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As he says it, my eyes roll back. I’m falling over the edge, but I’m suspended in air. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. My mouth opens on a silent scream that could break glass. Until . . .

Nothing.

From afar, I’m watching what should be my orgasm play out. It’s a fireworks display, beautiful and bright, a rush of pops, explosions, and blinding colors. I cry because it’s better than anything I remember, but it’s not happening to me. It’s only a preview of what could be with Gio.

In shock, I lie silent and breathing hard. The almost-finale replays in my mind again because I did not come.

I did not come because I stopped myself.

For once in my life, those pesky ear demons weren’t the issue. Normally, they’d whisper, “You’re not good enough. No one will want to touch or love you like this.” In the past, that’s all it took for a beautiful moment to turn dark. But this time, something different stopped me.

I stopped me. I turned it off.

Tears stream down my cheeks. It’s the only way I’ve learned to relieve some of the tension. The worst part is I’ve waited so long to make it to the finish line again, and when I finally arrived, I stopped it.

“Sophia?” Gio’s voice hits me like a wall. I’m waking from a nightmare. “Sophia, are you okay?”

I can’t respond. I’m lost, drifting on a fog of complicated emotions.

“If you don’t answer me, I’m coming over,” he says.

Beside me the sheet-wall flutters as if Gio’s jumped from bed. I can’t see him, but I know he’s standing on the other side, his body tense, ready to save me again.

“I’m okay.” I roll off the mattress and reach for my clothing. “I’m fine.”

I sniffle and shrug into my shirt. I jump on one foot at a time to wrangle each leg into my sleep shorts and then drag them to my hips.

“Are you crying?” His anxious words flip to concern. “Did I hurt you?”

Did he hurt me?

He didn’t even touch me. No, he just helped me climb Mount Everest and base jump, except when the parachute opened, I clipped the cords.

“It’s okay. We can try again,” Gio says soothingly. He’s figured it out. He knows I crashed and burned. Of course he does.

I march to the center of the room and tug back the sheet. When Gio’s face appears, his expression is filled with determination, not regret.

“You want to try again?” I repeat his words in shock.

“I told you I would make it my mission to make you come.” He reaches out and cups my chin with both hands to wipe away runaway tears with his thumbs. He’s doing that thing again, where he looks from spot to spot on my face. It’s disarming.

This is the part where I should tell him the truth. I should clarify he took me all the way to the end, but it was me who stopped it. I held back.

I have no doubt it would have happened. Finally, after all this time. But if it did, if I came like I desperately wanted, that would mean this adventure is over. Gio’s mission is complete.

And the thing is, I’m not ready to let the only man who’s capable of making me come off the hook yet. Maybe because he did it without touching me. Maybe because with the way he’s looking at me right now, I know he could do it again and again.

If we do this enough, I might become good at it. Maybe all this time I only needed a very alluring personal-orgasm cheerleader.

His hands fall away when my expression turns serious. My lips turn down in a frown. I step closer to him, chest to chest, and meet his gaze. From here, I ease into that place that’s comfortable for both of us.

Competition.

“I guess you’ll have to try harder next time,” I say in challenge.

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giovanni