She’d moved her hands back to my fly, but they remained there, unmoving. “Show me how to do this?”

It was probably the hottest thing I’d ever heard a woman say. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, a little hoarse, a lot hungry. Maybe it was knowing how accomplished she was, and this one task felt so far out of her comfort zone but she’d asked me to help. Or maybe it was simply that I was wild for her, and showing Hanna how to pleasure me made me feel like I was telling the universe, This one belongs to me.

I moved her hands to the waist of my jeans, and together we worked them and my boxers down my hips, freeing my c**k between us.

I let her look at me while I lifted both hands to slide her hair behind her neck, leaning in to kiss her throat. “You taste so f**king good.” I was so hard I felt my pulse hammering along my length. I needed relief from this tension. “Shit, Hanna, wrap your hand around me.”

“Show me, Will,” she pleaded, running both hands over my stomach and down, just barely touching where the tip of my c**k strained, erect. We looked down the length of our bodies and swayed slightly in unison.

I took her warm hand, wrapped it around the middle of my shaft and slid it down and then back up, groaning a long, drawn-out “Fuuuck.”

She moaned quietly—a tight, excited sound—and I almost broke. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, leaned down again to kiss a line up her neck, and guided her. It was so slow. I hadn’t had a hand job in forever, and would take head or sex over a hand one hundred percent of the time, but this, right here, was perfect.

Her lips were so f**king close to mine. I could feel her breath, could taste her candy-sweet plum drink.

“Is it weird that I’m touching you here and we haven’t even kissed yet?” she whispered.

I shook my head, looking down to where her fingers wrapped around me. I swallowed, could barely think. “There’s no right or wrong here. No rules.”

She lifted her eyes from where she’d been staring at my mouth. “You don’t have to kiss me.”

I gaped at her. I’d wanted to kiss her for weeks now. “Shit, Hanna, yes. I do.”

Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. “Okay.”

I bent low, hovering so close, moving her hand up and down my length, and just taking her in. Her lips were a breath away from mine, her little sounds coming out whenever she reached the head of my c**k and I let out a grunt. It felt too good to be just a hand job. And all of this was suddenly too intimate to be just friends.

I looked at her eyes, and then her mouth, before moving that last inch to kiss her.

She was so f**king sweet and warm, our first kiss was unreal: just a slide of my lips over hers, asking: Let me do this. Let me do this and be gentle and careful with every part of you. I kissed her a few times, full lips, careful kisses so she knew I’d take this as f**king slowly as she needed me to.

When I opened my mouth just enough to suck on her bottom lip, a thrill ran through me at the sound of her tight moan. Christ, I wanted to lift her up, f**k her mouth with my tongue, and take her against the wall, with the party raging outside and my eyes on her face, watching her process every single sensation.

When she pulled back, she studied my mouth, my eyes, my forehead. She studied me; I couldn’t tell if it was a general fascination with what she was learning, or specific to this moment, to me. But nothing would have pulled me out of my trance. Not fireworks outside, or a fire in the hall. My need to someday be inside her—to completely possess her—spiked through me and planted beneath my ribs, pressing.

“You’ll tell me if this is lame, right?” she asked, voice quiet.

I laughed, wheezing. “Oh, it’s not lame. It’s so f**king good, and it’s just your hand.”

Looking unsure, she asked, “Do . . . others not do this?”

I swallowed thickly, hating the mention of other women right now. Before, I’d almost wanted them to be a lingering presence, a reminder to all parties what was and wasn’t happening in a moment like this. With Hanna, I wanted to wipe their shadows from the wall. “Shh.”

“I mean, do you usually just have sex?”

“I like what we’re doing. I don’t want something else right now; will you just focus on the dick in your hand?”

She laughed, and I pulsed in her palm, loving the sound. “Fine,” she whispered. “I just have to start with the basics.”

“I like that you want to learn how to touch me.”

“I like touching you,” she murmured against my mouth. “I like that you’re showing me.”

We were moving faster together now; I showed her how hard to squeeze, letting her know it was okay to hold on tight and that I needed it to start getting faster and harder than she’d expected.

“Squeeze it,” I whispered. “I like it pretty hard.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No, it’s f**king killing me.”

“Let me try.” She gently pushed my arm away with her free hand.

It freed me to cup her breasts, and I bent down to suck one nipple into my mouth, blowing lightly over the peak.

She moaned, her rhythm slowing for a moment before she sped up again. “Can I keep doing this until you finish?” she asked.

I laughed quietly into her skin. She had me practically vibrating, struggling to not lose it every time she slid her hand down and over the head of my cock. “I was kind of counting on that.”

I sucked on her neck, closing my eyes and wondering if she’d let me mark her there, so I could see it tomorrow. So everyone could. All around me the world seemed to spin. Her hand felt good, of course, but the reality of her absolutely rocked me. The smell and taste of her smooth, firm skin, her sounds of pleasure simply from touching me. She was sexual and responsive and curious, and I wasn’t sure I’d been this turned on in a long, long time.

The familiar tension built deep in my belly, and I began to rock forward in her grip. “Hanna. Oh, shit, just a little faster, okay?” The words felt so much more intimate this way: spoken into her skin, my breath ragged.

She faltered for only a second before responding, pulling harder and faster, and I was close—embarrassingly soon—and I didn’t give a single fuck. Her long, slim fingers wrapped tight around me and she let me suck on her bottom lip, her jaw, her neck. I knew she would taste good everywhere.

I wanted to show her how it felt to be fucked.

With that thought, of falling over her and into her, making her come with my body, I leaned into her, begged her to bite me, bite my neck my shoulder . . . anything. I didn’t care how it sounded; somehow I knew that she wouldn’t balk, or recoil from the reality of this admission.

Without hesitation, she leaned in, opened her mouth on my neck, and pressed her teeth sharply into me. My thoughts blurred, everything flashed hot and wild; for a moment it felt like every synapse in my body had rewired, unplugged, gone off. Her hand slipped over me fast, my orgasm barreling down my spine and I came with a quiet groan, the heat crawling up my spine and pouring from me into her hand and over her bare stomach.

Just when I needed her to, she stopped moving but didn’t let go. I could feel her eyes on where she held me in her hand, and I jerked when she moved down my length again, experimentally.

“No more,” I gasped, my voice tight.

“Sorry.” She slid the thumb of her free hand over where I’d come on her palm, rubbed it over her hip, eyes wide and fascinated. She was breathing so hard her chest jerked with the movement.

“Holy shit,” I exhaled.

“Was it . . . ?” The room seemed full with her unfinished question and the sound of my heavy breathing. I felt a little dizzy, and wanted to pull her down onto the floor with me and pass out.

“That was f**king unreal, Hanna.”

She looked up at me, almost triumphant with discovery. “I was right—you made the best noise when you came.”

The world dropped into an abyss when she said that, because here I was, growing soft in her hand, and all I wanted was to find out whether doing that to me had made her wet.

I bent forward and asked, “Is it my turn now?” into the soft skin of her neck.

With a trembling breath, she whispered, “Yes, please.”

“Do you want my hands?” I asked. “Or do you want something else?”

She let out a little nervous laugh. “I’m not really ready for more, but . . . I don’t think hands work on me.”

I leaned back enough to give her my most skeptical look, unbuttoning the top button of her jeans and just daring her to stop me.

She didn’t.

“I just mean I don’t know if I can get off with fingers, like, just inside,” she clarified.

“Well, of course you can’t get off just with fingers inside. Your cl*tisn’t inside.” I slid my hand beneath her cotton underwear and froze at the sensation of soft, bare skin. “Uh, Hanna? I did not peg you as a waxer.”

She wiggled a little, embarrassed. “Chloe was talking about it. I was curious. . . .”

I slipped a finger between her lips—holy fuck, she was drenched. “Jesus Christ,” I groaned.

“I like it,” she admitted, her mouth pressed against my neck. “I like how it feels.”

“Are you f**king kidding? You’re so f**king soft; I want to lick up and down every part of this.”

“Will . . .”

“I’d have my mouth on you in two seconds if we weren’t in some random guy’s bedroom.”

She shivered under my touch, letting out a quiet moan. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined that.”

Holy hell. I felt myself lengthen between us again, already. “I think you’d melt like sugar on my tongue. What do you think?”

She laughed a little, holding on to my shoulders. “I think I’m melting now.”

“I think you are. I think you’re going to melt all over my f**king hand and I’ll lick it off after. Are you loud, little Plum? When you come are you wild?”

A tiny choking sound escaped before she whispered, “By myself I’m not loud.”

Fuck. That’s what I wanted to hear. I could build fantasies for a decade just thinking about Hanna, legs spread on her couch or while she was lying in the middle of her bed, touching herself.

“By yourself, what do you do? Just the clit?”

“Yeah.”

“With a toy or . . . ?”

“Sometimes.”

“I bet I can make you come like this,” I said, and slid two fingers carefully inside, feeling her squeeze me. I brushed my nose against hers. “Tell me. Do you like my fingers here? Fucking you?”

“Will . . . you’re so dirty.”

I laughed, nibbling at her jaw. “I think you like dirty.”

“I think I’d like your dirty mouth between my legs,” she said softly.

I groaned, moved my hand faster and harder into her.

“Do you think about it?” she asked. “Kissing me there?”

“I have,” I admitted. “I think about it and wonder if I’d ever come up for air.”

So wet. She was wiggling all over my hand, making these little desperate sounds I wanted to eat. I pulled my fingers out, ignoring her angry little growl, and with them painted a wet line up her chin and across her lips, following almost immediately with my tongue, covering her mouth with mine.

Fuuuck.

She tasted all woman, soft and heady, and her tongue was still sticky sweet from her girly drink. She tasted like plum, ripe and soft and small in my mouth, and I felt like a f**king king when she begged me to touch her more, again, please Will I was close.

Returning to her, I shoved her pants and underwear all the way down her legs, waiting as she stepped out of them. She was completely na**d and my arms were shaking with the need to slide inside her perfect, warm heat.

She reached for my wrist, pulling my hand back between her legs.

“Greedy girl.”

Her eyes went wide, embarrassed. “I just—”

“Shh.” I quieted her with my mouth on hers, sucking on her lip and licking her sweet tongue. Pulling back, I whispered, “I like it. I want to make you explode.”

“I will.” She jerked in my hand when I slid my fingers between her legs and over her clit. “I’ve never felt this.”

“So wet.”

Her mouth opened in a sharp gasp when I slid my fingers back inside her. She stared at my lips, my eyes, my every reaction. I loved that she was so curious she couldn’t even look away.

“Do me a favor,” I asked. She nodded. “When you’re close, tell me. I’ll know, but give me the words.”

“I will,” she gasped. “I will, I will, just . . . please.”

“Please what, Plum?”

She weaved slightly against me. “Please don’t stop.”

I slid my fingers deeper, faster, pressing my thumb up against her cl*tand working it right there in tighter, smaller circles. Yes. Holy shit, she’s so close.

I was hard again, rubbing over her bare hip where I’d already come on her only minutes ago, and close again myself.

“Grab my dick, okay? Just hold on. You’re so f**king wet and your sounds . . . holy fuck, I . . .”

And then she was there, holding on to me tight enough to f**k her fist, and every thought became about how smooth she was around my fingers and the fruit plumpness of her lips and tongue.

She started to dissolve, her body completely losing it. She was quietly gasping the same thing over and over—Oh my God—which I was thinking, too.

“Say it.”