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Everything goes still.

The world narrows to that single point of contact. My breath stops. Then the orgasm rolls in, not a crash this time, but a slow, deep tide that lifts me and carries me under.

It’s calmer, almost gentle, my chest rising and falling in long, shuddering breaths as pleasure blooms outward in warm, pulsing waves. I float through it, weightless, boneless.

“Four,” I gasp when I can speak again.

He kisses the shell of my ear. “Good girl. You’re going to give me one more, aren’t you? Be my good girl and come for me again.”

I’m wrung out, exhausted, every muscle trembling, but the words hit something deep inside me. I find myself nodding, gasping, “Yes.”

He pulls out long enough to flip me onto my stomach. I barely have time to brace on my forearms before he’s behind me again, guiding himself back inside with one smooth, slow glide.

He covers my body with his, chest to my back, one arm banded around my waist, the other bracing beside my head. His weight pins me deliciously, safe and overwhelming all at once.

He starts moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips that feel less like fucking and more like something dangerously close to making love. His lips brush my shoulder, my neck, the sensitive spot behind my ear.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. “Look at you, taking me so perfectly. This tight little pussy gripping me like a glove. Fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

The praise sinks into me like warm honey. I had no idea I had a praise kink until right this second, but every word lights me up from the inside. My hips lift instinctively to meet him, chasing the slow burn building again.

He captures my mouth in a deep, languid kiss, nothing frantic now, just slow sweeps of his tongue, like he’s savoring every second.

God, this has to stop. This tenderness, this intimacy, it’s too much. If it keeps going like this, I’m going to do something stupid. I’m going to blurt out that I love him, to a stranger whose name I don’t even know, and I’ll never live it down.

The orgasm sneaks up on me this time, quiet, inevitable. I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep quiet, to keep the words locked inside.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispers against my mouth. “Let it go for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

I can’t fight it. The moan tears out of me, long and broken, as I come again, shuddering, clenching around him, every muscle tightening and releasing in perfect waves.

He groans my surrender like it’s his own, thrusts growing erratic, deeper, until he buries himself to the hilt and follows me over the edge.

He collapses beside me on the bed, both of us slick with sweat, chests heaving in the sudden quiet. The room smells like sex and him, mixed with my scent. His arm drapes over my waist, heavy and possessive, pulling me against his side.

I stare at the ceiling, heart still racing, body humming with aftershocks.

Five.

I came five times tonight.

Chapter Four

Rosie

I lie there, chest heaving, staring up at the shadowed ceiling as my body tries to remember how to function. Every muscle feels like it’s been rewired, loose, humming, spent in a way I’ve never been before.

What the hell was that? Five orgasms. And I squirted. I didn’t even know my body could do that. I’m still floating somewhere between bliss and disbelief when I feel the mattress shift beside me.

He gets up without a word. I hear the soft pad of his bare feet across the carpet, then the faint click of the ensuite door. Water runs. A cabinet opens and closes.

I should move. I should at least drag myself to the bathroom and clean up. But my legs feel like they belong to someone else, rubbery, useless. I’m not sure I could stand if my life depended on it.

A minute later, the bed dips again. He’s back.

Gentle hands part my thighs. A warm, damp cloth presses against my oversensitive flesh, soft, careful strokes that make me suck in a breath.

I’ve experienced aftercare before. The tenderness of it hits me harder than any of the orgasms did.