He slid his thickness against me. Now he was panting.

Quickly, I contradicted myself. “Okay. Please, please, please.”

His chest reverberated with a deep rumbly laugh, his hot breath against my earlobe as he pushed me over the line from aching desire to painful, insane need.

“No. Not good enough.” His erection pressed against my inch and I gasped. Every nerve ending, every cell, every atom reached out to him. Despite his words, I begged him with strangled moans and cries.

Alex pushed me down on the bed, my face to the mattress, my bottom still in the air, still kneeling. I tried to turn over; but he stopped my movements by settling half his weight on top of me, pinning me. I was trapped. His hands covered mine and I couldn’t move; I could only feel his bare chest against my back, his hard length pressing against my bottom. He rocked his hips, sliding himself against my center, the tip of his erection slick as it rubbed and stroked.

He continued in this way, torturing me, his languid movements meant to throw me into oblivion. Every time he came close to breaching my walls, he’d pull back, then slide forward, teasing my arousal higher, sharper, more desperate.

“Alex, please. Please….”

He bit my neck then licked the abused flesh. I shuddered, needing friction and penetration and a vaginal orgasm more than air. I managed to push myself up so that I was once more on my hands and knees.

“I love you, Sandra, and I love your body.” His hand moved up my arm. “I love your perfect round ass and your long legs and your soft, exquisite tits.” He palmed my breast, kneaded it, then stroked his hand down my stomach, touching, caressing, grabbing as he went. I stilled my ineffective movements, still panting, waited for his fingers to find my easy button. And he did. And it felt good, but empty.

I didn’t try to stifle my cry.

“Tell me,” he whispered, like the devil he was, goading me, hot and hard against my needy flesh.

“Oh, Alex….”

“Say it.”

“You know—you already know.”

“Say the words.”

So I said, “I need you to lose your self-control for once and just f**k the hell out of me, dammit!”

I’d never dirty-talked in the bedroom before because it always seemed so silly; and, honestly, it reminded me of my job during college—which was the opposite of sexy.

But here, with him, the madness of my desire pushed my brain into a third dimension where dirty thoughts and words seemed necessary, the language of the flesh.

“No.” His hand lovingly skimmed my bare stomach and smoothed its way to my breast. I thought I detected an edge of unsteadiness in his voice. He held my breast with reverence as though he were holding my heart. “Tell me you want me to make love to you. Tell me you want me to love you always. Beg me for it.”

I swallowed, readied my response. At this point, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to beg. I wanted him to give me the promise of forever.

Before I could, he surprised me by flipping me over; my back met the mattress and my eyes met his. He didn’t look in control. He looked like a man starving, greedy, selfish with need.

“Next time, Sandra; next time you will beg.” His words were a command, but the end of his rope had been reached. His descent into madness was as plain as his need. Alex positioned himself over me, his head pressed against my entrance, slippery with our combined desire.

“Alex, I….”

Then, with one hurried movement, he filled me.

I exhaled on a whoosh, thankful for the dampness of my arousal and the lubrication provided by his mouth moments earlier; otherwise, I would have felt pain with no pleasure.

Alex held himself away, his arms straight, his head thrown back, and he cussed—repeatedly. His head fell forward and his eyes were closed. In fact, they were squeezed shut, and his forehead was wrinkled as though he were confused.

He moved out. He moved in. He lacked the grace of experience.

Regardless, it still felt good. Despite the jerky stops and starts, it only took twenty seconds for it to feel almost earth shaking, mind blowing, soul shattering, and rockets–red-glare-bursting-in air good.

The motion of the ocean needed work. But size mattered, length mattered, my feelings for him mattered—and he had all three.

This lasted…oh, less than thirty seconds.

Because he came with the unexpected force of a car crash. Despite the fact that I’d begun to feel the first sparks of my release low in my belly, I didn’t have time to catch up to him. He was lost to me, too far ahead, lost in his own sensations and—apparently—drowning in bliss, because he was no longer breathing.

I watched him above me—his mouth open as though stifling a scream, his face contorted as though in pain. He exhaled and fell against me, apparently his arms no longer capable of holding him upright.

I smiled to myself with wonder, and tears pricked my eyes. I felt like he’d just given me a gift, a piece of himself that I would be able to take with me, carry around when we were separated during our days—a piece of something he valued above all else: his self-control. And now it was mine.

Our hearts beat together, and his skin felt almost feverish to the touch. I stroked his hair, kissed his neck, and just generally loved him. Alex’s solid weight meant that breathing was difficult, but I didn’t mind. I couldn’t fathom that, eventually, he would have to leave me; eventually, we would be two separate bodies again instead of one.

And, eventually, it did happen.

I felt Alex tense, then a moment later, pull away. He slipped from me, yet didn’t move entirely out of my reach. His eyes found mine as his fingers threaded through my hair and pushed it away from my face.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No…yes…I mean….” I took a deep breath because I could, but I longed for his weight against me. “Yes, I’m okay. No, you’re not hurting me.”

His eyes moved between mine, a bit more relaxed. “Sorry I lost control. That didn’t go as planned.”

“It never does, but that’s okay. I liked watching you lose control. Feel free to do it again, anytime.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wanted to hear you scream my name.”

“Then you’ll have to last longer next time.”

A lightning bolt of intent flashed behind his eyes. “Any other tips?”

“Yes. Lots.”

He frowned. “Was it bad?”

“No!” I shook my head in earnest. “No, no, no—not bad at all. You are very good. So good, in fact, that I might have to write a sea shanty to immortalize the experience.”

He chuckled, stole a kiss, then pulled completely away. I missed the warmth of his body, so I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself, my legs curled up to my chest.

I listened to the soft sounds of his feet against the carpet, and my eyes flung open at the sound of him pilfering the drugstore bag and condom box once more.

I drank in his tall, lean, beautiful na**d profile and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Preparing for next time.”

“Next time? You can’t mean….”

“Yes. I do.”

He opened the wrapper and rolled the condom on his miraculous member—the one-eyed monster.

I swallowed again, sat up in bed. “How can you…?”

“Sandra, I’m twenty-one years old, and I’ve been thinking about doing very bad things to you for over two years. I’ll be ready every five minutes for the rest of our lives.”

Twenty-one?

He was only twenty-one. Therefore, he had the stamina of a twenty-one year old.

Yay me! and Holy shit!

He sauntered back to the bed, already sheathed and hard, his eyes glinting.

For the first time since we’d entered the bedroom, I realized that the overhead light was on. The realization made me smile. I raised onto my knees, assumed the Wonder Woman pose, my hands on my hips; his steps faltered, and I watched his face as his eyes devoured my body.

I found that I, too, was ready.

Round two—for both of us. Hopefully we’d be engaging in a marathon rather than a sprint this time.

Of course, if the race ended too early, we could always go for a three-peat.

CHAPTER 24

Sunday’s Horoscope: You wanted the Pandora’s box open; now you must deal with the consequences.

I woke up alone, naked, in bed.

Only two situations exist in which a woman never wants to be alone and naked: in bed after making love and in a birthing room, pregnant, at a hospital.

The latter because the birth of a baby is likely imminent, and no one will be there to catch it.

The former because no feeling is lonelier for a woman than falling into a man’s arms after giving herself to him, and finding that he’s abandoned her sometime during the night.

Everywhere else, especially public places, if a woman is naked, it’s best to be alone.

I curled into a ball, hugged my knees to my chest, and thought back over the last several hours. I asked myself three questions:

Where are my clothes?

What time is it?

Do I have any regrets?

The first question was easy to answer. I’d packed an extra change of clothes just in case my plan to seduce Alex—first for information about his past, then his body—had been successful. My overnight bag was in the closet.