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I can’t think anymore.

He’s hard everywhere—pecs, abs, cock, thighs—all taut and ready and covering me with the intent to take. Electricity sparks across my skin. I soften around him, my body fitting against him perfectly, molding my every curve to his hard angles. Amazing. Like pieces of a puzzle made for each other. Perfect.

I raise my hips to him. “Now. Please.”

God, I’m begging a man I don’t even know.

“I’m dying to.” His words are a tortured moan. “But I have to get my mouth on you first. I have to taste you.”

I’m on fire. His lips brush the side of my breast, spreading the blaze everywhere he nips and laves as he drifts down. Suddenly, he lifts his head, and I swear I can feel his gaze on my nipples. More blood rushes to them.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before he curls his tongue around the sensitive tip.

Pleasure washes over me, cascading hot, liquid desire down my senses. I moan, arching toward him—and he rewards me by sucking my hard tip deep into his mouth. Voracious. His merciless tugs spiral the ache between my legs into something sharp and impatient. A scrape of his teeth follows, then a nip. Sensation detonates through me. I cry out incoherently.

“So responsive,” he praises as he veers to my other nipple, laving it with the forceful suck and stinging bite. Pleasure ratchets up, the ache clamping my sex. I clench my hands into fists. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

I can only need.

With a hum of approval, he smooths his palm down my belly, yanks off my thong, and slides his hot finger through my soaking slit. “Oh, hell. You’re bare. Do you shave?”

“Wax,” I pant.

“Perfect. So fucking sexy.”

It’s merely cleaner to me, but everything he says makes me feel so desired. No one has made me feel wanted in a very long time. I want more.

Before I can tell him, he circles his fingers around my swollen, humid opening, sensitizing me to his touch, then he plunges two fingers inside me—deep.

His penetration jolts my entire body. I’m dissolving. Disintegrating. Melting in a puddle before him. How much of my mind will I lose if he thrusts his cock inside me?

“Fuck,” he groans. “I knew you’d feel amazing.”

I barely hear. Pleasure rips a cry from my throat. He’s sending me into a spiral I’ve never experienced, one I’ve barely imagined in my wildest dreams. And he thinks I’m amazing?

He twists his fingers inside me and hooks them upward, reaching a sensitive spot that has me seizing up and nearly coming off the bed. And if he keeps touching me there, I’ll be coming, period.

I thrust my hips up. “Now. Please.”

“Soon.”

“But—”

“You’ll wait until I give you permission.” He thrusts his fingers even deeper.

Permission? I’m annoyed. No, downright angry. Who is he to think he controls my body?

He’s the man actually controlling it.

Soft strands of his hair tickle my skin as he pushes my legs wider and presses his lips to my inner thigh. He parts me wide open with his thumbs, then inhales roughly like breathing me in is a sexual experience.

“That’s mine.” He mutters against the bare flesh of my sex as he continues rubbing and pressing against the ultra-sensitive spot inside me. “All mine, Lauren, just like you are. Offer it to me.”

I do, probably setting a new world record as I bend my knees and raise my hips in blatant invitation, ready and eager for him to stuff me, fill me…and fulfill me.

Tim never talked dirty. Never was edgy or blunt. For years, sex with him was mechanical and automatic. Silent. My stranger brings an intensity to the bedroom that drives me wild. It’s the way he touches me, the way he notices my flushing skin, the way he responds to my body. The way he cares about my pleasure.

Whoever he is, when he isn’t seducing me, he seems like he’d be at least a somewhat decent guy.