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my body, leaving me bare. Except for
    my heels.
    I lean over the desk, resting on my elbows. I hear the hiss of a
    zipper—and then I feel him. Sliding his cock between my lips—
    testing the waters—making sure I’m ready.
    I’m always ready for him.
    “Don’t tease,” I whimper.
    Between the tequila and the elevator, I’m really turned on.
    Needy. he pushes in slowly but to the hilt. And I sigh.
    Now, we all know the old phrase that bigger is better. And
    Drew is big—not that I have a lot to compare him to, but he’s
    twice the size of Billy.
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    I’m not making you boys out there uncomfortable, am I? News
    flash—this is how woman talk. At least when you’re not around to
    listen.
    Anyway, it’s not really size that makes the man. It’s rhythm—
    the pace—knowing how to hit all those delicious spots with just
    the right amount of pressure. So the next time you see an infomer-
    cial for Cockgrow or Miracle-Dick?
    Save your money. Buy the Kama Sutra instead.
    Drew grabs my hair, pulling my head back, and moves
    quicker. hard and fast. I grip the edge of the desk, holding on
    for balance.
    he kisses my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “You like that,
    baby?”
    I moan. “Yes . . . yes . . . so much.”
    he thrusts into me with more force, shaking the desk.
    And just like that, I’m coming like an out-of-control locomo-
    tive.
    I’m floating. Weightless.
    And it’s sublime.
    Drew slows the movement of his hips as I come down, drawing
    it out—making it last. he pulls me back against his chest and his
    fingers skate up across my stomach and up to my breasts, cupping
    and kneading them with both hands.
    I raise my arms around his neck, turning my head, bringing
    his mouth to mine.
    I love his mouth, his lips, his tongue. Kissing is an art form,
    and Drew Evans is Michelangelo.
    he pulls out of me and I turn around to face him. Backing him
    up to the bed. Drew sits on the edge and I climb on, wrapping my
    legs around his waist.
    God, yes.
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    E m m a c h a s E
    This is how I like it best—chest to chest, mouth to mouth, not
    an inch of space between us. I take him in my hand and slide down
    onto him. My insides stretch with the fullness and Drew moans.
    I rise slowly and slam down hard. Testing the strength of the bed
    springs.
    Squeak.
    Squeak.
    I move faster. Deeper. Our bodies are slick from the Mexican
    heat.
    And then Drew is holding my face in his hands, his thumbs
    moving back and forth across my skin. Suddenly tender. Worshipful.
    Our foreheads press together and in the dim light I can see his
    eyes looking down, watching where he moves in and out of me.
    And I look down too.
    It’s erotic. Sensual.
    I push his hair back from his forehead.
    And my voice is begging, “Tell me you love me.”
    he doesn’t say it often. he prefers to show me. But I never get
    tired of hearing it. Because every time he actually says the words, I’m filled with same wonderment as the first time.
    “I love you, Kate.”
    his hands still hold my face. Both of us panting—moving
    faster—getting closer. It feels spiritual.
    A holy communion.
    Drew’s voice is hushed. Breathless. “Tell me you’ll never leave
    me.”
    his eyes are soft now, liquid silver. Pleading for reassurance.
    For all his audacity and over-confidence, I think there’s a part
    of him that’s still haunted by the week he thought I’d chosen Billy over him. I think that’s why he works so hard to prove how much
    he wants me.
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    To show me that I chose wisely.
    I smile softly and look right into his eyes.
    “Never. I’ll never leave you, Drew.”
    The words feel like vows.
    his hands grip my hips, raising me up, helping me move.
    “God, Kate . . .” his eyes close.
    And our mouths open, giving and taking each other’s breaths.
    he expands inside me, throbbing, as I clamp down hard