Page 119 of Problematic Summer Romance

“Okay?” I ask.

A rough exhale. “Yeah.”

I sit up. Arrange us. He’s hot and slippery against me. “I’ve never had sex without a condom,” I say, maybe to punt. This is going to be a lot, on multiple fronts.

“Me neither.”

“Would you like me to use one?”

There is genuine amusement in his laugh. “No, Maya.”

I smile. We’re being irresponsible, stupid, problematic. I don’t care. “No condom in your fantasies? Am I on birth control?”

“It’s…” His cheeks are scarlet. He looks in the middle distance. Admits, low: “Neither.”

And I can’t wait anymore. I let gravity and my weight take over, and slide down on him, taking several inches in one stroke.

“Jesus—slow.” His palms slide under my panties, grip my ass. “Slow the fuck down, or you’re going to—”

“I like it w-hen—” I try to speak. It comes out breathy and mumbled. “I like it when it hurts a bit. AndIam in charge.”

Conor’s jaw twitches. He groans something about howunbelievableI am, wonders whether I’vefallen from the fucking sky. His hands shake, but I’m too busy trying to adjust, and—

I lift myself up, down. The friction is heaven, and we bothgroan. Conor stares at me—face, tits, the place where my cunt clutches tight around him—like he doesn’t fully understand what is happening. Like he thought he knew the rules of the game, but just realized he had no idea what he’s playing.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, but I’m still bouncing on top of him, a little more than half of him inside me on the downstroke, inching deeper, feeling like a muscle that needs to be broken into, trained and opened. When he’s nearly all the way out, the length of his cock is suddenly wet and shiny. It turns me on beyond belief.

Judging by his grip on my waist: him, too.

“How do you even exist?” he asks, hushed. Sweat pearls over my skin, drips between my breasts. I cross my wrist around his neck, looking for support as I move on him. His gaze fixates on something past my shoulder. The wall mirror behind us.

He’s staring at us. At me. At my ass moving over him. “You like it?”

“Fuck,” he chokes out, and I drop a kiss onto his cheek.

“It’s okay. I know you do.” He’s in as far as he can go. “This is the most full I’ve ever been. And you have seen my dildos. Remember?”

“Christ.” His knuckles brush up and down my flank. Inside, he’s splitting me up, but his touch is butterfly-light. “I remember. I fuckingremember.”

“Yeah?”

“Afterward, I told myself that it was a good thing. That maybe you enjoyed…that you’d be able to take me easier.”

My hold on him tightens, something close to a hug. There is pleasure here, smeared with the pain of the stretch. I wonder how I’ve managed to live without it so far. “Does anyone?”

“What?”

“Take you easily.”

He shakes his head.

“Good. I’ll be the one.”

His hand lifts to my cheek. “Maya, you already are.”

I come right there, suddenly, before he does. It’s like a natural disaster, violent and unsettling. Good, fucking biblical, even, but it rips me, tears me apart and bleaches my head white.

When my vision stops spotting, his breathing is racehorse-fast, mouth half-open. His hands are around my waist, thumbs resting on my hip bones.

---