“Come over.” The two words I’ve been waiting to hear all night. Foot to the pedal, a few turned corners, and I’m inside his dark house, in that kitchen again.

“I’ve missed you,” he says.

“No you haven’t,” I whisper. “You just miss what I didn’t give you earlier.”

He grabs my waist and smiles. “Well, I did miss that too,” he says. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always on my fucking mind.”

“You’ve got issues. Obsessive tendencies, maybe.” I wink.

“That’s putting it mildly. I’ve been hard for the past three hours. The sight of you bending over in front of me was too much to handle,” he says.

“Good boy,” I say. I kiss his cheek and pull away. I walk over to the counter and bend over. “Go on.”

He rips my pants down. He rolls my panties to my ankles. He kisses my ass and slides his tongue down, until he meets my lips. He eats me like a high hanging fruit, not yet ready to be juiced; yet, his thirst has brought him there regardless.

I push my ass against his face. His tongue curls inside of me. He pulls on my lips and smacks my ass hard. I feel the sting rise up into the back of my throat. He spanks me again, and again, and again, until I beg him for more. Of course, when I do, he’s moved onto the next act. He’s ripping his own pants off. He wants to show me what he’s had in store for me all day.

“You’re going to make me lose it, woman,” he says.

I already know. I know how I make him squirm. Sometimes, I doubt myself, of course. But right now, it’s obvious just how much he needs me.

The first push is always the best feeling in the world. He fills me with his cock, like no other man has been able to. I’m packed to the brim, nearly unable to take him in. He groans with pleasure and my breath comes out hot and heavy. “Deeper,” I tell him. I want him to push the limits. I want to feel every bit of him.

He pushes his body over mine, cupping my breasts in his hands. His thumb circles around my nipple, hard and erect from excitement. He runs his fingers up to my collarbone. Up to my neck, he grips again and I am thoroughly satisfied. Michael Vanderbilt is a man of epic proportions. He is this town’s best-kept secret and I’m not letting any woman know.

“I want to look into your eyes,” he whispers.

He spins me around, pushing my ass onto the counter. He lifts my legs up and spits downward. When he slides in, he’s rock hard and gripping my thighs even harder. “You’re perfect,” he keeps telling me. I can’t take a compliment worth shit, but it gets me wetter than a rainstorm.

He puts his hand over my soft stomach and feels me. He likes me for who I am. He adores me. At least, that’s how it feels when I’m with him. The way he touches me with ferocious masculinity, coupled with his deep passion, makes me feel a rush of pleasure.

I soon begin to let go of all inhibitions. I fall into him, emotionally and physically, one hundred percent. I let myself be in the moment. There are no thoughts now, but there is him and what he gives me. He fucks me hard, but moves slow, while remaining close to me. All the while, he whispers in my ear, sweet nothings, like, “I’ll never be able to get you out of my head.”

Quicker than I thought, he works me up to a tipping point. With his hands behind my lower back, positioning me just right, I feel everything inside of me swell up, tense and pulling. Away, my mind drags from my body, as if I was given wings. Tonight, I’m his angel, and he’s taking me past the pearly gates, to a nearby trove, where he can fuck me and use me forever.

My eyes close and tear up. My teeth chatter. It’s the kind of feeling that makes your toes curl and palms turn sweaty. I grip around his neck, but don’t let on. When he kisses me, however, I’m sent elsewhere. A sharp, pin-prick pops inside of me, forcing my eyes wide open again. My mouth drops, loose and wide.

I try to mumble something, but I can’t. The orgasm is so fucking strong, much stronger than last time because there is more emotion tied to it now. I’m all wrapped up in Michael, spinning to and fro, and it feels like being born again. Yes! That’s exactly what it’s like. Being born and dying at the same time. When I come back to, I’m a new woman, complete with a huge, radiant smile.

Satisfied with pleasing me, he picks me up and holds me in his arms. He sets me against the kitchen wall and slides back into his warm comfort. He grips the bottom of my ass and holds me steady. He bounces me up and down with balance and precision. “I want to fuck you a million times over,” he says.

“Then do it,” I whisper. He smiles. If only. If only life could just be this. No work, just fucking him and falling asleep to each other’s kisses.

But there comes a time when you know a man has to relieve all his tension. When his muscles grow tight and his hands hold you harder than ever before, you know he’s trying his damn hardest not to let go. With a heavy groan, he tilts his head back and I feel his cock grow bigger inside of me. It trembles, until it erupts, like a volcano or seismic explosion. I feel him inside me, losing everything he’s kept in store. He pushes in as deep as he can go, fading fast into me.

He kisses me so passionately, as if I’m the purest thing in the world, as if I was made out of solid gold. He sets me down onto my feet and the world seems to sway beneath me. When I stumble, he holds me steady. When I laugh, he kisses my cheek and smiles.

We slowly make our way upstairs, into his bed, and under the covers. There’s no question of whether or not I’m spending the night tonight. It’s obvious that I need to, that I need to feel close to him. Am I being a sucker for this man? Is he still hung up on the past? I don’t know. Right now, in this heavy moment, I don’t want to answer any questions. I just want to feel his body and know that I’m what he wants.

“Emily Carter,” he whispers.

“Michael Vanderbilt.”

“I’m really glad I met you,” he says.

“I’m glad I met you too.”

In the silence of the world around us, normally buzzing with chaotic entrances and exits, we lay holding one another. The energy we want, we grab in slow kisses and short laughter. We talk around the idea of how good this is making us feel. All in all, I’ve never felt better, but that comes with a deep worry. There’s always the wonder of whether or not this is real, or just something our minds are making us feel. Is it a misunderstanding of emotions? Or will this really last longer than first expected?

We don’t approach the subject. There’s no need to. If we did, we wouldn’t be able to find any answers. No, right now, we close our eyes in silence. We smile. We hold the feeling in like laughing gas. And when our dreams do finally come, we’re always near each other, waiting to wake up in each other’s arms.