He went to adjust himself, but I beat him to it—not to do what he wanted—but to do something I wanted. For once, I wanted to be the one to take care of him.

He seemed confused when I tried to slide off his lap, his hand reaching out as if to stop me from going anywhere.

As if I would.

I wasn’t naive to what I planned on doing next. I lived on the streets for years. Hookers, pimps, and Johns were all part of my nightly stroll through the alleyways while I looked for a safe place to sleep.

As I put my hands on Nate’s knees and got down on mine, I tried to push back the memory of my fifteen-year-old self and the fear mixed with interest while I watched a man in the front seat of his car, his eyes shut and his head tilted back. The sea of blonde hair moved up and down on his lap, slow at first and then faster when the man’s hand came down on it. A loud moan had left him just as his eyes snapped open and landed on me standing there, watching him get off. In my memory, I gasped, and in the present, I must’ve done the same because Nate’s hand curled around my shoulder, his face in my vision, eyes right on mine. He said my name, and without thinking, I reached for the band of his shorts so I could finish the task I set off to achieve. But he stopped me, his touch as gentle as always when his fingers circled my wrist only inches from his cock.

He must have the strength of a thousand men, I thought as I looked up at him.

He stood quickly, forcing me to lean back, and kicked off his shoes, and then removed his pants. He kept his boxers on as he moved away from the bed. I spent the time taking him in, and even though I’d seen him like this before—many times before—there was something different in his stance. Something almost powerful about the way he stood over me, his shoulders square, muscles tight, jaw set… but it was the intensity in his eyes that had me sucking in a breath and holding it there.

“Lay on the bed,” he said, his voice low and smooth, making his words seem like a command. But then he added, “please,” as he took a step forward, offering me his hand to help me to my feet. Once I was standing, he held me to him, his erection pressed against my stomach, just like his lips were pressed against my neck. “We stop when you want,” he murmured against me. “You say the word, baby.” And with that, he guided me to the bed, one arm cradling me and the other outstretched, palm flat on the mattress as he settled me on it. He hovered over me, his weight on his arm while he kissed my jaw, my neck, and down to my breasts. It didn’t take long for the flames to ignite, for the fire to engulf, wrapping us both in an inferno of lust and need and desperation so strong, the tiny cement box we called my room could barely contain it.

Where our mouths weren’t, our hands were, and we got lost in the moment, in each other, and when he pulled back, his eyes on mine, still intense, still needy, a calm washed over me… the kind I suspected junkies got after taking a hit.

Was Nate my drug?

My addiction?

The thought flipped itself over in my mind, but I didn’t have time to think because his palm was flat on my stomach now, moving lower and lower beneath the band of my underwear. He moved slowly, propping himself on his forearm as his lips met my cheek and then his hand was there, between my legs, invading the place I’d fought so hard to keep to myself.

His finger slid between my folds, effortless because I was so damn wet. And I don’t know why, but it must’ve been a surprise to him because he cursed under his breath as the tip of his finger paused at my entrance.

I didn’t know whether to tell him to stop or to keep going, so I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on his and I trusted my body to tell us what my words couldn’t. My hips jerked up, pushing his finger just slightly inside of me and that movement alone forced a moan to emit from deep in his throat. He dropped his head on my shoulder, his breath re-igniting the fire that was my body, like alcohol poured on an open flame. And then he said, “Tell me you want it, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

And so I gave him what he wanted. “Touch me, Nate,” I added a “please” because I wanted him to know I wasn’t just saying it because he’d asked me.

I wanted him to touch me.

I needed him to touch me.

He kept his head low as his hand moved, corded muscles flexing in his arms showing strength and willpower that was all Nate DeLuca. I expected his finger inside me, anticipated the pain of him stretching me, filling me, pleasuring me… but what he did was so unexpected, so much worse, that it took a moment for to me realize what was happening. He traced his finger, wet and covered with my need, around my pussy, never once going inside, and never once touching me where I’ve touched myself during the times I’d thought about him, about this.

He tapped and teased and tortured me with pleasure, another flick of a lit match right into a burning inferno, and I knew, without a doubt, that I’d be nothing but ash by the time he finished. And it was that thought that had me opening my eyes, unaware that I’d closed them, and looking down at him. His mouth was an inch below my belly button, shoulders between my legs and my underwear… Where the hell was my underwear?

I tried to shut my legs when the realization hit, and he looked up, his finger still teasing. “I need you to trust me, Bailey,” he said, and I dropped my head back to the pillow and tried to push away the embarrassment of him seeing my most private parts in the most private ways.

The tip of his nose was the first thing to touch me there, in that spot that craved his attention. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he murmured, and I’d love to describe what happened next with words as eloquent as his tongue, but I have nothing. Nothing but the image of his head between my legs, the pink of his tongue and the red of his lips a blur against my needy flesh. Sparks of light, bright and overpowering, took over my vision and my fingers curled in the sheets beneath me. My hips rose as I bit down on my lip, hoping, praying that I wouldn’t scream and when he held me there… an inch from falling over the edge, he paused and looked up at me, thick, dark lashes doing nothing to hide the lust in his eyes. “So fuckin’ perfect, baby.” And I came undone. With me under his touch and him under my trust, I came. I came, and I came, and I came until all the muscles in my body uncoiled, and all the realities settled in.

He’d been so gentle, so careful. Even as he wiped his mouth on my thigh before climbing over me, he made sure not to put his weight down on me, aware that it might set off memories I so desperately wanted him to erase. He gazed down at me, raised up on his outstretched arms, his smile a force that shot straight to my heart. “You okay?” he asked.

I shook my head, and his brow bunched but I couldn’t speak to assure him that I wasn’t just okay, I was so much better than okay. Full bellies and warm shelters never felt as good as I felt in that moment.

I met his lips with my own, tasting my pleasure as I ran my hands down his sides and into his boxers. Nate tensed beneath my touch as he broke the kiss. “I’m so fuckin’ wound up, Bailey, I won’t last long.” He said it with humor, but the blush on his cheeks and the avoidance of his stare gave way to his embarrassment.

With one hand, I reached up, fingers gliding through his hair, and watched in fascination as his eyes drifted shut when my other hand circled his cock. He was so hard, but his skin was so soft, and I don’t think I’d ever felt more powerful than I did just then. He moaned loudly—a primal roar—as I started to stroke him, his lips blindly searching for mine. I kissed him with reverence, with passion, with pure wanton lust and when his hips started moving, matching my strokes, and his tongue delved deeper into our kiss, I knew he was close. After pushing his boxer shorts further down his legs, I wrapped both hands around his length as he kneeled between my legs, his arms still supporting him. With his eyes still closed, he said, “Fuck, baby. I’m so close,” and so I worked harder, faster. He bit down on my shoulder the same time I felt him pulse in my hands and the next thing I knew my hands and my stomach were coated with warmth, droplets of it seeping between my fingers and down my wrist. The room filled with the sounds of our heavy breaths and we tried to calm them, but besides that we lay perfectly still, my mind, my heart, my body wrapped around him.