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I'm here, in my body, and I want to soak up every moment of it.
As much as I can, anyway.
It's too overwhelming.
He rubs me again and again, testing different speeds and different pressures, until he finds exactly the one I need.
I tug at his t-shirt.
He works me with the same perfect strokes. Again and again, pushing me closer and closer.
Then he brings his hand to my chest, and I nearly come from the friction—
I like being halfway out of my clothes.
I like him toying with me.
I really, really like the feel of his thumb against my nipple.
He pushes me against the dining room table.
I pull back with a sigh. "Fuck." I dig my nails into his skin.
He works me exactly how I need him, pushing me closer with every brush of his fingers.
Closer.
Closer.
There—
The tension in my sex unwinds. Pleasure spills through my body, waking up every molecule, erasing the stresses of the day.
Right now, none of that matters.
Right now, this is the only thing that matters.
He works me through my orgasm, then he pushes my panties off my hips. "Bed. Now."
I don't want to wait for the bed. I want to do this here, now. I need him inside me. I need it in a way I've never needed anything.
But the table—
That's strange and overwhelming too.
I nod.
He leads me up the stairs and lowers me onto the bed on my back.
I shake my head. "Like the table."
He nods, turns me over. "On your hands and knees."
I get into position.
"Have you tried it this way?"
"No." Zack and I didn't really experiment. For all his talk about creativity, he was relatively consistent in his sexual preferences. And I didn't have the sex drive—or the trust—to ask for more.
