“My turn,” I breathe, sitting up and reaching for his belt.

He obliges, rolling onto his back and letting me unbutton his shirt.

I am nervous. I realize it as my fingers loop buttons through holes, each minor accomplishment revealing inch after inch of strong chest, covered by a thin layer of hair. He is a man, more man than anyone I have been with. My last boyfriend was a leftover from college, a frat boy turned pharmacist, who never let go of the shaggy haircut that every boy from the South seems to don like a badge of honor. This man, whose chest is strong and wide, his eyes dark and heated, his touch, which trails patiently down my back, is firm and confident. I know, with no degree of uncertainty, this will be different than any other experience I have ever had. That this, however fleeting and short in commitment, will rock my world.

I pull at white material, tugging fabric from pants until abs are fully exposed, a line of thicker hair leading down the ripped path of his stomach to a belt buckle, a break of skin against dark fabric. I slow down, pull hesitantly on the leather, the cold metal of the clasp so foreign in this hot bed of sexual tension. Then his hands push me aside, three quick movements having his pants undone, zipper down, belt open, and cock out.

The groan out of me is unstoppable. It rumbles, turns into a hiss, and then my hesitation is gone, and I pounce on it, diving with greedy lips, my frantic fingers trying to pull him down the bed, as I slide down his body and onto my knees on the carpet. I need it all. I need to feel the slide of skin against bone, need to feel it respond on my tongue. I want to taste every inch of it. Suck on his head until he gasps. Take him as far down my throat as I can, damn the gag reflex. Obsessively worship him with my mouth until he is half as hungry with lust as I am.

I can’t believe I am doing this. On my knees, in a stranger’s hotel room, his body following my lead, sliding to the end of the bed, sitting up, his hand settling on the back of my head, pushing with encouragement as I take his gorgeous cock in my mouth. I am naked in front of this man, any prior relationship with modesty having jumped ship, his eyes nothing but worshipping in their perusal of my curves.

He is almost without taste, my mouth working hard, yearning for a response, the squeeze of sweet hitting my tongue. And, despite my subservient position on my knees, it is empowering to have his most sensitive organ in my mouth. I look up at him, my eyes watering slightly as he takes the moment to pull me further onto his cock. God, the look in his eyes. Singular focus on me. His mouth dropping open slightly as I increase the pressure of my suction. The ownership of his stare even as his lids drop slightly, my name coming out as a hiss on his lips.

“Get up,” he growls. “I need to be inside of you now.”

Hands suddenly on my wrists, stopping my motion on his cock. Lifting me to my feet, I am on the bed before I can think, my back dragging across the duvet as he puts me into place.

A slowing of time. His hands firm and patient as they spread my legs, open me before him. Any concern I have over my naked body, the pounds I really should have shed before hitting vacation mode in a bikini … everything is swiped away by the shudder in his sigh, the look in his eyes as he drinks me in, his fingers opening me up, his mouth lowering for a few back-arching seconds as his tongue dips inside of me.

Then he withdraws. Drags his fingers down my legs and stops at my ankle. Works the strap with his fingers, caresses the curves of my foot as he pulls off the stiletto.

“Is this what you want?”

“My shoes to be taken off?”

The heel drops to the floor with a soft thud. I look down, past the V of my legs, at the naked man before me, a hand settling on the outward jut of his cock, wrapping around its base, stroking it as he stares at me, meets my eyes, for one silent moment. Salt air sweeps over my skin, my legs still spread, fingers of coolness softly brushing over my open sex. I am so wet I can feel a drop sliding down the crack of my body.

“This. What I’m about to do. Is it what you want?”

“Yes.” I don’t need to hesitate before speaking the words. I don’t need to think, to analyze. I threw reason and safety and good decisions out the window as soon as I walked through the door to this suite. I traded logic for a touch that I desperately crave, a connection that is dropping that perfect cock and moving to my other foot. Working the straps to that heel. Fingers teasing the arch and ankle there.

The heel comes off in his hand, and he tosses it away. Grips my ankle, moves his knees on the bed, until he is before me, his cock placed against the wet mound of my sex. His hands on my inner thighs, delicate movements that are turning rougher, stronger. He presses on the back of my knees, lifts my legs until my thighs brush my stomach, thrusts forward with his hips, dragging his hardness back and forth over my clit.

I whimper. I can’t help myself. I can feel the loss of control, feel the breakdown of my mind as pleasure takes over and I become a loose mess of want before him. I am so close to begging, need his cock an inch lower so badly I’m two steps away from taking that matter into my own hands. “Please.” The word slips from my lips as he continues, the underside of his cock now slick with my juices, the steady drag on my clit so perfect that my plea is suddenly counterproductive seeing as the only thing I want to do right now is stay in this moment until I break.

Shove, pull. Shove, pull. I prop myself up to get a better look, the eroticism of seeing his bare cock, head and shaft tight to the point of ripping, the muscles in his stomach sliding under the tan skin, the evidence of my arousal, my need growing. His skin in the moonlight, reflections of white in his eyes, the groan from his mouth that tells me his self-control is as stretched as my own.

I don’t want to come like this. From just the rub of his cock. How tightly stretched is my arousal that just this brush with him can bring me to my knees? I push against his chest, squirm underneath him. “Please, I can’t. I’m about to …”

“I need it.” His gruff voice is close to my ear. The consistent firm strokes continue, the pump of his cock back and forth back and … OH MY.

I stop it somehow. Gasp for breath. Try to focus. Try to fight a battle I am seconds from losing. I don’t know why I am fighting it. How I am managing. But all I know is that every second of this is incredible, and I don’t want to lose it—can’t lose it. Not right now. Not just yet. I need another ten seconds, or fifty, or five hundred. I need this man to never stop anything he is doing, to—

My elbows give out, and I collapse, my back bucking, every muscle in my legs contracting as the purest form of ecstasy blinds my world, grips my heart, and shudders through my body.

A metallic scrape. The rip, crackle. I see a bit of gold flutter to the scrunched fabric of the white duvet. Moving my eyes to between my legs, I see the hot brand of his cock lifted, busy in his hands, wrapped and secured, then his hands still, and I drag my eyes up, over his stomach, which moves slightly with heavy breaths. Up over the strength of his chest, the defined muscles in his shoulders, the shadow on his face, the swollen breath of his lips. His eyes, blazing with intensity, watching me carefully as he growls out a sigh. I don’t move, don’t pull my eyes from him, but feel the weight of latexed cock against my sensitive clit as he leans forward slightly, a finger surprising me when he presses it through the seal of my sex.

A moan sighs through my lips at the change in his eyes that occurs, the drug of arousal moving through them, dulling his spark, his mouth opening further. He closes his eyes for a moment, his finger moving slowly and deliciously inside of me, and then reopens, control reestablished. I don’t want his control. I want him ravaging me, taking me harder, rougher, his strength untapped, sexuality grabbing ahold of him and dragging him by his lapels to the throne of me, where he will forever be my sexual slave.