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“No.” Large palms slither their way up to my upper thighs, latching onto them. “I want you to fuck my face. You can’t you do that if you’re hovering over it.” He pulls me down, keeping a firm grip on me, eliminating the possibility of me lifting off his tongue. Not that I’d think to do so. No way, not with the attentiveness he showed when kissing me has escalated to a primal hunger that I have a front-row seat to witnessing.

The view I have of him peering up at me from between my legs is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.

I swear, it’s always the shy, quiet ones who are closet freaks. And lucky me, it looks like I’ve hit the eater jackpot.

He works my clit with expert precision, paying close attention to my cues, committing them to memory while maintaining momentum on his relentless pursuit of making me come.

I grind on his face, using it like he asked for. With each pass of my hips he groans against my wet warmth, causing me to unravel.

“I’m close,” I breathe out, desperate.

His fingers crawl up to my hips, massaging them in his grip while his mouth stays steady on my clit, lapping his tongue how I like, ready for me to orgasm.

My thighs pinch together, creating muffs around his ears, and the pressure makes him a whimpering mess. I’ve never had a man eat me out with such vigor.

My head falls back as I ride the wave of my release. Euphoria trickles all over my body, taking over my senses. My vision is consumed with stars. My hearing homes in on the sound of his tongue making slow, steady passes at my center, savoring the remnants of my orgasm. My mouth is watering, craving more of him. Now.

I break the seal his mouth has on my pussy, and the whimper that bellows from his lips, begging me to sit back down, is enough to have me coming again on the spot.

“Please,” he begs. “Let me make you come again.”

“Don’t worry, you will.” I climb off him to grab his glasses from the floor. “Here you go.” I place them on, admiring how the thick frames complement his chiseled features. “Now you can watch me come for you again.”

I peer down at his groin. “Can I?” I ask, pointing at his belt.

“Please.”

I drop to my knees as I first loosen his belt, and work on dragging his zipper down, then lower his pants, boxers and all, past his knees until they drop to his ankles.

“You have a pretty dick,” I observe, admiring the veins protruding throughout. Not to mention the size.

“Pretty enough to ride?”

My eyes widen just as heat spreads to my cheeks. “I thought you were a virgin. You have no business talking like that.” But also, please don’t stop. Like…ever.

He pats his lap, motioning me to come closer. “I may be a virgin, but I know what I want, and that’s you.”

Say less. In a matter of five seconds I undress, tossing both my skirt and shirt to the floor, so I can straddle him naked.

“I’m on the pill,” I whisper, feeling like I need to get that out of the way, but his attention has drifted to my chest.

Where desire painted his irises before, all I see now behind the thick black frames is sadness.

His fingers move gingerly to the scar marring my sternum. I’ve always felt self-conscious about it, but the way he’s not only looking at it but bringing his lips closer to kiss it, the walls I’ve kept up for the better half of two decades begin to fade away, and years’ worth of repressed feelings rise to the surface, crowding my thoughts.

You were supposed to be there to celebrate the good news with me.

The scars he’s kissing are the result of years’ worth of surgeries meant to buy me time but never meant to prolong my life. The fact that I’m here, living and breathing, with scars and a story to tell, is a miracle. The doctors even said it themselves. They were as surprised as I was. I remember the day distinctly and ever since that day, I’ve been left with not only gratitude but an emptiness that has continuously grown. Nothing eased or filled it. Nothing until I saw him again. And the happiness that I’ve felt, even if mixed with confusion, is starting to morph back into grief knowing what’s soon to come.

It’s not fair. This is the first time I’ve felt something in forever, and now I’m about to lose it—lose him—all over again.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” I don’t mean it. But the longer he’s kissing me with a rogue tear gliding down his cheek, I feel overcome with emotions I can’t process.

It’s a hell of a mindfuck to me, turned on and sad at the same time.

My suggestion falls to the wayside as he continues to explore my scar with care and appreciation, until he makes his way to one of my breasts, bringing my pierced nipple into his mouth. A groan of approval vibrates through him. “Fuck, these are so hot.” His tongue plays with the barbell. Each flick sends me into a pleasure-induced haze that’s intensified by his fingers crawling their way to my clit. He works me in a rhythm reminiscent of the way he used to move his thumb on the joystick of his game controller.

“That feels good. Don’t stop,” I pant. My words caught between a command and a plea.