Watch. As if I could look away. As if I could look anywhere else but at his gorgeous body, the tattoo on his shoulder, the whorls of hair on his chest and arrowing down his stomach. The way his forearm flexed when he put his hand on my hip. The bracelets on his wrist. The steam on the mirror made everything seem dreamlike, as if we were doing this in some alternate world. Right now, that world was the only place I wanted to be.

I had never had sex like this. I had never done anything like this. Sex in the bad old days was something I did for approval, which gave it a nasty, nauseating edge. Sex since then was always in a bed, usually in missionary, after a minimum of three dates. Because that was how you were supposed to do it. You weren’t supposed to be soaking wet, bent over a bathroom counter, rising up on your toes while a very hot, very bad boy spread your legs apart. You weren’t supposed to be bracing yourself on your hands, moaning as he slid his fingers in and out of you. You weren’t supposed to give a cry of pleasure when he rolled on a condom and pushed his cock into you, pinning you to the counter.

But I did. I gripped the counter as he thrust inside me, then again, then again. It felt so good I was almost lightheaded. I wanted nothing more than for Nick to fuck me, however he wanted, as long as he wanted. I was about to get my wish.

He paused and, still inside me, he leaned forward, running his hands up my sides and cupping my breasts where they hung down above the countertop. “Look at yourself,” he said.

I did. I looked like someone else, someone I didn’t recognize. This woman’s hair was dark and wet, her lips were parted, her head was thrown back. She had a man’s hands cupping her tits as he fucked her, and she was loving it. She was pure sex, a goddess.

“More,” I said.

He cupped my tits harder and thrust into me again, and I cried out. The tops of my thighs were digging into the edge of the counter, and I didn’t care. It felt good. I arched my back to take him deeper, and he groaned softly as he felt me move. Then he braced a hand on my hip and fucked me harder while I nearly dissolved in the steamy air.

“Touch yourself, redhead,” he said in my ear while he rocked my life and my whole fucking world. “Make yourself come.”

I moved a shaky hand from the counter and slid it down in front of me, between my body and the counter. He paused, watching as I brushed my fingertips over my wet curls, then deeper, finding my clit. It throbbed under my touch and I groaned.

“Fuck,” Nick said, his voice throaty with sex as he watched me. I stroked myself, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as the sensation built. It was exquisite, stroking my clit while his big, blunt cock was inside me. It made the sensation deeper, with a darker edge. I rolled my hips back against him, willing him to move.

He moved out and in again, slower this time, less harsh. It built into the sensation I was already giving myself. He came all the way out of my body and pushed slowly in again, making me feel everything, the way my pussy parted for him, the way I accommodated him. When he had settled inside me he backed out again, making me make a sound in my throat of turned-on frustration. He bent and kissed my neck, his stubble scraping my skin and making me shiver as he positioned the head against me again.

“I could do this all fucking night,” he growled.

No. I couldn’t take that. I didn’t think I could take even a few more minutes without coming or crying or falling apart. He pushed inside me again, slow, watching me stroke myself. “You ready for more, Evie?” he said.

“There isn’t more,” I managed. I was close. So close. “There can’t be.”

But he slid his hand over my nipple, then down behind me as he stroked the cheek of my ass. “You know what I see right now?” he said, stroking me, stroking in and out of me in front of the steamy mirror. “I see a woman who likes to fuck. Who can’t get enough of it. Who was born for it. Who wants to be fucked until she can’t stand up anymore.” His hand moved over my ass, his thumb moving between my cheeks. The feeling was strange and made my toes curl.

“Nick,” I panted.

“You’ll come,” he said. “I promise.”

My clit was throbbing hard beneath my fingertips, and his cock moved in and out of me, and he slid his thumb inside my ass. And I didn’t care. It was filthy and unthinkable and completely shocking, and it didn’t matter. I rocked back against him, taking it, taking every kind of pleasure I wanted, in every kind of way.

And I came. It was an orgasm unlike anything I’d felt before. It shook me and turned the world white and made me scream. And instead of running from it I chased it, chased every last second of it while my body convulsed and Nick kept moving, faster now and harder, chasing his own pleasure. I gripped the counter against the assault of his big, strong body, and for a minute I was a vessel, taking it and waiting for him to come, and it was glorious.

Fucking glorious.

He came, his fingers leaving bruises on the skin of my hips. I felt every part of it. And I loved it.

That was how Nick Mason ruined me for other men.