Paul peppers my face with kisses, placing them on my eyes, the tip of my nose, my cheekbones, my jaw, and occasionally covering my lips in a kiss that’s over far too quickly.

Desire sizzles within me, making it impossible to stay still in his arms. I arch my back and rub against his chest, too consumed with the heat and pressure building inside of me to care where he’s taking me.

He pauses after a few steps and lowers himself to the huge brown leather couch I placed alongside the dance floor, settling me on his lap. Clutching his perfect head between my hands, I bury my fingers deep into his thick, soft hair and crush his lips against mine, delighting when he moans into my mouth. His hands slide beneath my ass and his cock jerks, straining toward me despite the layers of clothing separating us.

Paul’s hands glide up my back, finding my dress’s zipper pull and lowering it a few inches before they stop moving. He shifts, freeing his mouth and stares down at me. “May I?”

I can’t find my voice, so I nod, giving him my consent. He understands, and in one long, smooth move, he slides the zipper all the way down. The straps slide off my shoulders and the bodice falls, revealing my bare breasts as the dress pools around my waist.

Paul’s hungry gaze rakes across my breasts. The nipples pebble in response and a self-satisfied smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, gently pushing me backwards until I slide off his lap and tumble onto the couch cushion. The leather is cold against my skin, but it does nothing to cool my ardor. At this point, I don’t think anything can douse the intense fire burning within me.

Paul’s strong hands slide the dress over my hips and down my legs. My heart does a neat little flip as he takes in my silky, fire engine red panties and the matching garter belts that circle my thighs.

He fingers one of the narrow straps that attach the tops of my stockings to the garter belt. “Apparently dressing the part doesn’t end on the outside.”

I blush with pleasure. When I dressed for work, I never imagined anyone but me would see my choice in underwear. Now, I’m glad I took the time to put on the pretty pieces that are reproductions of the types of underthings women wore during the Roaring Twenties. I don’t know why I do it, but I wear them for me. To feel like something I’m not. Or something I’m about to be…

“It seems appropriate.” My voice is so thick with desire I barely recognize it as my own.

“I love it,” Paul whispers.

“I’m glad,” I reply.

Paul shifts so his upper body covers me. He rains a line of kisses along my collar bone, each brush of his lips igniting little pulse points of pleasure that border on pain. I shiver and squirm beneath him.

“Relax,” Paul whispers, his hands gliding up and down the sides of my torso.

Easier said than done.

I’ve never felt this way before in my life. The hot, liquid pressure building within me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and at the rate it’s building, it’s going to blow me apart before much more time passes. I’m torn between wanting Paul to continue his ministrations and wanting to stop before the pressure overwhelms me.

Paul’s hands slide lower. His fingers hook in the waistband of my panties before he slides them down and they land in a heap on top of my discarded dress. A second later, my garters and stockings join the pile.

I let out a moan and slide my own hands beneath his shirt, desperate to touch him. My hands slide along rock-hard muscles.

Paul responds to my touch with even more force than I respond to his. With a low, animalistic growl, he jerks his heavy sweatshirt over his head and throws it over the back of the couch. His jeans disappear in the next moment, landing on the floor beside my dress.

Bare silken skin tugs against hair-roughened skin as Paul slides down my body, dragging his mouth across my slightly rounded stomach. I think he’s murmuring something, but I can’t make out the words past the roar of blood pounding through my veins. I squirm against the couch, instinctively parting my thighs, preparing myself for the touch I know is coming even as I worry that it’s going to burn me from the inside out.

Coherent thought is pushed aside by a tidal wave of intense, undeniable desire.

Paul slides even lower, his mouth grazing my pussy, brushing against the outer lips that protect my most sensitive and secret place. I close my eyes and buck against him, demanding more.

He doesn’t make me wait.

My trembling thighs press against his shoulders, holding him in place as his breath fans over me, touching nerve endings I didn’t even know existed. I didn’t know, didn’t even imagine, it would feel this good.

Nerves lick at my stomach, but I don’t care. I trust Paul in a way I’ve never trusted anyone else. He’ll walk out on me, I know that, and the experience might leave me with a bruised heart, but that’s on me.

I know, deep in my bones, that Paul won’t do anything to hurt me.

“Please,” I whisper, thrusting my hips up at him. “I need …” I can’t put my needs into words. I can only hope he understands.

“Me too,” he replies, his voice sounding like it’s coming from very far away.

He lifts one hand, covering my right breast, his thumb circling the hard peak, setting off bursts of electric energy while his head lowers to my pussy. His tongue flicks against me, causing me to jolt before I slide back into position, begging him with my body to repeat the move.

The pleasure might kill me, but I can’t think of a better way to go.

“Like that, do you?”

“More … than you … can … imagine,” I gasp.

I barely get the words out before Paul turns into a man possessed. His mouth is on my pussy, licking, sucking, lightly nipping.

A faint crinkling noise catches my attention. A condom, I realize, as he unrolls it, covering himself. Thank God he’s using his head. I’m too overwhelmed by desire to have even given safe sex a second thought. And a surprise baby is the last kind of complication my life needs.

My hands find his shoulders, my short nails digging into his flesh as I arch my back up and off the couch, giving him better access, silently demanding more from him.

Taking advantage of my position, Paul’s hands glide over my hips, cupping my ass cheeks. His fingers feel like they’re branding me, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters right now is how I feel.

With one last lick, Paul rises up onto his knees and surges over me.

One hand continues cupping my rear, holding me in position as he guides himself into position. His thick member presses against my opening, pushing against the tender skin. For a split second, I worry that I won’t be enough, that he’s too big for me.

Paul mutters something unintelligible, and his thumb unexpectedly rubs against my small pearl, setting off shockwaves of pure pleasure. My hips buck in response and his thrust at the exact same time. And just like that, he’s buried all the way to the hilt within me.

I shudder as my body struggles to adjust to this intruder. He feels bigger and more intense than my vibrator ever could.

Paul moves before my body is prepared, nearly pulling out all the way, before thrusting back home again.

Desperate to get back to the overwhelmingly pleasurable place I was in just a moment ago, I close my eyes, focusing all my attention on the way his hands feel on my body. The delicious scent of his cologne. And the way his heartbeat and mine seem to be in unison.

It works. By the third thrust, my inner walls pulse around Paul, welcoming his movement instead of resisting it.

It’s like a switch gets flicked somewhere inside of me. One second, I’m aware of Paul’s every move. Of the way he smells. The taste of his kisses. The slide of his skin against mine. The next second, fireworks explode behind my eyelids and ricochet through my body, touching every part of me, burning me with sensational pleasure. Wave after wave rolls through me, each one dragging me under.

Above me, Paul stiffens. His body jerks one more time before his guttural cry mingles with my sobs of pleasure and he sags against me, holding me tightly so we ride out the last waves of intense pleasure together.