She’s wearing a thin sleep shirt with Snoopy on it, and sleep shorts, which apparently is a thing. She has braided her hair into two pigtails. She looks like a teenager. She’s doing this to torture me, because we’re in her old bedroom. It is currently being used as Mrs. Montgomery’s craft room/puppy room, but it’s the same double bed, the same lavender colored duvet. She sits on the edge of the bed and smirks when she sees the tent in my pajama bottoms.

I’m very pleased with the way things went at the fundraiser tonight, happy to have met Monty’s wonderful girlfriend, happy to be in the Montgomery house again, relieved that the week of big events is over, and now I just want to get into bed with this devious minx and make all my secret college-age fantasies come true.

I put my messenger bag inside my suitcase and zip up the suitcase. It’s an unnecessary precaution, but there are important things in there and I’m not taking any chances. The bedroom door is shut and the Montgomery puppy—whose name is Bob—is scratching against it and whining. I hear Mr. Montgomery gently shush, pick him up, and pad down the hall to the master bedroom and close the door.

Now I can turn off the lights and get into bed with the youngest non-canine Montgomery. There’s a condom in my pajama pant pocket and I am beyond ready for this. Olivia is already in bed, facing away from me. I yank on her pigtail, because how can I not?

“Ow.” She buries her face in the pillow, trying not to laugh, but I see her body quivering.

I can’t believe we almost did it in the passenger seat of a rental car in a parking lot this afternoon. I can’t believe she was willing to forego her “always two forms of birth control” rule. I can’t believe I am so powerless to resist this woman and I don’t understand how I can be so afraid of something that makes me feel so good. But my body is winning this battle and I am willing to let my brain lose the war.

I press my body up against the back of hers. She wiggles and pushes back into me so the part of me that is enthusiastically protruding fits comfortably between her upper thighs. “Nighty night,” she says, saucily.

This girl. Nothing but trouble.

“Good night,” I say, my arm circling her waist. I wait a good ninety seconds before slowly moving my hand up under her Snoopy shirt, finding her breasts and her already-hard nipples, my new best friends. She sucks in her breath, wiggles around, teasing my erection with her butt in those little shorts.

How many times did I imagine what it would feel like to slide into this bed with her? Alone in my room in Cambridge, late at night, I’d picture her under this comforter, always clothed (the most I could do to honor Monty and her parents). Despite her fantasy sleepwear, which consisted of a tank top and bikini underwear, I mean it was still my fantasy after all, my hands and tongue managed to explore every inch of her, outside and in, before my throbbing cock quietly rammed and exploded into her. I’m glad I waited until I had become more of a master of the bedroom arts, but fucking hell, now that I’m really here, in her old bedroom, with her parents down the hall, I may only last about thirty seconds.

When my hand reaches down into her shorts, my fingers discover a slick little pool of Olivia nectar and every single thing I’ve learned about sexual control dissolves into it. I let out a groan that is louder than I meant for it to be, but she does too. She puts her hand over mine, still wiggling around. “My parents are down the hall,” she whispers.

“Lighten up,” I say.

She likes that. She turns and moves herself beneath me, kissing my mouth, my neck, my jaw, my ears. Her legs are wrapped around me, clinging me to her, her body rocking with mine. The frantic energy from this afternoon is still here, impatient and ready for release.

We aren’t even naked, but it feels so dirty.

“What are you doing to me?” I moan into her ear, as I slip on the condom. “I can’t control myself around you anymore.”

“Are you acting now?” A whisper.

“No. Are you?”

“No.” She lifts her shirt up so her bare breasts can press against my bare chest.

Nothing but trouble.

I fumble with her shorts and push myself inside her, hard and deep. She lets out a loud sigh. I cover her mouth with one hand, pressing down harder when I feel her lips open wide, another loud sigh is barely muffled. She can’t bend her legs because her shorts are around her thighs, but it makes her so tight I am losing my mind.

Both of her hands suddenly cover my mouth—I must have let out a groan without realizing it. She has already started convulsing, her head tilted back. I can only hold on for a little longer. The bed is thankfully creaking quite softly, but I feel a volcanic rumble and a monstrous roar inside of me.

Her breath is hot and wet against the palm of my hand. She shudders, and says something that I can’t quite hear, I only feel it on my skin. When I come she clamps one hand against my mouth and the other against the back of my head for a tighter grip, knowing that I’m going to release everything into her. I love you, I love you, I love you. Can you hear me?

After returning from the upstairs bathroom, tiptoeing so slowly and quietly, I am back in bed with Olivia, her head resting on my bare chest. The room smells like sex and puppy and paint and glue and I am hopelessly in love and terrified.

“What can I do for you?” Her voice is soft and unusually unsteady.

I laugh. “I think I’m done for the night, but thank you.”

“No, I mean…what do I do for you?”

“You dazzle me.”

“It’s not enough.”

“You’re enough.”

I put my hand on her face, swipe my thumb across her cheek. It is damp. She’s crying. This girl. What does it mean? She doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. I close my eyes.

When my eyes open again, it’s still dark, and I’m on my side, facing away from Olivia, but I can feel her right behind me. I don’t move. I can feel her uneven breath on my back. Am I awake?

“I love you,” she whispers.

I still don’t move. I keep my breaths as even as possible. I feel her kiss my neck, ever so gently, and then she turns around to face the other way.

I feel like a thief. She has given me something precious and I’ve taken it without giving her something back. Or maybe she’s the thief. She has stolen my breath, my heart, my body, my mind, my life, and left me with three quiet little words in a darkened room. It’s more than enough, but it’s also far too much.

* * *

I wake up with a weird feeling in my stomach. Like I used to feel before an exam. If I weren’t me, I’d figure I’m coming down with something, but I only get sick every few years. I outwit germs and viruses. I haven’t felt like this since the morning I went on pitch meetings for Brainy Biz funding. I have no idea why I feel this way, and then I remember.

Olivia has already gotten up. I think this is the first time she’s gotten out of bed before me. I hear scratching at the bedroom door, which is closed, hear whimpering. It’s the puppy. I hope.

I get out of bed, “Coming, coming,” and open the door. Bob the baby Cocker Spaniel scampers in without waiting for an invitation. I don’t usually pay much attention to cute things, but this guy is really fucking cute. He sniffs around at my feet, nudges my leg with his wet nose and looks up at me. “Hi. How are you?” He looks disappointed. He turns around in a circle, then sits down and raises his paw in the air and huffs. Well, fuck me. I guess you want me to touch you or something.

I bend down to rub the top of his head and he rests his front paws on my knees, licks my face all over. I pick him up and sit with him on the bed. He keeps licking my face and wagging his tail, and there’s something about it that makes me feel so sad. I’ve never held a puppy before. How is that even possible? How does someone go twenty-seven years without holding a freaking puppy in his arms? What have I been doing with my life?

Working. Making hundreds of millions. If I had a puppy I wouldn’t be able to focus on my business. That’s true. Is it? Yes, it’s true. There’s a reason I haven’t turned my offices into a playground with desks, like so many of the “cool” startups. I don’t make my employees work round the clock, and they can do whatever they want in their free time, but I draw the line at houseplants and a ping-pong table in the workplace.

I put Bob back down on the floor and wipe my face with the back of my hand. Olivia may be deeply distracting, but at least she doesn’t leave my face slimy.

I don’t even have to check my phone to know that I need to get to the hotel to get some important work done this morning. My portable wireless printer stopped working when we were in New York, and I don’t have time to get a new one here. I will print out some documents at the hotel business center, even though I usually refuse to use public office equipment. I will check in with my business manager to make sure I’m still as wealthy as I think I am. Then maybe my stomach will feel the way it’s supposed to by lunch.