Suddenly, I’m worried that nobody will ever live up to Ryan. He’s worked more magic with his fingers than any man has done with my entire body combined. It’ll be impossible to date again after Ryan.

Then again, I haven’t even had Ryan yet. I focus on him now, pushing thoughts of what’s next into oblivion. The way he’s looking at me feels a bit like a lion watching its prey, and if I don’t get moving soon, I bet he’ll take my shirt off with his teeth.

I reach down, wiggling out of his grasp, and pull my shirt over my head. I’m wearing a simple, black bra—I hadn’t expected to go out after my show tonight, so I was dressed for practicality.

Ryan, God bless his soul, doesn’t seem to care about the bra at all. It hits the floor one second later, and then his mouth is on my collarbone. Hot and tender, he leads a trail of kisses down my chest, brushing his lips over the tops of my breasts.

I’m on fire. The touch of his lips against my skin is enough to set me off, but I refuse. This time, I’m bringing him with me. Then, his lips clamp around my nipple, and I forget about everything else. His mouth moves in ways that have me writhing, pulling him closer and pushing away all at once.

Ryan reaches out, grasps me, holds me to his chest. His arm guides my back onto the soft comforter as he lays me down, exposing every inch of me. It’s his turn to fumble with my jeans, and he struggles. I don’t blame him—they’re from high school and thus a little too tight around the waist.

“Shit,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Damn jeans.”

I help him, my hands guiding his as he peels the pants away from my legs until they’re nothing but a memory. All I care about is Ryan’s hands—they’re running up my legs, just the tips of his fingers making contact, sending goose bumps prickling over my skin.

“Ryan…” I say, but that’s all I can manage as his fingers pass the insides of my thighs.

All I have on now is a thin pair of panties. They’re lacey and pink, something fun I always wear when I perform. I wear them for luck, to remind me that I can be fun and flirty if I really want to, and they’re an even better reminder of that now.

He rests a possessive hand there, one of his fingers straying along the outside of the fabric, testing for my reaction as he watches my face, the pressure almost too much to handle. It’s overwhelming, and I mumble nonsense.

“You like that?” he murmurs in a husky, lust filled voice “I’m just getting started, honey …”

Next, he dips his head and plants a kiss next to his fingers, and it makes me burn with pleasure. Lava—I am lava.

Thankfully, he pauses there, giving me a moment to breath. “You are ready for me,” he says, almost in awe.

“Not yet,” I grit out. “Lay down first.”

He doesn’t listen, his hand clamping down as he leans in for a kiss. This time I’m ready for it, and I take advantage of his one-armed stance to shift him over onto the bed. It pains me shift his fingers away from working their magic, but I do it before he can stop me and lower myself against him.

Now it’s just me, a bit of lacy material, Ryan, and his boxers. I can feel him for the first time without denim between us, and it’s more pleasure than I’ve ever known. I close my eyes, adjusting until his fingers come up to grasp my waist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he murmurs. “I wasn’t done with you.”

We’re somewhere between playful wrestling and passionate sex, and I like it. I love it, actually, especially when he starts rubbing again, tracing small circles around my sweet spot. My eyes are still closed, and I’m lost in the moment, moving against him, until I realize it’s enough to set me off. I raise my hips from him, pausing the momentum.

His hand clasps my wrist, but it’s not enough to stop me from slithering downward and sliding his boxers off. He springs free, sort of like a jack-in-the-box, and the analogy makes me giggle in my head. I do another second’s worth of ogling, and then I lower my mouth to him, clasping my lips firm enough to draw a sharp breath.

He had started to argue, to reach for me, but he loses all will to fight as I begin to move. “Oh, shit,” he says. “That feels incredible.”

I hide my smile. Never did I ever think I’d meet Ryan Pierce in person, let alone be here, in his bed, making him hiss with pleasure. My life could be so much worse.

Judging by his moans and his fingers gripping my hair and pulling tight, whatever I’m doing at the moment is working.

“Stop,” he says, breaking the rhythm. He’s on the verge, I can see it in his eyes. “Lie down.”

“But—”

“Lie down,” he says again. “Please.”

It’s difficult to argue with a demand like that, so I roll onto my back. Somehow, the undies have disappeared. He perches on top of me, one arm easing around my back so he’s holding my chest to his, our skin slick with heat, want, need. He’s produced a condom from somewhere unknown and rolls it on, and the next thing I know, he’s nudging into me, slowly, cautiously.

“You’re a tease,” I gasp. “Freaking tease.”

He reaches around, grasping at my back, my bottom, my hips, pulling me tighter. He’s barely inside, and already he’s filled me. His hand joins the party, rubbing in circles and bringing sensations to the table that I’ve never before experienced.

Finally, I can’t handle it anymore, and I yank his hips toward me. We sit there for a moment, stilled, almost in shock at how good this feels. I’ve never felt so complete, so on fire, so needy for more.

I can tell he feels the same, and only a second later he puts his hands on either side of my body and begins to rock. It’s not enough to just be; I need everything he has to give, and he needs me too—I can sense it.

I move with him, my hips arching, my mouth pressed to his neck. He kisses me, but I can hardly think, can hardly feel, and all I know is the sense of exhilaration as if we’re on a rollercoaster that’s about to fly off the rails.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs. “Thank the Lord for amendments.”

I murmur an agreement as my hands dig into his back while his fingers cinch me tight, and I feel the racing of his heart. Our mouths clash in a tangle of heat. Then, just when I’m ready to go over the edge, he pushes me back, pulls almost out, and hesitates, his eyes locking on mine.

We pause there, my core aching for him, his hand fisted through my hair as he holds on tight. The moment is shattered as he thrusts in, long, hard, fast, and from there we’re on a bottle rocket sailing toward space.

His name falls from my lips as he rocks us to a climax, and when we finally take off, I learn the meaning of seeing stars. Tiny little shimmering things I never knew existed in reality fill my field of vision.

We continue sailing, feeling, gasping, until long after the stars have blinked out. I collapse against him, satiated. I’m spent, completely, and in a post-sex drunken bliss that makes it impossible to speak.

He strokes my hair, whispers gentle words against my ear, and runs his fingers down my spine until finally, I feel somewhat human again. The first thing I do is look up, smile, and kiss him hard on the lips.

“Wow,” I breathe when we break. “That was…”

I decide to let him fill in the gap.

“Out of this world?” he murmurs, his hand sleepily pushing my hair back from my face.

We manage to disconnect, but neither of us are in a hurry to go anywhere. I roll into his chest and his arms hold me tight to him. I’m exhausted and completely, utterly happy, and I decide I want to have sex like this all the time. It’s awesome.

With each of my previous partners—granted, there weren’t a lot, but the number is higher than one—sex has been this sort of vanilla thing we did to fill the time if we were moderately attracted to one another. It has never been about love, passion, or even lust.