Page 120 of Problematic Summer Romance

“The hardest part of the last three years,” he says, words punched out of his lungs, “was knowing exactly what you look like when you come.”

I’m still twitching, little contractions around his cock. “You like making me come, don’t you?”

“I likeeverythingabout you.”

“I just want to return the favor, Conor. Is it too much to ask?” I squeeze him with my internal muscles. Watch him shudder. “Let me give you this.”

He shakes his head. “Harder.”

“What?”

“I can make you come harder than you already have.”

I laugh. “I don’t think that’s possible. And we agreed thatI’m the one in charge. You said you’d do what I tell you—”

“Tell me, then,” he rasps against my jaw. “Tell me to pull out and curl my fingers inside you and eat you out until you pass out from it.”

“No. I already—”

“I don’t fucking care. Tell me.”

Against the gentle burn of his beard, I say, “No.”

He lets out an annoyed, guttural sound. “Then ask me to go deeper.”

“What?”

“Tell me to get inside you even deeper.”

“I don’t think that’s possible—”

“Tell me to go fuckingdeeper, Maya.”

It sounds like an order, but he’s begging. That’s why I nod, without expecting the way he tilts my pelvis. A grunt, and then he’s in to the hilt, and—

“Fuck,” I say.

“Tell me to move you. Tell me to show you how to use my cock to make yourself come.”

I can barely think. “Show m-me. Please.”

He does. Like I did before, up and down, empty and full. Except that I was using his size to stimulate every part of me, and he knows exactly how to—

“Oh my god,” I say, coming again. This orgasm is shallow, wet. Erratic. No less good.

Conor studies me as I relearn how to breathe. Says: “This might be the only decent thing I’ve done in my whole life. The one thing I’m good for.”

“W-what is?”

“Making you come.” Another angle, this time me leaning backward, leaving room between our upper bodies. I can almost see him move inside me, rocking back and forth under the skin of my abdomen. Conor lets out a grunt, but then his hand presses down on my bellybutton. All at once, the space he’s carved inside me shrinks, disappears, and I’m coming again, so hard that I space out for a second.

I stir back to find my cheek on his shoulders. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of me and sex and salt air. Shivers with pent-up restraint.

“What would you do?” I ask in his ear. “If you weren’t afraid to lose control?”

He shakes his head. Like he can’t imagine such a scenario. But then says, “I would want you under me. I would pin you down. I would lock you in a room and not let anyone look at you, ever. I would…”

I wait. But he doesn’t continue until I say, “Whatever it is, it won’t shock me.”

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