around my clit, he becomes the king of teasing, and taunting. He dips his tongue in and out of me; slow and sensual torture.

“You taste like us.” Low and gravelly, the sound of his voice against my pussy, and the thought of us having a taste sends a rush of hot need through my body and straight to my core.

The tip of his tongue runs back up to my sensitive flesh; biting and licking. The pace picks up, and the burn inside me becomes unbearable. My fingers dig into his scalp, gripping onto his hair as my hips grind against his face. He feasts on me like a starved man, lapping at my dripping centre.

Two fingers sneakily slip inside me, and the intrusion is all I need to feel myself shatter. He sucks my clit through my entire orgasm, the sensation dragging out a long and illicit, “Oh, fuck.”

I lay blissfully limp on the counter, unable to talk, unable to move. Rising slowly, the first thing I notice is his wet, smug smile. The second is his dick trying to climb out of his boxers.

I flick my gaze between him and his cock. “Looks like you might need a little help.”

He rubs along his length. “Are you offering?”

Sitting up, I open my legs and he steps in between them. I slip one hand into his waistband, the other pushing the material down his legs. Hot and heavy in my hands, I grip his steel-like shaft. A hiss leaves his mouth as I move up and down. “You ready for hole number two?”

“Fuck, Crazy. Stick me somewhere before I blow it like a teenager all over your fucking hands.”

Reluctantly I drag my hand out, and push against his chest, leading him to the couch. “Sit.”

He puts his hand up, pretending to surrender. “Whatever you say.”

Naked, he sinks into the couch, his cock standing tall against his stomach. I drop to my knees, eager to return the favour.

He stares at me. Eyes full of thirst and want. A gaze so potent, I will remember it past this moment.

“Do you even know how fucking exquisite you look right now?”

I lower my head to hide the flush I feel creeping up my face. My heart finds the wrong time to try and claw its way out of my chest, as every single detail of this moment carves out its own space in my memory.

I wrap my fingers around his cock, and it jolts in my hand. A shine of pre-cum coats the tip, and it's the only invitation I need to swipe my tongue through his slit.

His loud groan spurs me on, and with greed, I take him whole, in my mouth. His skin is warm and stretched, the ripple of his veins sliding against my tongue.

Lazily, my head begins to bob up and down his dick while my hands keep busy. One matches my movements, the other tentatively massaging his balls. His hand finds the back of my head and together we gain momentum. We find a rhythm. I suck and stroke. He gets harder and deeper.

“Shit.” His voice is strained and desperate like he’s on the brink of breaking. “Taylah,” he says with urgency. His thrusts become harsher as he hits the back of my throat, his body talking for him, replacing the failed words. I look up at him expectantly, my eyes inviting him to let go. To crash. To fall. To come. Eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back, he empties himself in my mouth. Thick like the tension coursing through his body, it all comes out, filling my mouth and sliding down my throat.

His body sags against the couch, his breathing loud and ragged.

“That good, huh?” I tease.

He leans forward, kissing me, hard and full of purpose. “You got no idea.” He stands up, offering me his hand. “Come. Show me your shower.”

Both naked, and fulfilled, we wait by the shower stream in contented silence. His front to my back, arms wrapped around my stomach, chin resting on my shoulder. This is different.

In a matter of hours, our time together has shifted. If I thought I wanted to see where things with Drix went before the night took a turn, now I don’t know if I’d even be able to walk away.

I could chalk it up to good sex, but I’d be lying. It’s him. He’s intense. He’s addictive. He’s all-consuming and the craziest part is he doesn’t even know it.

We step into the warm spray, standing face to face. As we stare at one another, words don’t feel relevant, and by the way he’s lighting me up with his eyes, it’s evident he feels it too.

A quick look around has him holding up my loofah and body wash in question. I nod and move farther into the water. I close my eyes wanting to just experience it. Slowly, he draws circles along my skin with the soapy sponge. Leaving suds in his wake, he washes every inch of me with overwhelming reverence.

Raising my arms in the air, I tip my neck back and let the spray cascade all over my hair and body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

I suck in a quick breath, trying to hide how deep his words reach, amazed that this is where we are at right now. Taking the loofah out of his hand, I wash his body. Doing the opposite, I start at his legs, and work my way up, knowing me on my knees in front of him for a second time will drive him wild.

We’re back to standing face to face, even closer than minutes before. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

I switch off the water and pull down the towel that hangs over the glass door. I wrap it around the both of us, bringing him closer. I waste no time, kissing him because I want to, kissing him because right now it’s impossible not to.

We kiss until our bodies are dry, and the cold starts to seep in. We kiss out of the bathroom and into the bed, stopping for the small things that lead us to our destination.

I wrap myself around his body, head on his chest, arm over his torso. “Is this weird?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.

I pretend to not know what he’s asking. “What’s weird?”

“I can’t stop touching you.”

Letting my vulnerability seep through, I ask, “Is that bad?

“This whole night has been unexpected, that’s all.”

I leave the admission alone. It’s not like I don’t agree, but I don’t want to hear doubt, or anxiety if the conversation persists. I would rather listen to my body, feel it through every kiss. Know within myself that this is a deviation from the norm, but it’s a good one.

It’s an unapologetic attraction where any walls between us become walls around us, keeping everything else out. Every time we touch or kiss, it’s like we’re abandoning the rest of the world, giving in to our most basic and carnal needs; letting our physical connection bleed into our emotional one.

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“When I was nineteen, I planned the trip of a lifetime.” With our skin so close, and his heartbeat in my ear, I share my most painful story. “I don’t have any siblings, and growing up, as sad as it may sound, my parents, especially my dad, were my best friends. They supported and encouraged me through everything.

“At this stage, I’d finished six months of University. I didn’t hate it, but I felt restricted. So, I said to my parents, ‘I’m going to hit the pause button, go travelling and come back to finish.’” The stroking of my hair continues, soothing me more than he probably realises. “As usual, there were no complaints or concerns, as long as I came up with the money for my trip myself. I worked my ass off, day and night, to come up with the money, but eventually, I had a perfect amount to know it was happening.”

“Where did you work?” he asks, interrupting with unexpected curiosity.

“I worked in hospitality. Swapped from front of house to bartending; I was a real jack of all trades, depending on what time of the day it was, and I was happy to do it, just to save more money. Plus it was a global industry. If I needed extra cash overseas, it would be easier for me to find a job anywhere, and keep it.

“Anyway, long story short, I saved for the trip, and me and my dad planned it together. Every flight, every trek, every hotel, there was nothing we hadn’t thought out. It was his holiday just as much as mine. Him and my mum had done a lot of travelling before they had me, and he was so excited I was going to be able to experience the same things as him.”

I close my eyes and count to five, mentally preparing myself for the next part of the story. “Five days before my trip, he dies. Heart attack.” My vision blurs as the tears begin to form. The time that’s passed seems so insignificant when I talk about the day he died. The ache and the shock always hit me as hard as they did the exact moment I found out. The tears start to fall, and I shift my hand to wipe them, but he stops me. His hand covers mine, keeping them both on his chest.

“Keep going.” His invitation to let my guard down opens the floodgates. A small pool of water now forming on his bare skin.

“He was the healthiest person I knew, not one single vice. And in a second he was gone.” He threads his fingers through mine, squeezing tightly. Empathy and sympathy evident in his actions. “I wanted to cancel my trip and my mum insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

“It was probably the grief laced with truth, and our biggest fight to date, but my mum rushed the funeral and had his body cremated in no time. Pushing me to go. She gave me ashes in an urn and told me to lay him to rest around the world, so there was never a corner of the earth that couldn’t feel him.” More tears fall, as I dredge up the hurt. “I wanted to be there for her, and she said she needed to be alone because she didn’t want to rush, and needed to be alone to say goodbye to the love of her life. Her words successfully pushed me onto that plane, and my holiday became a heavy-hearted escape.”

A surprise kiss to the top of my head gives me the strength to get through my next sentence. “I cried more tears than I ever thought possible as I left a piece of him and my childhood in every place I visited. It will always be the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

“For the sake of the story I have to admit to you I am a huge Phil Collins fan, and my favourite Disney movie is Tarzan, because the whole soundtrack was sung by him.” His chest rumbles in soft laughter underneath me, and a small giggle leaves my mouth in following. “When I was younger, my dad had this cassette tape of Phil Collins live, and I listened to it ‘til it literally fell apart. The Christmas before he died, I bought him Phil Collins Live in Berlin on DVD, hoping to replace the one I broke.

“So, on my trip, I made a friend.” I feel him tense, and I smile to myself, secretly. “For me, it was puppy love at its finest. I followed him everywhere as he became my crutch in all the ways he shouldn’t. It was our last night together and I was in my room crying. Overwhelmed by the loss of my dad, my emotions just transferred. Shifting to me being unexplainably upset at leaving Dylan. Next thing you know, I’ve got a random playlist on, music blaring through my room, and I’m sitting on the balcony of my hotel and ugly crying, oblivious to the world.”

Lifting myself off of Hendrix’s chest I sit up, pulling the sheets up enough to cover me, and face the reason behind this whole conversation. He watches me as I focus on the drawing, getting lost in my own story.

“As I was crying, ‘You’ll be in my Heart’ by Phil Collins comes on. It was so cheesy and tragic, but it was so perfect. To say I was a mess would be an understatement, in that moment I lost myself to the hurt, but I also let go of it. I hear something from inside the room, and I turn to see Dylan standing there taking pictures.”

I look back at Hendrix. Transfixed by my confessions, his eyes don’t waver from my face. His attention on me, afraid to miss a thing.

“That moment was a turning point for me,” I continue. “Like the universe sent me a message from my dad in song lyrics and I needed to dust off my knees, get up, and keep living. Months after I returned home Dylan sent me the photo in the mail; he’d written the words The Next Chapter on the back.”

Crawling over to my bedside table, I pull out the original and hand it to Drix. “It became the reminder I needed as I lived my life, and more and more years passed without my dad.”

“I moved into this place after I got my first full-time job, it was my next chapter. I sketched the photo on the wall while drinking a whole bottle of wine and listening to Phil Collins on repeat. For days and months after, I added the details to the drawing whenever life got a little bit too much.”

I glance over, and he’s still staring at the photo. My mind wondering what he sees when he sees it.

“The obvious point of this story is my dad is always with me, but it’s the message within the message that resonates more, the older I get—” I cut myself off waiting to see if he looks back at me. He does expectantly like he’s waiting on bated breath for my wisdom.

“It’s not that inspiring,” I warn.

He nudges my knee with the back of his hand. “I want to hear it anyway.”

“Whatever it is, I’m going to survive, just like I did the last time. Days, months, years. The time frame doesn’t matter. In the end, I want to be able to look back and say, ‘I survived it.’”

Lowering my chin to my chest, I simultaneously try and pull the blankets higher up my body, feeling heavily unguarded.

Fingers tip my face up, bringing my eyes to his. “I know it was a while ago, and I said it before, but I really am sorry about your dad.”

I nod, accepting his condolences.

He sits up at a ninety-degree angle like he needs a better look at me. He tucks my hair behind my ear before skating his thumb across my bottom lip. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure your dad would be so proud of you right now.”

He places the softest kiss on my lips, and naturally my body lights up at his touch, ready to take it further. “Stop,” he says, moving back. “I owe you an explanation.”