It takes a few moments for me to catch my breath, for my heart rate to stop galloping like an animal on the run. My thoughts won’t gather; I can only lie here while Kayla extracts herself and lies down next to me, her head propped up on her hand, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my chest.

“Hey,” she says.

I clear my throat. “Hello.” Even so, my voice is rough like sandpaper. “That was…”

“I know,” she says, completely confident in the many ways she just undid me. “It was the least I could do for three orgasms last night.”

I lick my parched lips and tilt my head to stare at her in the dimness. Her eyes are so wet and dark, and I know I have a bad habit of staring into them for too long, but I can’t help it.

I reach over and take a strand of her hair between my fingers and gently brush it off her face. There’s something about her that makes me tender from time to time. She tries her hardest not to show it, but I can see it, how vulnerable she is deep down. How badly she fights to cover it up with brevity and cynicism, but I know it’s there. It brings out my ever-present protectiveness.

“I guess you should be going soon,” she says softly.

I’m taken aback. Like a dog, my hackles go up. “Okay…”

She curls her hand around the back of my neck and leans in closer. “I don’t want you to go. But you do have two dogs at your apartment and I have to get up for work soon.”

I nod. Right. The dogs. She’s right. I’d never planned on staying the night, it just happened that way. Coming inside her was like taking a massive sleeping pill, and the fact that I just came again—all over my stomach—means I’m apt to fall right back asleep.

“Do you have a towel or tissue paper?” I ask her, nodding at my stomach, at the cum that glistens in a pool. I’m lucky I didn’t get it in my eye.

She gets out of bed, her sleek, curvy body like a woman’s silhouette in a spy film. She tosses me a tissue box from her bookshelf and I quickly mop up the mess.

“Need a shower?” she asks when I’m done. Her voice drops a register, getting all Scarlet Johansson-ish. “I could use one.”

It’s a tonic to my dick, and I feel it pulse, despite how exhausted it has to be. But I’m not exhausted. I also have no intention of going home right away if I can help it. It’s still so early, the dogs should be sleeping. They’ll be okay for a little bit before I return. I don’t know how many more minutes of Kayla Moore I get in my lifetime.

“Sure,” I tell her. She takes my hand in hers and pulls me off the bed. Now that I’m looming over her, she looks so willowy, tiny, and dare I say, helpless, even though I know she’s anything but.

She glances down, sees the stirrings of another erection.

“The hell,” she says. “How is that even possible?”

I stand there proudly before her. “Anything is possible with me.”

“You really are a beast,” she comments.

“Funny,” I tell her, “that’s my nickname on the field.”

“And in the bedroom, I guess.”

“No,” I tell her, putting my hands on the soft small of her waist and pulling her in. “Only with you.”

I can tell she’s grinning at me. She steps out of my grasp and does a sexy walk, her hips swaying back and forth, all the way to the washroom. She flicks on the light then throws her hand in front of her face, blinking hard.

“It’s a bit bright,” she says.

“All the better to see you,” I tell her, following her in.

Her bathroom is about the size of a shoe box, with a sink, toilet, and glass-encased shower. A large mirror extends along the entire wall, adding depth. I stare at our reflections. I look so giant next to her, the scars, my messy hair, the scores of tattoos. I look like a bruiser, a fighter, a reject. She looks like a princess compared to me, so delicate and soft and pale. I really am the beast here.

Thank god she likes it. She’s meeting my eyes in the reflection, and her lips part just enough for me to get a glimpse of her tongue.

“Get in the shower,” I tell her. “Lather up.”

She frowns, walking over to it and turning it on. “What are you going to do?”

“It’s barely big enough for the both of us,” I tell her. “I’m going to watch you clean yourself. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you silly.”

She tilts her head, appraising me with a look of wonder on her sweet face. “Who are you again? The insatiable man?”

“Perfectly paired with the insatiable girl.” I give her a half-smile and jerk my head at the shower. “Go.”

“All right,” she says slowly with a raise of her brows. She steps in the shower and lets the water run over her. Her neck goes back, her back arches, the water streams over her perky breasts, her tight little arse, over every soft and curvy part of her body. It’s like watching fucking porn but it’s live and in front of me, and for now, for these last hours of morning, she’s all mine.

I lean back against the sink, and in no time my cock is rock hard again and hot between my hands. I watch as she squirts body wash on a sponge and runs it all over her body, the white lather dripping between her tits and down the curve of her hips and pelvis.

“Play with yourself,” I tell her, my voice coarse with lust.

She smirks at me. “You’re really bossy.”

“Again, so are you.”

Kayla gives me a triumphant look then keeps her eyes locked with mine as her hands and the sponge dip between her legs. At this point, most girls would look away, feeling like they are display, exposed. But she has no problems baring all to me. She stares deep into my eyes until her own pleasure makes her break. Her head goes back, her eyes pinch shut, that gorgeous, fuckable mouth opens as she moans.

Yeah. I can’t handle much more.

I walk over to the shower and she shrinks up against the wall to give me room.

“Keep the door open,” I tell her. “Brace your hands on the edge.”

“The floor will get soaked,” she says, but still complies.

“You have towels.”

She shrugs, and I see a hint of tension in her brow. It’s not quite worry—she just doesn’t know what’s coming next.

“Should I go get a condom?” she asks.

“It depends,” I say. I grab her hair and force her head down so she’s bending at the waist, and her slick, soapy arse is pressed against the length of my cock. She fumbles for the handle of the open door, holding on with both hands. The mirror across from us displays us perfectly, though it’s slowly getting fogged up.

“Depends on what?” she asks, but I can tell she already knows what I have planned.

I slide my fingers between the cheeks of her arse, up and down, probing at her cunt and then further up. “This okay?” I whisper, tracing my fingers around in circles.

She nods but doesn’t say anything. I slowly push a finger in, then take it back out, making sure it gets extra slick and soapy before it goes back in. She clenches around me, and I have to breathe in deep, making sure I don’t lose it before my cock even has a chance to slip inside.

I squeeze a dollop of the body wash in my hand, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror as our features gradually fog over. I rub it along my length and then with one hand holding her hips and the other at the base of my cock, I push myself in the tightest space imaginable.

She gasps but pushes back into me to let me know I should keep going. I take it as easy as I can, my movements slow and deliberate.

“This still okay?” I murmur, hoping she’s at least getting some thrill out of it, even if it doesn’t match mine. Before she has a chance to answer, I let go of her hip and my hand slides between her legs. It’s hard to tell if she is wet from the shower or from her own arousal. I like to pretend it’s all for me.

She immediately relaxes into my fingers, her feet taking a wide stance on the slick tiles. The muscles along the length of her back smooth out, and her head hangs down limply as she gives herself to me.