Crazy in Love

I rely on my other senses and lick her lower lips like a melting popsicle. Despite the cavernous feeling of her skirt wrapping around me, I’m privy to her moans and can feel her body wiggle as her legs open wider, welcoming me in.

When my tongue plunges into her entrance, her knees grip my shoulders, and her back arches off the bed. The pressure of her hand on my head is felt as she holds me there. “Don’t leave me, Harrison . . .”

I don’t stop, though the words get stuck in my head. Why would I leave her? Why would that even cross her mind at a time like this? Who the fuck is leaving her unsatisfied?

The pressure intensifies, and she continues, “So good. Don’t stop. Yes . . . yes . . . so good.”

Picking up the pace, I fuck her with my mouth and then add a finger into the tightness of her swell.

The need to come is building, and my erection seeks relief against the bed, though it does nothing to satisfy my urge to be inside her. Distracting myself from my own needs, I take advantage of the time to reacquaint myself with what turns her on.

Hot breath makes her moan.

A flat-tongued lick has her panting.

A good old-fashioned finger fuck has her squirming on the bed.

I use one hand to pin her down and then add another finger when she begs for more, faster, harder.

Tremors rip through her body like little earthquakes. I stay steady until her body tenses and tightens around me. My name was rattled off at the peak of her orgasm and then mingled with breathy cursing as she melts into the mattress before me. “Oh fuck, yes. God, yes.”

Pulling back, I watch as she comes undone, and it’s a beautiful fucking sight to behold.

When her breathing steadies, I flip the skirt off my head, and it flies over her face. Tugging it back enough to reveal her beauty, I then drop my hands down on either side of her head. “You have a dirty fucking mouth, baby.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

“Speaking of coming.” I kiss her—heated more than before and hard as I take control of her tongue. My hips push against the apex of her thighs, and I grind against her. “See what you do to me?”

“I don’t want to see. I want to feel you inside me.”

Fucking hell. She’s going to kill me dead with her words alone. “I want you naked on the bed. Or bent over the dresser . . . in the living room. Your choice, but you only have until I’m naked to be ready for me.”

She scrambles to her feet. With her back to me, she twists to unhook the fasten on the side of her skirt. That puddles around her feet as she starts on her top, unzipping the side and pulling the body-hugger down before stepping out of that as well.

My pants are hanging open, and my shirt is almost unbuttoned when she pulls the clip from her hair, and it cascades past her shoulders to her back to hang with the rest. Her ass is round and smooth, drawing me closer. I grab her cheeks, and she stills. Glancing at me over her shoulder, she says, “Patience is a virtue.”

“I have none when it comes to you.”

A sneaky grin slides across her face before she leaves me with an erection aching to be freed. I finish undressing, trying to decide how I’m going to take her first. She crawls onto the bed, flaunting her ass, so I ask, “Is that an invitation?”

Slipping her feet under the covers, she doesn’t scramble to hide her body but taunts me with the sight of it before tempting me to rip these covers off the bed entirely.

I take my time and walk around to the side of the bed, my dick hard and my eyes never leaving hers. I’m about to climb into bed next to her when my stomach plummets. “Fuck.”

How is this possible?

Why would I be so dense?

"What’s wrong?”

I haven’t been carrying protection around Manhattan. I had no reason to. It’s not like I’m fucking every girl who asks in LA, and believe me, they ask and often. But I’m usually prepared just in case. “I don’t have a condom.” I’m finally with the girl I can’t stop thinking about, and I’m blowing it. “Do you have one?”

“Those went bad a long time ago.” Unfazed to the panic I feel inside, she rests her hands behind her head. “How long has it been?”

It’s not that I’ve been with so many in the last year. It’s that they weren’t memorable enough to recall on demand. “Four months, maybe five. I never went without a condom.” I don’t even know what I’m saying. I mean, it’s the truth, but why does that matter now?