He fumbles between us, pulling my underwear down so I can free one leg and then his fingers are there, sliding over and into me and it’s like being plugged into the solar system, everything inside me is light and fire, and I’m squirming under him to get there because, already, I’m close. I want to know what he feels, how he feels when he’s touching me and I’m there, too, one finger twisted around his and he laughs into a kiss, telling me how amazing it is. How can he find words when I’m completely speechless? His thumb grazes my clit again and again and I’m so swollen and desperate and pushing up off the bed so he can reach deeper with his forever-long fingers. His cock brushes against our hands and then he shifts his hips and moves our fingers out of the way and then it’s there, closer, and with a tiny synchronized catch in our breath he’s pushing forward and he slides into me.

“Oh, fuck,” he says

and

“Lola. Oh fuck me. Oh fuck me.”

And it turns to frenzy.

He’s moving

not just moving but

absolutely fucking me

and

it’s Oliver and he’s inside me already

and he’s moving so deep in and out, groaning into my neck.

Oliver plants his knees into the mattress and moves—there is nothing but sound in the darkness around us: the headboard slams against the wall, the hinges of the bed groan in protest. He’s grunting in my ear because it’s work, fucking me like this: fast and messy. His fingers slip over my chin and my mouth and he’s following with his tongue, licking my taste from my skin.

We’re laughing into kisses because it’s good—it’s so good—and my hands are everywhere between us: his chest and hips and stomach and the base of his cock. Somewhere deep down I knew it would be like this, I did. In the corners where I let myself imagine being close to anyone in this way, it was him. Always the fantasy had a flash of dark hair tucked into my neck, long fingers wrapped around my hip, his mouth curved into a knowing smile when I start to come—

“Oh, God—”

My words are cut off by pleasure. Smoke runs through my veins, hot and weightless until I feel like I’m floating, grappling for him with hands and nails, begging with unintelligible sounds to keep doing whatever he’s doing that’s already so good, so good, please, I’m screaming under him, so loud I hear the echo bounce sharply back to me.

Pleasure fills every limb until I’m mindless and I’m melting, burning, dissolving into relief.

His rhythm is frantic through my orgasm but as soon as I quiet, choking for air, he’s jerking back and pulling out so abruptly I feel immediately hollow.

“Fuck,” he gasps, sitting back on his heels with his chest heaving as he wipes a hand down his face. He bends, tucking his chin to his chest as he takes several gasping breaths.

Panic and bliss react oddly in my blood and I can barely find the words to ask: “What’s wrong?”

He curls a shaking palm around my thigh. “I’m not wearing a rubber. I nearly came.”

My heart is pounding, skin damp with sweat, and I’m reeling from the reality of what just happened.

We just had sex.

We fell into his bed, and within only a few minutes we were completely fucking.

Instinctively, I reach to touch his forearms when he smooths his hands up and down my spread thighs.

“Did you come?” he whispers.

I still can’t really find words, so I nod and manage, “Yes. God.”

In fact, I think I nearly passed out.

His hand moves up my hip, over my stomach, to my breast where he covers me with a warm palm. “I can’t believe.” He swallows, closing his eyes. “That we’re . . .”

Now that my eyes have fully adjusted in the darkness I can see more of his body. It was one thing to see him in his underwear in the bright light of daytime in my living room, but it’s nothing compared to the shape of him over me in the shadows, kneeling between my spread legs. I take in the expanse of his torso, the ridges of his abdomen, the sharp curve of his hips leading down to the heavy, wet weight of his cock.

His thumb strokes over my nipple in tight, pressing circles. “I thought I would savor it more the first time we . . . if we ever did this.”

Coherent thoughts are tiny, buzzing flies in the background. “I feel too crazy right now to savor.”

“Me, too,” he admits, laughing. “Clearly.”

I want him back where he was twenty seconds ago, covering me in his weight and his sweat and pivoting his hips between my legs. Sitting up, I cup the back of his neck, kissing his swollen, wet mouth before asking, “Do you have condoms?”

“Yeah.” His fingers slide between my legs, mouth moving with mine in deep, searching kisses. When I reach for him, he’s covered in me, and I relish the wet slide of my hand up and down and the way he moans into my mouth, nearly whimpering. His free hand comes around mine, not guiding, just feeling the way my fingers wrap around him the same way mine did earlier, for a few long strokes before he begins to move with me, kisses growing more urgent as he leans in, nearly sliding back inside.

“Hurry,” I whisper, and he shushes me with his lips.

“Hang on, hang on,” he says, gently pulling my hand away. “Hang on. This . . . I want to slow down and feel all of this.” His kisses narrow into small, sweet tastes of my mouth. “I don’t want to come as fast as I will if we fuck like that again.”

I don’t know how sex with Oliver can ever be slow now that I know how it feels when he’s unhinged. Forever now, when he tries to be gentle I won’t have it. No, I’ll think. I know how you feel when you absolutely fuck me.

He reaches for the bedside table, fumbling with a box that I notice, with a small rush of satisfaction, was sealed shut. Returning with a foil packet, he drops it on the bed beside me. When I reach for it, he covers my hand with his before covering my lips with his smile.

“Wait.” He laughs into a kiss. “Wait.”

Lowering his body over mine, he bends and kisses me, slowing me down, heating me up, showing me what it feels like to savor.

The full mouth, his shoulders, and the strong, ropey lines down his arms.

The lean muscles of his back, his ass bunching in my palms as he slides wetly across me, fucking me on the outside.

The soft, dark trail of hair pressing against my navel.

We aren’t having sex yet, but we are; penetration is a technicality at this point, and I feel in his gaze that he’s telling me something with every kiss, every slide of skin over skin.

He watches me in a way that feels like he’s seeing more than my face looking up at his or my breasts shifting with his movements. He’s seeing me. The heat of it makes me wild, like skin singed, blood simmering.

“I feel like we have forever to ‘savor,’ ” I whine quietly. “I don’t—”

He reaches for the condom, putting it in my palm and kneeling between my legs. “I know.”

I tear it open, feeling it briefly to orient myself. I’m suddenly nervous and know my hands are a little fumbly, my fingers unpracticed at this. “It’s been a while since I did this.”

He smiles but says nothing, holding his breath as he watches me cover the head, anchor the condom with one hand, and roll it all the way down with the other. There’s a good couple of inches of him left uncovered and I feel the skin there, marveling until he leans forward, hands planted beside my head.

I can tell he wants to say something, but I also get the sense that it’s nearly too much to articulate without sounding trite or overly sentimental. It’s probably why I’m not saying much, either.

When he leans in, kissing me softly, he asks, “You want me like this?”

I assume he means on top of me again. “Yeah.”

His cock feels warmer than any other part of him, like fire barely contained. The feel of it in my hand makes everything inside turn liquid, makes my brain turn fuzzy. I close my eyes, bite my lip as I guide him in, shutting off some of my senses so I can process how he feels, the stretch of it when he shifts forward and into me. He’s shockingly hard where I am so soft and tender and it crosses wires in my body, makes me feel crazy, makes me wonder whether I could take him everywhere, where else he could possibly fit.