One minute I was dressed, the next, there’s nothing between us except heat and want. He took away my thoughts, my intentions and replaced them with the intoxication of his desire. I’m drunk on it, high on him.

I tremble at the tickle of his hair on my belly. I shiver at the scratch of his scruff on my inner thigh. I gasp at fire of his mouth at my folds.

He doesn’t ask permission. I don’t deny him what he doesn’t ask. He simply takes what he wants. And I simply give it.

The first warm, wet scrape of his tongue over my clit bends me forward, folding me in half with an agonizing pleasure. “Oh god, Sig!”

“Talk to me, Tommi,” he says, his lips moving sensually against me. “Tell me what you like.”

He doesn’t stop to wait for me to comply; he continues his assault like he’s gaining the front lines of an enemy force, a force he means to obliterate with fire. Hot, blazing flames that lick over every inch of my skin.

“Do you like lips?” he asks, kissing me, devouring me with his lips, opening and closing, opening and closing. “Or do you like tongue?” Like the flicker of a snake, he teases my sensitive nub, causing me to shudder, before he sweeps his tongue sweetly back and forth over the area, as if in apology. I’m writhing beneath him, my head tossing back and forth, gasping, breathless, unable to answer. I can only feel. Just like he wants me to. “Or do you like teeth?” Gently, he rasps his teeth over my clit and then nibbles it, sucking it into his mouth. Pulling, tugging, rhythmically biting. “Tell me,” he whispers, his voice a dark delight as velvety as his tongue.

“Please, Sig,” is all I can manage. I don’t know what I want. I just know that I want him. All of him.

I nearly cry out when his mouth leaves me, replaced by a single, exploratory digit. He kisses his way quickly up my stomach, pausing only briefly at my breast as his finger massages me. When his lips find mine, he teases them, brushing them lightly and then skimming them with the tip of his tongue.

“Or do you want more? Something thick and deep? Something that you’ll feel when you walk tomorrow, like I’m still inside you?”

I feel something broad and smooth replace his finger. Leaning back, Sig looks down between us, drawing my eye, too. He’s rubbing the enormous head of his shaft between my folds, round and round and then down toward my opening. He pulls back, grazing his thumb over the glistening tip. “That’s all you, baby. So wet for me. So ready for my cock.”

When he touches me again with it, I let my head fall back, my hips moving against him as his eyes click back up to mine. They’re full of passion, raw and wild. “I wish I could come right here, right on top of this sweet lil pussy. Make it mine. Cover it until you’re slick with me. Just me.”

My breath is coming faster. The picture that he draws for me, the images that his words produce, rocket through my body like a physical touch. I gasp for air, both fighting and welcoming the tension that’s building from his touch, spreading from his slippery erection. It’s like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, even thought and reason.

“Would you like that?” he asks, dipping his tongue into my mouth, dragging the flavor of my own essence with it. He presses just the tip of himself into my opening, quickly withdrawing, tormenting me mercilessly. My body clutches at him, begging him to satisfy my need.

I squeeze my eyes shut, searching desperately for some kind of control where none can be found. Sig brings me to the brink, balancing me there without allowing me to go over. Teasing me. Tantalizing me. Driving me mad with want.

A knock on the door brings an abrupt halt to his play. Sig stiffens on top of me, going perfectly still, perfectly quiet. Our eyes meet, panic in mine, aggravation in his. I only feel more alarm that he doesn’t take this seriously, that he doesn’t take Lance seriously. It’s almost as though he doesn’t fear him at all, which is ludicrous.

My heart is pounding, so hard my vision is throbbing with the pulse of it. Sig places a finger over my lips and shakes his head once. He doesn’t have to worry about me keeping quiet. My vocal cords are frozen.

He eases off me, grabbing my clothes from the floor–I’m not even sure how they got there–and handing them to me, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. He bends to kiss my stomach, my breast and my lips before he moves to slide his jeans on over his lean hips.

As he zips up, he runs a hand through his hair and grins down at me. I’m balking, of course. And terrified, but I’m not so terrified that I fail to notice the masculine perfection that is Sig. He’s magnificent.

His shoulders are a mile wide, his chest lightly dusted with hair. His long arms are exquisitely shaped, like Michelangelo lovingly carved each one muscle out of flawless granite. His stomach is a stair step of strength, his hips trim and narrow. And his legs…God help me, they’re thick and powerful and I can still see his massive erection straining against his zipper.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I might hurt whoever’s at the door.”

His voice is soft and amused, meanwhile my panic returns full force.

I sit up, scrambling for some amount of calm to aid me in digesting this horrific situation.

“What if it’s Lance? Or Barber?” I ask, standing on the bed and pulling on my panties and jeans. Sig watches me, in no hurry to move, his dark eyes sizzling with desire, burning me everywhere they touch. “Stop that! We have to think,” I snap.

He has the audacity to grin. “Don’t get so excited. If it’s any of them, I’ll just say that I walked to your house to check on you and you insisted that I drive your car back. That sounds like something you’d do.”

My chest is heaving as I mull over his train of thought. Then I realize that he’s right. This doesn’t have to be a disaster.

“Okay. That sounds good. Do that.”

He laughs quietly and reaches forward to pull me into his arms, kissing me nearly senseless. I’m more than a little dazed when he lets me go. “Maybe I will.”

I watch him leave, taking in his confident posture and delicious butt. I have to shake my head to clear it before I finish dressing, concentrating on my hands not shaking any worse.

I hear low voices, but none that I recognize. I creep to the window and stick just the tip of one finger in the edge of the miniblind and pull it away from the glass only enough for me to get a quick peek. A guy I’ve never seen before is standing on the walk talking to a shirtless Sig. Only when I see the stranger smile do I relax and take a seat on the bed to wait for Sig to come back.