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Alone and brokenhearted. No thanks.

I tense, squirm under him, wriggling my hips to dislodge him from my pussy.

The friction of his cock rubs the sensitive inner walls, igniting flickers of sensations. I gasp. Those flickers turn to sparks when he moves against me, bumping my clit, creating more delicious friction. Inside me, I feel him engorge. He grows thick, long, until he occupies every part of my sex again, pushing all the way against my cervix. So hard, as if he hasn’t come at all. As if he’s completely prepared to go full throttle again.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he stuns me with a leisurely withdrawal, easing out one torturously slow inch at a time. The head of his cock scrapes against my slick flesh with every breath.

He touches his mouth to mine. A soft brush of lips, a tangle of sighs. With a firm, gentle stroke, he urges my lips wider, tempting me to accept him deep. I don’t have the will to stop him, and he doesn’t waste time before possessing my mouth in a velvety wet embrace. His tongue lazes its way inside, catching my own. The kiss is so unabashedly intimate it makes my toes curl. It compels me to respond, floods me with not just heat, but warmth.

With a helpless ache, I writhe under him as he eases back inside me, and I squeeze his cock. Sensations tear past my awareness and buzz in my brain.

Oh my god.

He rips his mouth away and moans against my neck, in my ear. The sound sends flashes of pleasure dancing down my spine. His five-o’clock shadow rasps against my jaw. And his hands… Help me now! Those hands of his sweep down from my shoulders, lightly tracing my collarbones before caressing straight to my breasts. Despite my mammoth orgasm a few short minutes ago, I feel the blood rush to my nipples. They stand up and welcome his fingers, which accept the invitation immediately and toy with my sensitive tips.

He teases me with gentle strokes. Unhurried. Like he wants to learn me, find out exactly what pleases me. The warmth from his fingers as he brushes and plucks at my nipples becomes heat. The ache seeps past my defenses and multiplies.

Even as he withdraws again nearly all the way, he touches me like I’m fragile and precious. A soft sweep of fingers here, a tender caress of his lips there. My body swells under every touch. But what I feel is more. Much more. The longing to touch and be touched had been there, but a sudden desperation to matter to this man swathes me in sweet longing.

No. This can’t be happening. My body is mine to control, not his to toy with at will. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t agree with my logic. And if I’m not careful, I fear my heart will yell “timber” and fall.

My breasts plump for his touch, the sensitive areolas bunch up around nipples so needy that when he bends his head to take one of the hard beads in his mouth, I gasp. And arch to him.

He accepts my offering, and a warm burst of emotion breaks free in my chest. I can’t wrap my arms around him, so I hug him with my legs, keeping him close.

Violently aware of the head of his cock barely tucked inside my sex and the throb of my desire pounding at me, I raise my hips to entice this stranger to bury himself deep inside me again.

I don’t just want the man. I need him.

The pleasure of his hot lips over me, the deft curl of his tongue against me, has me moaning. The soft, insistent pull of his mouth at my nipple quickly reduces me to a whimper. I can feel my sex clenching, silently begging. I struggle against the cuffs again. I burn to put my hands on him, sink my fingers into his hair, then move lower to feel the muscles of his back work as he thrusts into me. The idea of grabbing him and pulling him back inside me as he fills me again amplifies my need.

These sensations are both wonderful and terrible. Worse, with him buried deep within me, I feel complete.

Already, the peak of desire rises dangerously. My breathing shallows. Of their own volition, my thighs part wider and I raise my hips. Still, he holds himself away, keeping me on a torture rack as I wait, panting with unfulfilled desire. He switches his attention to my other nipple, plucking it with his lips, nipping gently with his teeth while his hands travel down to clench around my hips.

Without warning, he buries his face in my neck and eases into me. Slowly. So damn slowly, I’m sure I’m going to lose my mind. When he has an inch inside me, my heartbeat pounds in my ears, roaring out all thoughts. In two inches, and I grab the headboard and moan. In halfway now. Something needy and dangerous expands in my chest.

Damn, he’s killing me with this slow pleasure. Hyping up nerves that haven’t seen action seemingly in forever and shutting down normal logic. In six inches, and he’s still moving forward in that tormentingly unhurried pace. I thrash my head from side to side as the desire racing through my blood turns from hot to scalding and the need to feel him everywhere overcomes me. Finally, he’s in those last few inches, pressing against my cervix, bumping my clit—and somehow breaking down barriers to my emotions.

I scream, then start gasping for breath.

“I’m going to love you like this every chance I get,” he mutters roughly in my ear.

Before I can say no—or think of anything to say at all—my body surrenders to him.

He repeats the whole process of agonizing withdrawal, followed by an endless, torturous advance inside me. And all the while, his fingers and mouth toy with nipples that stand so straight, he has to know they’re saluting a job well done.

The friction alone sets me on fire, but when he adds a little bump and grind at the end, my clit throbs and swells. I place an open-mouthed kiss on his bare shoulder, tasting hot male, sweat, and desire on my tongue. My pulse careens out of control. Emotions are a cacophony of words and needs all bouncing within me, dying to burst free. Perspiration breaks out across my skin as he repeats his slow-motion stroke a third time, then a fourth.

God help me, I probably won’t last a fifth.

I bite my lip and try to focus elsewhere. Hockey games, Emma needing stitches after falling on a sprinkler head, really boring meetings.

During which I usually sit across from Noah and find ways to stare at him while pretending not to. I imagine Noah tunneling into me right now, those stunning eyes of his hot with passion as he grips my hips, holds me still for his invading cock. He sends me careening toward insanity—toward ecstasy—as he whispers that he wants to love me every chance he gets.

My pleasure zooms to the stratosphere, far beyond my control. Arousal twists my belly. Blood rushes and pools behind my clit until the throbbing there has a life of its own.

On another downward stroke of his slow, insistent cock, I explode in a new and dazzling climax, clamping down on his erection. As I’m seeing stars and fireworks behind my lids, he pulses and spills his hot seed inside me. His tormented groan rips through the night, joining my sharp cry.