I gasp against his mouth in surprise, but that doesn’t stop him. Oh, no, he knows what he wants, and I have a feeling he always gets it.

He kisses me deeper, harder, his hand reaching up, tugging my hair free of the bun. I surrender at once.

My legs give way under me, and I sway against him. I slide my tongue into his mouth to taste him, and it mingles with his. He has a masterful tongue. There’s nothing tentative about it at all. He’s claiming what he wants.

Me.

And it doesn’t matter that all my life I’ve been the good girl, the one who doesn’t do stuff like this. I’m in the city now, playing by an entirely new set of rules.

He growls, pressing against me, all hard muscle and searching hands, and god, I can’t get enough, my mind spinning and my whole body tingling. I feel drunk and giddy as his hands work their way under my tank top. They’re just as I imagined. Big, callused, hot on my skin . . . I groan aloud as they find my breasts, kneading them with such power that I cry out, his thumbs rubbing over each peaked nipple.

He tears his lips from my mouth with a deep, ragged breath. “Fuck, they sure know how to grow tits in the heartland,” he growls, licking his way down my throat. I throw back my head and let out a shaky breath as pleasure courses through my body.

Now his hands find the spaghetti straps of my tank top and yank them down before I have a chance to utter a protest. Not that I would; every ounce of shame I have is gone, replaced by unbearable need.

I cling to him, desperate, knocking his baseball cap to the ground and twining my fingers through his thick hair as he descends lower on my body. He takes my breast in his hand and sucks my nipple into his mouth. His tongue is so hot that I gasp aloud, falling deeper and deeper under his spell. I arch up against him, wanting to give him more.

I lean back, breathing hard as he feasts on my breasts, thinking, Who is this girl? I shutter out any thoughts of back home, the people I left who would surely think I’m insane. Why can’t I just do what feels right, for once, instead of what is right?

Because, God, this feels right. He’s so hungry and powerful and raw and even if I never see him again, I need this.

“Come here,” he growls, gripping my ass and lifting me, wrapping my legs around him so that I can feel his hardness through the two layers of denim separating us. He guides me toward the mattress in the center of the room, laying me down.

Standing over me, between my legs, his eyes are heavy lidded, full of desire. All I can do is stare up at the man who is claiming me. My tank top is down around my waist. He reaches over, and with no trouble, unsnaps the button on my jean shorts, then starts to ease them down over my hips.

I feel the material falling past my knees before dropping to the floor, leaving me almost completely exposed to him, except for my little pink thong. His fingers find their way under the thin string of material at my hips, and before I can think, he removes them, as well. I draw in a sharp breath as he stands between my thighs, spreading them.

I struggle onto my elbows as he bends in front of me, his eyes trained on my clit. “Wait,” I say, suddenly realizing what he’s up to. “I don’t . . . I’ve never . . .”

“You’ve never had anyone lick you before?” he asks.

I shake my head. Brandon . . . never. I don’t know why. He was scared enough about sex in general that it never even got to that. But the thought of this man’s magical tongue on me makes every nerve in my body sizzle with electricity.

“New city, new experiences,” he murmurs. He bends his head and licks his way up my thigh. He pauses, his breath on me enough to send me soaring into oblivion. When his tongue gently touches the sensitive nub, I arch up and let out a cry.

“Oh, my God,” I groan.

His tongue has a straight shot right up to my very center, igniting fireworks. Everything that I thought I knew was nothing. This is what real pleasure is.

Whatever his tongue is doing to my clit, it’s enough to make me writhe on the bed. I buck in time to his lapping, spreading my legs apart. Wider and wider, shamelessly. My dignity doesn’t matter anymore. All there is the feeling of his tongue on me.

And then, just when I think it can’t possibly get any better, it does. He inserts a curled finger into my pussy, pumping it slowly in and out, once, twice . . . and then I lose it.

I thrash on the bed, biting my fist so hard I’m sure I draw blood. “My god,” I mumble, my voice choked by my hand. “Please . . .”

“Come now,” he says.

I have no choice but to obey the command. I shatter to pieces, filled with liquid heat and electricity, like a freaking volcano blowing its top off. I scream and writhe as I tangle my hands in his hair, grinding myself shamelessly against his mouth.

“Well,” he says, as he pulls away. The stubble around his mouth is wet with my juices. I blush, but he seems so very unaffected. Like he brings women to their knees all the time. “Did you enjoy that?”

Oh yes, yes yes. But I can barely make my lips move to form actual words.

My heart beats a wild drumbeat in my ears. I need to do something, now, to take the focus off of me. So I pull him toward me, my hands searching the rock hard muscles of his chest. Oh, he was more than an athlete in school. He must work out every day. I lift the hem of his shirt and he helps me by pulling it up the rest of the way, and . . . yep. If he doesn’t work out every spare minute of the day, then God must’ve blessed him mightily. I’ve never seen anything more exquisitely sculpted. The tattoo that I’d spied on his neck is a vine, cascading over his chiseled collarbone, curling over one bulging, lean pectoral. I reach for him, licking at his nipple, first. His skin is sweet, salty, and I want more.

I scoot myself to the edge of the bed and we change positions. He sits down and lies back. I unfasten his belt buckle, pushing his jeans and underwear down, then my eyes fasten on his cock, which is resting, rigid, on his stomach. My goodness, it’s just more and more perfection. It’s almost a shame to keep this covered. There is nothing about him that says boy . . . he’s all, one-hundred percent, glorious man.

I almost don’t feel worthy of touching it, so my fingertips graze it gently at first. Then I wrap my palm around his hard, thick, scorching hot length. I’ve never done this before, but the words keep reverberating in my ears: New city, new experiences. And I want to do this. I don’t even know this man, and yet I want to please him, to pleasure him.

I shift back on his legs so I’m on my shins, straddling his knees. He’s so so thick in my palm, all veined and powerful and beautiful, I can barely breathe at the thought of what I’m about to do. It’s something I’ve never done, though I’ve thought about it a million times. But now, it finally seems right. I slide my hand down to his base, then up again, starting a little rhythm. “This good?” I ask him through a veil of hair.

“Yeah. Harder. I’m not gonna break,” he says, his voice husky, labored. “Put your mouth on me.”

I throw my hair to the side so I can see him and let his expressions guide me. Then I lean over and touch my tongue tentatively to the tip of his cock. There is a bit of moisture on the end, and he tastes of salt and heat. It’s a magnetic taste, and I want more. He grunts, and sits up on his elbows watching me, his eyes half-closed, dazed with desire. For me.

I never knew I could have this power over a man. It gives me confidence. Gathering the courage, I run my tongue down the length of his shaft, up and down.

I lift the length of it and suck the entirety into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue.

He tangles a hand in my hair at the base of my neck and pushes me down, further, further. I can feel him shudder a bit as he hits the back of my throat. He groans. “Fuck that’s good,” he growls. “This is fucking incredible.”

Huh. I was never good at much. At school, I was always a mediocre student, and in sports, I never was excelled. Hearing him say that this feels good, on only my first time out, is only making me more rabid to please him, to reduce him to the shivery mass of jelly he’s made me.

I pull off, then sink down again, this time gauging it better so I won’t come close to gagging. I suck him deeper, deeper, and I can tell from the rapturous look on his face that he likes it. I start to set a rhythm, cupping his balls in my hand and massaging them, and he starts to move with me, thrusting up and into my mouth.

His hands are all hard pressure on the back of my head, urging me on. His breathing is ragged, and I know that he’s close.

Suddenly he pushes me back. “Stop. I want to fuck you,” he says. “Let me feel that tight pussy of yours, okay?”

Though he is totally in control here, I feel like he’s speaking my thoughts. I want him inside me. In fact, the thought of it sends a pulse of pure desire straight into my center. I nod.

I pull back, holding his cock up, and start to position myself over it. I want nothing more than to sink onto him, to feel him thrusting into me.

Then I suddenly stop.

I’m on the pill, but this isn’t Brandon. This is a man I’ve only just met. My confidence falters, and I do, too.

He notices. “Condom’s in my wallet.”

I slink off his body and find his jeans pooled on the floor. I pull out his wallet and see a picture of a little girl in pigtails. So he has a family? “Is this your . . .”

He blinks, and his expression transforms. The desire leaks away. “Sister,” he mutters.

“Oh.” I push it aside and pull out the condom. I swallow. He looks at me, and I can tell he sees my hesitation. “Sorry. I don’t normally do stuff like this.”

The heavy-lidded, desirous look in his eyes is now completely gone, replaced by a rigid, lucid look of alarm.

He plucks the condom out of my hands. Instead of ripping it open, he nudges me aside and hangs off the edge of the bed, reaching for his jeans. “On second thought, I’ve got to be somewhere.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Is there a . . .”

He pulls on his jeans and finds his shirt “No problem, Savannah. I’ve just got to go.”

Suddenly, I feel so cold. Used. And I didn’t even sleep with him. Yes, I was close. And yes, I wanted to. I still want to. But he’s not having any of it.

He’s putting on his shoes when he lets out a short laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

He picks something up off the ground and shows it to me. It’s a small brass key.

My key. The one I . . .

Oh, my goodness. “Where did you . . .”

He points at his feet. “On the floor. Think it fell out of your pocket.”

I cover my hand with my mouth, my face heating up. If I’d just dug my hands a little further into the pockets of my jeans, then I likely never would’ve met him. I never would’ve been here, with him, naked in bed. “Oh, my gosh.”

He sits back on the bed and grins at me. “You ever say fuck, girl?” He says. “You know, like Oh, fuck. Because that would fit nicely in this situation.”

I shake my head.

“Wow. You even just cringed when I said the word. It bothers you country girls that much?”

“No, not all of us,” I mumble, face now so hot it hurts. “Just me.”

He studies me. “So, you never just let loose? Let it slip out? Because I thought you might’ve been pretty close a little while ago, with my tongue inside you.”

I flush from head to toe. I’ll never admit how close I was, and how right he is.

He leans over and gives me a kiss that makes my pulse skyrocket. “Welcome to Boston, Savannah,” he says with a grin. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

After he leaves, my heart pounds in my chest for hours afterwards. Because I think he’s the only one I want to teach me.

But he’s gone.