Perfect Strangers

His moan is the barest whisper of breath against my skin. “And this. So sweet and soft. My sweet Olivia. Always so ready for me.”

I’m panting, canting my ass out and rocking against his fingers like the greedy little strumpet I am. He’s made a sex kitten out of me. I might as well be purring.

The slap is a shock. Accompanied by a dangerous, low noise rumbling through James’s chest, it comes without warning and makes me yelp in surprise.

James rises. He stands at my side, grips my hip in his right hand, and slides his left hand around the front of me, between my legs. Gently pinching my labia, he slaps my ass again.

I gasp and sag against him, my palms still flattened against the shower door.

“Give me your mouth.”

I do as I’m told, tilting my head back for his kiss. As his tongue invades my mouth, he spanks me again and again, squeezing his fingers together around my aching pussy. Every collision of his hand against my bare flesh sends a stinging shockwave of pleasure through me until I can stand it no longer and beg.

“Please,” I whisper, opening my eyes to gaze up at him through a fog of heat. “Please.”

He knows what I’m asking, but his eyes are ablaze and his breathing is as ragged as mine. I can tell he’s enjoying this far too much to let it be over so soon. He’s not ready to give me the release I crave just yet.

“Get in the shower and turn on the water.”

He steps away from me, pulls his T-shirt over his head, and waits for me to follow his command with eyes that are like living fire.

Shaking, I open the shower door and step inside. The first blast of water is icy, making me flinch, but it quickly turns warm, then hot. James kicks off his shoes and strips off the rest of his clothing, then joins me in the shower, closing the door behind him.

He kisses me hard and deep, his arms so tight around me it’s borderline painful. The embrace feels desperate. That I can guess why makes a lump form in my throat.

We’re on borrowed time. Even if I wasn’t leaving in September, there’s another clock loudly ticking—a far more doleful clock—though he doesn’t know I know that, which makes it all the more difficult to bear.

A lie of omission is still a lie. The impulse that made me want to confess as soon as I saw him sitting in the chair beside my bed is growing, beating like a trapped hummingbird inside the cage of my chest.

I break away from his mouth and look up into his eyes. “I have to say something,” I blurt, heart hammering. “I need to tell you what I’ve—”

“No.” His head shake is vehement, and so is his voice. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to abide by your rules. No questions. No strings. You were right: it’s the only way it’ll work.”

Dismayed, I stare at him. “But James—”

“Until September comes and you walk out of my life forever, we’re going to spend every day as if it’s our last. No regrets. No looking back or forward. Just being in the moment. Making every minute count. Making memories we both can treasure after we go back to our real lives.”

His calm and conviction are devastating. Here’s a man who knows he’s dying, and has decided to live what life he has left to the fullest. Without self pity. Without fear.

His courage moves me like nothing has in years.

Hot steam swirls around my face, and I hope it helps hide the tears gathering in my eyes. “Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “If that’s what you want, then okay.”

“That’s what I want. And this, too.”

He turns me toward the spray, pins me against his wet chest with one arm, then takes my hand and pulls it behind me and between our bodies, curling it around his erection. Into my ear he whispers, “Stroke me.”

He releases his hand from mine and moves it between my legs.

The spray of water is hot and stinging against my sensitive breasts. When James glides his fingers back and forth over my clitoris, lazily rubbing, my nipples harden and start to ache. He flexes his pelvis into my hand. I squeeze his shaft, then slide my hand up to the crown and squeeze there, too.

When I slide my hand back to the base, he flexes his hips again, pumping into my grip. Tugging on my swollen clit, he hisses into my ear, “Feel how hard you make me? Feel how rock hard I am for you, sweetheart?”

He is. In my hand, his erection feels like a steel pipe sheathed in silk. I make an incoherent noise and stroke the length of his rigid shaft again, stopping on the downstroke to fondle his tight balls. That makes him suck in a hard breath.

He knocks my hand away, positions himself at my entrance, and thrusts inside me.

Groaning, I let my head fall back against his shoulder. He bites me on the neck and starts to pump into me, steadying me with one hand gripped around my hip and an arm clamped around my ribcage. Hot water pulses against my nipples, streaming down my body to funnel between my thighs.

“You’re so big,” I whisper, loving how he stretches me open with every thrust. Loving the way he fills me.

He responds by pulling the shower head off the wall and directing the hot, stinging spray right between my spread thighs.

When I moan and writhe against him, he slides his other hand up and squeezes my breast. “Imagine that’s my mouth,” he says in a guttural voice, holding the shower head inches from my flesh. “Imagine I’m fucking you and licking your pussy at the same time.”