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It isn’t a question. It’s as if he knows the answer. “No. Never.”

“I’m going to do more than touch you. I’ll fuck you here soon.”

The idea sears me with a bolt of heat. The ache in my belly tightens. I’ve never fantasized about being anally penetrated. But after my stranger’s demonstration, I want to explore that possibility right now.

Slowly, he withdraws his finger.

I moan in protest. “No. More.”

I ache for that long, strong cock inside me—anywhere inside me—giving me everything, sending me into the hot burst of ecstasy only he can deliver.

“Please,” I pant. “Please. I need you. To feel you…”

“You need me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“To make love to you.”

He keeps coming back to this argument, and I’m not sure why. And at the moment, I don’t care. As long as he ends my torment. “Yes. Now. Please!”

A shiver wracks me as his body covers mine, pressing me down to the table’s chilled, flat surface. My nipples bead, tight and stunningly sensitive, as my stranger grabs my hips and plunges inside my swollen sex in one ferocious stroke.

I cry out at his invasion. In this position, my channel seems smaller, and he feels enormous. And utterly perfect.

I shake as he withdraws almost all the way in a slow retreat that has me gritting my teeth. A moment later, he pushes back in with a quick thrust that rips a strangled sound from my chest and sends a jolt of sensation straight to my clit.

“That’s it,” he croons in my ear as he slams me again, gripping my hips with insistent fingers. “Now, let’s make you come again.”

After one more pounding stroke, I claw at the table, gasping for air. Three later, the vise of need tightens into a harsh knot under my clit, spreading unbearable heat between my legs. I reach under myself to stroke it.

“Touch yourself. That’s good. I want to feel you come.”

Another two strokes of his cock, and he swells inside me, pulsing against my walls. He was on the edge, too. I feel it in the bite of his fingers on my hips, his labored breathing on my neck. I tighten on him. He curses and slams into me one more time, scraping over my G-spot, shoving right into my cervix.

I scream as the dam of sensation bursts inside me and pleasure shocks through my system, cascading down to my fingertips and toes. As his hoarse shout erupts in my ear, a wave of dizzy rapture washes through my veins, and I have to hold on to the table to steady myself.

Mr. Mysterious plants hot-breathed kisses on my shoulder and holds me against him. Like the last time, I sense his effort to bring me close, keep me beside him. It isn’t a simple postcoital thanks. It isn’t an attempt to get me ready for another round of demanding sex. The way he holds me, it’s like I matter. A lot.

The possibility thrills me… even though it shouldn’t.

“God, you’re amazing,” he gruffs in between harsh breaths in my ear. “No woman gets to me the way you do.”

His admission surprises me. “Really?”

“Really.”

I frown. “How can that be? With your…skill, it’s obvious you haven’t been lacking partners.”

“I haven’t.”

And yet I alone make him feel this way. Elation soars through me. Why should I be alone in this madness? Pride follows. I got to him. I make him burn.

“Why am I the only one who makes you feel this way?”

He hesitates, masking the pause by withdrawing from my body and righting his jeans. “Because my heart is in this, Lauren.”

His heart? This is sounding suspiciously…heavy. Nervous, I turn, smooth a hand down my hopelessly wrinkled skirt, then cross my arms over my bare breasts self-consciously. “What do you mean?”