I’m not expecting it when it happens. All I can do is hang on and move as necessary while he grasps me tightly with his arms, arching my back and supporting myself as he sits and then holding on tight as he stands.

His grip is firm and I’m not afraid of heights, but returning to suck and play with him while suspended in his arms as he again uses his deft tongue to keep my fire stoked is a little disorienting.

He pulls his head back just far enough and just long enough to ask me if I’m okay.

I’m more than okay.

I’ve never felt anything like this before.

After a while, though, I start to wonder how I’m going to get back down.

I pull my mouth from his pulsating dick and merely whisper the word.

“Down.”

He directs one of my legs to join the other on one side of him, and he’s surprisingly gentle, though just as surprisingly quick, to guide my body right-side up and lower me until my bare feet come to a soft, slow landing on the carpet below.

I’m impressed.

I’m no virgin, not by any use of the term, but this man has made every sensation feel so new. So I pull his face down toward mine and I kiss him deeply, moving my body just enough to wrap my fingers around his shaft once more.

I push him backward onto the couch and before he’s settled in place, I’m straddling him, rubbing his penis between my legs and delighting in the jolts of warm serenity before I guide him inside of me.

He kisses my breasts softly, his mouth eager, but not desperate.

I tease him a little, putting my hands on his chest and pulling my upper body just out of the reach of his mouth just to watch that urge in his eyes grow.

I rock my hips over him and move my shoulders back and forth just to tempt him further. He leans forward, but I press my hands firmly into his chest.

That drive in his movements, his expression, it’s not a selfish one. After all, I’m already giving him my body the way he’s giving me his. That drive in his eyes is merely evidence that he wants to give me more.

He’s respectful, though, and he doesn’t try to push his luck. So long as we’re playing, this is a game, and it’s one that pays dividends for the both of us.

“So,” I say, brushing the hair out of my face and directing it to cover the upper portion of my breasts, “is this what you imagined it would be?”

It’s a terrible question, I know, but that’s what these moments are for.

“Better,” he says. “I couldn’t have imagined this.”

“Good answer,” I tell him and lean forward enough to give him temporary oral access to my nipples.

It’s his reward, and he revels in it.

After a few moments of elevated bliss, I pull back again.

“Now that’s just fucked up,” he says.

He’s smiling.

I shrug.

“Tell me your fantasy,” I mutter, slowing my pace a little.

“I don’t know,” he says.

I lean back a little farther. My upper body is already far enough away that only his hands could touch it, but the action still has the desired effect.

“The bathtub,” he says.

I stop moving a moment.

“The bathtub?” I ask.

He shrugs, and I resume my motion.

“You mean to tell me that you, Dane Paulson, chef extraordinaire, pretty much all-around male slut—”

“Hey!” he protests.

“You’ve never had sex in the bathtub?”

“No,” he says. “I’ve had sex plenty of—”

Wisely, he doesn’t finish the sentence.

“No, I’ve never had sex in the bathtub,” he says.

“I was expecting something involving anal beads. I’m glad to hear that’s not the case.”

He smirks and shakes his head.

“Well,” I say, “I wish I could help you, but all we’ve got is a shower.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Too bad.”

He doesn’t seem too broken up about it, though, as I lift myself almost to his tip and then slide all the way back down him, grinding my core against his base.

“What’s your fantasy?” he asks.

“Does it have to be something we could actually do right now, or like yours where it currently isn’t possible?” I ask.

He thinks about it for a moment, then takes another to place his mouth over one of my nipples as, it seems, I’ve leaned forward a bit too much.

I quickly pull back and playfully pat the side of his face in a mock slap.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “what was the question?”

“Does my fantasy have to be something we could do here, now?”

“Not necessarily,” he says, “but yeah, that’d be preferable.”

I lean forward, but preempt his mouth’s return to my chest by kissing his neck.

“Hmm…” I breathe as I continue to kiss him.

“Oh, I know you’ve got something in mind,” he says.

“Yeah, but you kind of freaked me out with yours,” I chortle. “I mean, doing it in the bathtub? That’s kinky.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, and I’m feeling a little self-conscious about telling him my fantasies.

“Well, you’re not secretly a fireman, are you?” I ask.

He’s clearly unsure whether I’m serious or not. It’s pretty hilarious.

I bring him back to focus easily enough, though.

“No, I’m not a fireman,” he says, “but I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to get a costume or—”

“It’s not the uniform so much as it is the fact of being a fireman. If you’re not, you’re not. That’s okay, though,” I tell him.

The truth is that I’m just trying to avoid answering the question a little longer. My fantasy’s nothing ultra kinky or anything, it’s just not something I really talk about that often.

“Well,” I say, “if you’re sure you’re not a fireman…”

“Pretty sure,” he says, placing his hands on my hips, guiding my motion, his light push and tug suggesting a slightly quicker pace.

“Under a waterfall at sunrise,” I tell him. “But that’s not really something we can do now, is it?”

“Not really,” he says and laughs.

“Well then,” I say, leaning forward once more.

His hot breath makes the sensitive skin tingle, and the attention of his mouth makes my toes curl.

“If you’re not a fireman, and we’re not under a waterfall at sunrise,” I say, “I guess there is one thing we could try.”

He leans his head back into the sofa cushion.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. “It may sound kind of weird,” I tell him. Now I’m really nervous.

“That’s okay,” he says.

“I’ve always wanted to go out to a bar or some other public place,” I start again.

“Yeah?”

“Pretend we don’t know each other,” I continue.

His hands move to the small of my back.

“Yeah?” he asks, pressing himself into me sweetly.

“Have an ‘impromptu’ date,” I continue.

Yes, I make the little bunny ears with my fingers.

“Then go back to your place and make passionate love, knowing that this is the start of something beyond our wildest imagination.”

All right, my fantasy’s out there.

Weird, maybe, but not kinky.

“One quick question,” he says.

“What’s that?” I breathe, running my fingers through my hair as I slowly ride him.

“As your place is kind of my place, too, would that still work?”

I scoff and lift myself off of him.

“You have no imagination,” I tell him. “You’d bring me back here, unlock the door and we’d obviously end up in your room.”

I kiss him deeply and pat him on the chest.

“Right now, though,” I tell him. “I really have to pee.”

*                    *                    *

After my less-than-dignified departure from our lovemaking, I can’t help but feel self-conscious again. It’s a stupid and ridiculous expectation that women can never be assumed to be creatures that use the bathroom, but there it is.

That said, I came back out to the living room to find Dane missing from the couch.

I called out to him and he answered from his room.

Still naked, I asked him what he was doing, and he answered, simply, by saying, “I have a feeling I’m going to meet a beautiful woman in a bar tonight. My psychic senses—which, I certainly have—tell me that her name will be Leila, and that we’re going to have one of those once-in-a-lifetime meetings. I want to make sure I’m prepared.”