“We’re not having sex on the first date,” Bowie reminded me, palming my very happy breasts under my sweater. He’d unhooked my bra one-handed like a champion lady undresser about four seconds after he’d pulled into the garage and three after he dragged me over into his lap.

His SUV windows were steamed up, and I couldn’t be sure, but we were generating enough heat to steam up the garage windows, too.

“I’m tired of you thinking you get to call all the shots,” I told him, biting his lower lip hard enough that he gasped in a breath.

“When I tell our grandkids about our first date, it’s not going to end with ‘and then your grandma put out.’”

“That’s a sexist statement. Why’s it bad if Grandma puts out, but not if Grandpa does?”

“Point taken,” he said, licking his way into my mouth and dazzling me with a kiss akin to fireworks. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Cassidy Tucker. I don’t mind waitin’ a little longer so you can make sure.”

“I’m sure I want you inside me,” I told him, biting at his jawline and neck.

He made a strangled noise.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Can a man die from not having sex with you?” Bowie wondered, fisting the long tail of my hair in his hand.

“What about after the second date?” I demanded, thrusting my hips against him so I could ride the ridge of his erection. “We could go for coffee right now. Boom. Second date.”

“You are fucking killing me, woman.”

“That’s a lot of years of pent-up frustration talking there,” I said, sliding my hand under his shirt and stroking it across the ridges of his abs. When my fingers dipped lower toward the waistband of his pants, he stopped me.

“Cassidy Ann. We’re waiting.”

“I’m tired of waiting.”

“I want you to be sure I’m the one for you.”

“We’re talking about sex here, Bow. Not a lifetime commitment.” I shifted against him again and watched his pupils dilate.

“It’s the same thing this time, Cass. I want a lifetime commitment out of you first.”

“How incredibly old-fashioned of you.” I rocked into him, and he groaned.

He squeezed my hips and kissed me until I couldn’t figure out where my mouth ended and his began.

“How about now?” I asked, leaning back against the steering wheel and opening the wrap tie of my dress.

“Oh, fuck.” His hands were on my bare breasts followed immediately by his mouth. I bucked against him as he licked and sucked and stroked. It was freezing cold outside, but in the car it was a tropical rainforest of lust.

“Come inside with me, Bowie,” I demanded.

He took another long pull on my nipple, and I nearly went over the edge right then and there. And then he did the unthinkable. He pulled my dress back in place and opened his door.

“I’m walking you to your door and then you’re going inside. When you’re sure that this is it for you, then we’ll see about the rest of it.”

“You are blackmailing me with sex!”

“I’m incentivizing you,” Bowie corrected. “It’s positive reinforcement.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have my service weapon with me or I’d positive reinforcement you right in the balls.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to my mouth and plopped me on the ground. “I swear to you I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, sliding out after me.

He adjusted himself to a more comfortable position in his pants. “You are so damn stubborn,” I complained. “We could be having orgasms right now!”

Bowie leaned in close enough for me to feel his hard-on against my belly. “I love you, Cassidy Ann. I fully intend to be the last man you sleep with. But I need you to be ready for that.”

My hormones were begging me to agree to anything if it meant that gorgeous man would plow himself into me raining orgasms down like a sex Tinker bell.

He loved me. Bowie Bodine admitted to loving me.

“What did you just say?” I whispered.

“You heard me. I love you.” He threaded his fingers into my hair and kissed me again until my insides were warm like caramel. “Always have. And you know when we make love, there’s no goin’ back.”

I most certainly did not know it. Sure, it would change our relationship. But we’d been friends for a decade or two. That wouldn’t go away just because we had sex and broke up. Would it? I took offense to him putting caveats like “forever” and “lifetime” on something that was so immediate. Not when we’d agreed to a six-week secret trial. I wanted him now. But he was rejecting me again.

“Then I guess this is goodnight,” I said stubbornly.

He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. “Goodnight, Cass. I love you.”

I wanted to punch him, to storm into my house and never speak to him again. I wanted to say it back.

“Goodnight,” I said and pushed out the garage door into the backyard. I jogged up the steps to my back door and let myself in without looking back.

Horny, frustrated, and grumpy, I listened to Bowie moving around in his bedroom on the other side of the wall. Imagining him stripping out of his clothes, standing there naked and staring at my wall.

I didn’t like how out of control he made me feel. I wanted to get it back. To hold the power.

I heard his shower come on and biting my lip, reached for my phone.

He responded quickly.

I was a law enforcement officer. I had never sexted anyone in my life. There were too many ways it could go horribly wrong. But this was Bowie. I lay down on the bed and slid my free hand up the skirt of my dress. I snapped the picture and sent it.

I heard a thump on the other side of the wall and hoped he was hitting his head in frustration.

The water turned off next door, and I held my breath.

I got off the bed, slipped out of my dress, and struck my sexiest selfie pose in the mirror.

I attached the picture and sent it.

I heard another thump next door followed by footsteps. They stopped on the other side of the door that divided our places. I crossed to my side and waited.

“Go to bed, Cass,” he said quietly through the door.

“I don’t want perfect or forever. I want you, now,” I whispered.

“Baby, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded.

“Are you touching yourself?” I asked, hoping to God Jonah’s bedroom door at the front of the house was shut tight.

“Yes,” Bowie hissed.

He groaned low.

I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand not seeing him, not watching him. I flung the door open and there was Bowie. Fisting the cock he’d freed from his sweat pants. His eyes were hooded, his neck and jaw were tight. And that tight fist was moving up and down his shaft.