Page 78 of A Taste of Vanilla

I nod.

“Yes.”

“For the woman?”

“If she likes it.”

Oh. I like this version of him.

“That was a very practical answer.”

“I’m a practical man.”

“You have a pierced dick.”

His mouth twitches. “Practical men can’t?”

“I’m updating my worldview.”

“Tell me when you’re done.”

“I may need several business days.”

He kisses the laugh out of me.

There’s a condom in his wallet because, obviously, this stranger is the kind of man who comes prepared for emergencies, hydration, and sex with equal seriousness.

He puts it on with hands that are not quite as steady as they were at the bar, and I wrap my hands around his wrist before he comes back over me.

He looks at me.

“I want this,” I say before he can ask.

His eyes soften. “I know.”

“I want you.”

His control fractures, but only for a second.

He’s between my thighs in a second, his body hot and heavy over mine, and there is no room left for Grant or shame or any version of me who wondered whether she was desirable only when she was convenient.

He enters me slowly.

Carefully.

Even then, I gasp.

He stops immediately.

“Good?” he asks, voice strained.

I dig my nails into his shoulders. “Good.”

He moves another inch.

The stretch is intense. Full and overwhelming in the kind of way that makes me cling to him and breathe through it. The piercing adds a bright, strange pressure that sends sparks up my spine.

I make a sound I cannot control, and his head drops beside mine. “Still good?”