This man is going to be the orgasmic death of me, and I don’t want it any other way. Will’s kissed his way down my body, his hands trailing up and down the length of my inner thighs. My pussy’s aching, my clit throbbing with need, but he hasn’t started yet. He’s staring up at me, almost daring me to beg him to continue.

I would, except I’ve nearly forgotten how to talk. Will smiles, like he knows I’m nearly out of my mind. Like he loves it. I lean back against the seat, and give in.

“Please. Make me come,” I whisper.

He doesn’t even respond, because he doesn’t have to. He kisses his way up my thigh, taking his good, sweet time. Finally, finally…

Yes. Please. His stubble is a sweet whisper against my skin, and his hot breath is on my sex. He gives one tap of his tongue against my clit, making me cry out. He holds me still, his hands on my legs, as his tongue continues to circle my clit. Sensation is pulsing through me; I’m half certain I’m about to pass out just from wanting it, wanting him to make me come. He licks me again, this time in a straight line along my cunt, before thrusting his tongue deep inside of me.

Fuck, it feels better than I imagined.

He thrusts in and out of me several times before finally lapping back up to tease my clit. Then he inserts a finger inside of me to pump as he continues to lick. There’s another finger, and I throw my head back. I’m teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that’s already threatening to shatter me. My pussy clenches around his fingers as he sucks my clit into his mouth. My whole body moves, my hips wriggling in response to his attentions. God, I’ve never been so sopping wet before, and my skin seems to hum with the energy. I look down, watching as he thrusts into me with his fingers, with his tongue. The sight of it alone nearly undoes me. This keeps going, fingers and then tongue, and I could go on for hours. I feel like I could live hanging on the very edge of the orgasm for the rest of my life.

That’d make teaching awkward, but I’d be happy as hell.

I feel like I’m filling up, all my muscles tensed and screaming for release. That’s the instant that Will stops, gazing up at me again. Our eyes meet, his look searing and electric. He’s possessing me entirely, and it’s so good I want to scream.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his breath hot against my thigh. Then he licks my clit once more, his tongue swirling in deft circles. His fingers thrust into me again, and I begin to shake violently. My body isn’t my own anymore. I’ve lost myself, and I love it.

“Please. Make me come. Please,” I cry out.

He thrusts faster, and sucks my clit into his mouth rhythmically. Every muscle in my body tightens; my legs go rigid. I feel myself falling, tumbling down into the orgasm. Will’s tongue is relentless, and I begin to cry out, my breath coming in short, fast pants.

Then I come, the world rupturing all around me and taken away in a burst of white hot light. I find myself screaming his name, my hands pressed against the roof of the car just so I don’t collapse. Then Will’s sitting up, pressing me against his body. He kisses me, and I taste myself. I taste his obvious pride, and why shouldn’t he be proud? Part of me had wondered if last night was as good as it was because I’d had a little wine, but this is proof that Will Munroe is pretty much sex itself.

That, or apple pie is a hell of an aphrodisiac.

Can’t it be both?

“Feeling better now?” Will whispers in my ear, pushing aside my hair as he kisses down my neck. I nearly purr as I lean against him.

“Incredible. But I feel like I need to return the favor,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around the incredible bulge in his pants. He moans as I squeeze, thinking about all the ways I’m about to—

There’s a tap at the window, and we both freeze. While I slide myself to the floor of the car, pretending that I’m a discarded coat—that theater training really coming in handy—Will rolls the window down a tiny bit. I’m pretty sure that’s steam wafting out into the evening air.

“We’ll, ah, move,” Will says. Whoever’s outside gives a tiny, tight-sounding noise, and leaves. He looks down at me as I’m scrambling into my panties, and we both laugh at the same time.

“I have a confession,” I tell him. “I think I’m lying on top of the pie box.”

“Looks like we’ll need something else for dinner.” He helps me find my pants, and gets back in the driver’s seat. “Sushi?”

I never thought an eel roll could taste so good. No, I am not talking in euphemisms here, we’re at a very nice sushi joint in Santa Monica. Will’s got the kind of rich person car that seems to clear traffic by magic: going west of the 405 should’ve been a nightmare this time of day. Is there anything he can’t do?

I mean, the man can make eating sushi look erotic. And that’s not a euphemism either.

“I need to tell you something,” Will says, dipping a piece of sashimi in some soy sauce. Hopefully the following words will be some combination of we need to do the sex again and I have saved room for dessert. If we can get both of those going at the same time, so much the better.

“What’s that?” I lean my cheek against my hand, feeling dreamy as I take up my chopsticks to snag a tuna roll. Life is perfect right now. Utterly peaceful. I know I should be suspicious of those emotions by now, but you never seem to learn.

So when Will says, “I have to go to Tokyo for a couple of weeks,” well, that’s when my mind goes kind of blank. At first I think he chose the sushi as a thematic way of asking me to go with him, which I would be more on board with than I should.

“Oh. For work?”

Or for black market smuggling, Chelle? What do you think he’s doing there?

“It’s an idea of expanding the company. They seem to think I’m the right guy for the job,” he says. I think he’s the right guy for the job too, if that job involves taking my pants off with his teeth. Pretty sure that’s not what his bosses were thinking, though. Which is their loss.

Okay, back to reality. I don’t want to look needy or clingy in any way—why would I, when I just had a fabulous orgasm in the back seat of his car? I mean, like I said, casual is good. It’s clearly the thing that I want.

That’s what I’m going to tell myself over and over.

“Amelia will miss you,” I say, forcing myself not to add me too or my vagina too, because that might be a wee bit too forward.

“I know she will. And I know I’ll miss her,” he says, looking me right in the eyes. With the soft overhead lighting sculpting his cheekbones to perfection, his beauty is kind of distracting, but I get the impression he means he’ll miss me. Or I’m reading into this pretty hard.

“Yes,” I say, because that adds a lot to this conversation. Taking up my chopsticks, I concentrate on grabbing a slice of ginger as a palate cleanser.

“I know you said you like to keep things casual.” Will pours some more sake, which I’m always in the mood for.

“Casual, that’s me. As you can tell from the way I dress, it extends to all aspects of my life,” I say, trying not to embarrass myself too hard. As usual, it’s a fight I’m going to lose.

Will shrugs. “Fair enough. Though I was wondering if you had any casual formal wear.”

For a second I think this is a total non-sequitur until I remember the gala that’s coming up. Bay of Dreams is hosting a benefactor gala. They’re looking to expand the eastern wing, probably to incorporate more feng shui into the woodwork or whatever it is they want to do these days. I agreed to set up a little musical interlude with the kids, something from the coming show that we can use to sell the benefactors on how great the school is.

Hell, if I can make the school look good, they might make my hiring a permanent sort of thing. I’ve got my best little black dress all ready for the occasion.

Now Will is saying… Is it what I think he’s saying?

“Are you asking me on a casual date?” I take a sip of my sake, which only slightly dribbles down my chin. Go me.

“Casually, of course.” He smiles, that wicked light returning to his eyes. But it’s the kind of wicked that wants to get me all dolled up and at a swanky event, not just fucking in a car. Or an apartment. Or on the floor of a restaurant. That’s not a suggestion, just something I can’t help but imagine.

There’s a part of me that’s still sending up alarm bells about Darren and the wonderful, terrible troubles of boyfriends past. But if both Will and I know what the game is, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.

Except going to the gala with a parent and our hot sexcapades being exposed. I suppose that might merit some consideration.

But if we’re lucky, all the old benefactors will be drunk off their asses and won’t notice Will and me making out on the dance floor to the sultry sounds of “Time of My Life.” And yes, that is a full on fantasy right there.

“If we’re careful, it could be fun,” I say, giving a wink. Casual wink, of course. Will seems to enjoy that, because I feel his fingers tracing the top of my thigh. He doesn’t go any further, since we’re in public. But the lingering promise is there.

If only I could convince myself a casual bit of fun is all I’m really looking for, I just might be the happiest I’ve been in a long time.