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When we cross the threshold of his bedroom, it’s as if it has been charged with pure sex. Like pheromones in the air turn us into animals making us move in a fuck-driven fury.

His shoes, my boots.

His shirt, my dress.

Mouths connected, I unbuckle his belt. He pulls his jeans down. Steps back, just slightly, looking at me like he’s studying me. Like he wants to be able to recall the black lace of my bra or the thin strips of my panties. Learn the freckles on my skin the way some people know constellations in the sky. He puts his index finger on my sternum, dragging it down between the swell of my breasts to my belly button. Lower. With just his index finger over the black satin of my panties, hejusttouches me—nearbut not on—and he watches me. Every movement of my muscles. Every rise of my chest.

I reach my hands in the top of his boxers and he stops me.

“I’ve waited too long to rush this, Scotty.”

The slowness he moves thickens the want in the air until it’s so severe, it’s hard to breathe. Hard to think through the anticipation. The aches. The hunger my entire body is experiencing.

Fingers working, he presses into me but not hard enough. I need to feel him. Taste him.Something.

Too fast for him to stop me, I grab the band of his boxers and drag them straight down his legs, dropping to my knees.

“Sco—”Him in my mouth, the rest of my name turns to a moan on his lips. And though he’s not touching me, his fingers in my hair and him filling my mouth to the point of watering my eyes makes me wonder if I’m going to get off, just like this.

It would be a first, and with him, I’m here for it.

When his hips chase my mouth with more urgency, my lips are on his thighs, his hips. I pause at the bruise on his ribs, touching it gently, licking it then kissing before moving across his chest until I’m standing again, sucking his neck.

His hand slides down.

Low.

Lower.

In.

Pumping.

Hard.

My hips grind his hand.

“This is new,” I say with a gasp.

“And?” He doesn’t stop, just pulls back enough so he can see me while he works. It’s sexy, him watching me as I relearn every move, taste, and sound of him.

Pump. Pump.Pump.

“And,” I grit out, grinding against his hand more uncontrolled and desperate for more friction, “I approve.”

His mouth is back on mine. One hand works, and the other fumbles with my bra.

It’s off; his free hand finds a breast, pinches until I moan.Again.His hardness presses right into my belly and hits my skin like a branding iron, heating me straight to the core.

“I need to taste you.”

Yes, please.

I don’t need to respond; he’s sliding my panties down my legs—fast—directing me to the bed. I comply. He’s on his knees, draping my legs over his shoulders and turning my whimpers into cries when I feel his tongue on my flesh. I am about three breaths away from detonation.

“Holy shit,” I say through gritted teeth as my back arches off the bed and he becomes a sorcerer of eatery with every swipe of his tongue and nip of his teeth.

Then he’s up, kneeling above me, hard and hot. “Are we supposed to use a condom?” he asks, fumbling with a drawer at his nightstand. “I don’t know if I have one. I haven’t been—you know—but . . .” He looks at me, almost panicked.