Sarah runs her fingers along my jaw, gazing into my eyes, while her breasts bounce with every thrust. She traces my lips with her thumb and I nibble and suck at her fingertip.

“I love you, Henry,” she says, tenderly but clear. “I just . . . I just love you.”

The words make my knees turn to warm jelly and while her tone doesn’t demand a response—I give her one just the same. “And I love you.”

Then heated pressure streaks down my spine, gathering low in my stomach. Sarah’s orgasm takes her quietly—a simple open-mouth gasp, a clamping of her pussy, driving me into my own release. I push into her one last time, her cheek against the hallow of my throat and mine pressed above her head against the dripping shower tile.

Eventually, we have to eat, and I don’t want to bother the staff with requests or see anyone. So, in the middle of the night Sarah slides into her robe and I put on only my sleeping pants, and we sneak down to the kitchen and forage for food. Then we bring our loot—water, a bottle of wine, a block of cheese, a loaf of fresh bread, and a bag of Cook’s biscuits—back to the room and have a picnic on the bed.

The wine makes us drowsy. She feeds me with her fingers and I lick the crumbs that fall on her lap. And we speak in hushed tones about small things—birthdays and favorites colors—the small shards of information that, while almost insignificant individually, together make up a large piece of a person.

We don’t sleep fully, but steal quick naps in between vigorous rounds of love-making. I rest my head on Sarah’s chest, while she sings soft, bawdy old ballads and runs her fingers through the damp strands of my hair. I can’t get enough of her voice and she’s a bit obsessed with my hair. Other times, she rests on me, limp-limbed and come-drunk, and the only sounds in the room are our synchronized breaths and the matched thrum of our heartbeats.

The sun rises and falls outside the window, but neither of us notice. And I’m not the only one who has fun exploring flesh.

Just after I’ve felt the pulse of Sarah’s orgasm around my fingers, and licked her sweet honey off them for the third time, I’m on my back—and Sarah’s down between my spread knees, putting her mouth to fabulous use.

She nuzzles the delicate skin of my thick cock with her nose.

“It’s so soft,” Sarah purrs, her breath hot against me. “How can it be so soft and hard at the same time?” She licks up and down, getting thoroughly well-acquainted and enjoying herself in the process.

She nibbles at the skin of my thigh, making me jerk. Sarah blows at the hair on my lower stomach, making me laugh. She wraps her lips around the head of my dick, suckling with her mouth and rubbing with her tongue, until there is nothing left in my brain.

She’s sucked every thought straight out.

Then, the sheets rustle as she moves lower and I feel the flat of her tongue, wet and hot, drag up and down the seam of my sac—and it’s so fucking good my heart practically tears away from my body.

“Sarah,” I groan. “Come here.”

She shakes her head, shiny dark hair swaying. “I’m having fun where I am.”

And then she opens that pretty mouth, and uses it to lave and suck on my balls.

“Jesus, fuck.” I groan, writhing with pleasure.

My words encourage her, and while her mouth stays occupied, her hand tightly wraps around my shaft, like she knows I like it, and strokes me in long, firm pumps. When I curse again, Sarah moans and I feel the vibration down to my fucking soul.

And that’s when I snap, when I decide I can’t stand another second of not being inside her.

Sitting up, I grab Sarah under her arms and haul her against me. I place my hand in her hair, wrapping the strands tight around my fingers, gripping with my fist, and Sarah’s palms splay against my face, fingers digging—each of us holding the other willingly captive. While our mouths devour each other, teeth clicking, tongues swirling and stabbing.

It’s rough—the roughest I’ve let myself be with her and she releases moans of pleasure.

Then I grab her hips, drag her right over my dick, and plunge up into her, hard and full. We both moan and it’s fucking gorgeous. But I notice when her brows pinch and eyes squeeze in a small, quick grimace.

With one hand against the nape of Sarah’s neck and the other at her spine, I still her, making her meet my eyes.

“Are you sore?”

She smiles with a shrug. So bloody beautiful. “Only a bit.”

I swallow hard, and skim my palm up over her ribcage, to her breast. “We can stop, Sarah. There’s other things we can do…I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt, not really.”

I lower my head, licking at the tight berry of her nipple—bringing it to my mouth for a suck.

“Not really?” I say with my lips around her, biting just so. “What does that mean?”

Sarah’s chin lifts for a moment, neck arching—giving me more of her tits. But then she reverses course, pulling her breast away with a wet pop and bringing her own mouth down to the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my neck.

And then she bites me. Really bites me. Not breaking skin but definitely leaving a bruise.

“Does that hurt?” she asks, so sweetly. Then she does it again.

I hiss, and my fingers grasp at her thighs. “Yes.”

She kisses the sting, licking at her teeth marks.

“Do you want me to stop?”

This time she sucks as she bites down, and my cock twitches inside her.