I think back on how much liquor she had. Some tastes of bourbon. A few sips of wine and a little more than two beers. Would that make her drunk? Surely she’s a lightweight.

“Last chance,” I say, my mouth hovering over hers, just inches from fulfilling my month-long fantasy.

She answers me by jumping up onto me and putting her hands around my shoulders. I grab her behind and support her with my right arm. But before I kiss her, she wriggles out of my hold and puts her feet back on the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, looking at my left arm. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“If you think I can’t hold you with one arm, Rylee, you don’t know professional athletes very well.”

“Right. Sorry. Let’s try that again.”

She jumps back into my arms and before she can even look at me to make sure I’m okay, my lips crash into hers. I start slow. Exploring. Teasing. And even before my tongue requests the parting of her lips, a groan escapes her.

I push her against the wall and sink my tongue into her mouth. We savor each other, each wanting to go deeper and get more. When I’ve exhausted my breath, I break our seal and trail my lips down around her jaw and neck. I flit my tongue at the lobe of her ear, earning me more throaty noises.

She’s clawing at my back and neck. I can’t pull her tightly enough against me. I don’t want to wait another second to explore what’s beneath her clothing. I back us away from the wall and walk towards the bedroom, only to trip over something and lose my footing.

“Your arm!” she squeals as we topple backwards.

In a split second, I’m able to spin us around so we fall onto my back and not hers, at the same time, protecting my arm that I wouldn’t have even thought about if she hadn’t warned me. It’s only instinctual to try and brace yourself with your primary arm.

She comes to rest on top of me. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“You just saved my arm, Rylee.”

“You just saved me,” she says.

I close my eyes. “I’m not usually such a klutz. Damn.”

She burrows her face in my chest. “It’s my fault. I wiggled out of my shoes and flung them off. They must have fallen in front of your feet.”

I start laughing and Rylee’s head bounces up and down as my chest rises and falls. Then she sits up, smiling as she straddles me. Her gaze falls to my chest as her hands find the bottom of my shirt. I’m no stranger to Rylee’s hands on my body, and for that reason alone, the anticipation of what she could do with them has me reeling.

She slips them under my shirt and slowly works them up my abs. “Wow,” she says. “Kudos to your personal trainer.”

“I’m glad you approve.” I lace my fingers behind my head and watch as she explores my chest, pushing my shirt up to my chin as she traces every ridge and ripple. I reach back and pull my shirt over my head, giving her full access to whatever she needs.

When she reaches my neck, I pull her towards me for another kiss.

“Mmmm,” she mumbles into my mouth. “Beer and au jus.”

I chuckle as my hands run up and down her spine, feeling everything from the ribs of her back down to the dip just below the waistband of her jeans. I reach a finger in and caress the spot just above her butt crack. She arches her back into me and moans.

The noises that come from her are enough to bring any man to his knees. I need more. I need to see her skin. Touch her flesh. I take the hem of her shirt into my hands and move it slowly up her back, waiting for her to give me the green light to remove it.

She sits up, holding her arms up high. After I peel her top off, I stare at what I’ve revealed. Breasts that are supported perfectly in a black satin bra, the ample fleshy globes pushing out over the top. Jesus. I knew they’d be spectacular, but I didn’t expect this.

I’ve never been one to be particular about the size of a woman’s breasts. Big, small – they all have redeeming qualities. But these breasts, I think they are the perfect size. I place my hands on them, gauging how they fit beneath. It’s like two pieces of a puzzle that have come together. I find myself making my own throaty noises as I manipulate her through the bra.

She reaches behind her and unclasps it and it falls to my chest. Without the material between us, I can squeeze and ply and explore them even better.

“I’ll take this over the stress ball any day,” I say, giving her a squeeze with my left hand.

She laughs. “Let’s see what you got, Taylor,” she says, looking down at my hand as it caresses her.

I squeeze as hard as the hand will allow.

“Impressive,” she says, smiling.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” I scoot us over so I can lean against the end of the couch. She’s still straddling me when I take one of her breasts into my mouth, sucking and teasing her puckered nipple as I gently twist the other one with my hand. My left hand.

I momentarily pull away and declare, “This is the best therapy yet. Think Alex would mind if I did this at every appointment?”

She throws her head back and bellows out a throaty laugh. I’m relieved. I didn’t know if bringing up the guy who is pining for her would be a sore spot or not. At least now I know where he stands. And it’s not nearly as close to her as I’m about to get.

After giving her chest ample attention, I focus my gaze on her stomach. I tug the waistband of her jeans down just a bit so I get a clear view of her tattoo. It’s in the shape of a crooked heart with its two sides not quite connecting. I trace it with my index finger, making her shudder.

“I got it to try and hide the scar from having my appendix out,” she tells me.

“It’s nice,” I say. “I like it.” I abruptly change position, and move her onto the floor next to me so I can work my way down her body. “In fact, I want to taste it.”

She mewls when my lips touch the tattoo. I smile and work my tongue around it as my fingers trace a line just below her waistband.

My dick is straining so hard against my fly, I’m afraid my zipper might burst open. I’m painfully hard and in need of release. I’m closer than I’ve ever been with anyone who hasn’t been actively stroking my cock. I guess going this long without female companionship makes the beast needy. I moan to myself as I touch her silky soft skin.

Rylee props herself up on her elbows and guffaws. “Wait. Did you just say you needed to feed the beast?”

I look up at her with crazy eyes. Did I really say that out loud? “Uh, no.”

“You did,” she says laughing. “You said you needed to feed the beast. Is that what you call your penis?”

I look down at my pants and then back up at her. “Uh, no.”

She scolds me with her stare and then motions to my pants. “I’m going to need to see it,” she declares.

“Well that was the plan,” I say with a wink.

“Drop ‘em, Taylor.”

“Like right now? Are you going to make me turn my head and cough?”

“Well, I am a medical practitioner.” She giggles and instantly I know I’ll do it. Hell, I’ll do anything for this girl.

I realize what thought just went through my head and quickly squelch it. I don’t have time for any touchy-feely emotions. I’ll never have time for them. But right now, I’m in my element. She wants me to showboat. I’m the king of showboating. I snap up to my feet and in one fell swoop, bring my jeans and boxer briefs down to my ankles so I’m standing gloriously naked in front of her.

She cocks her head to the side and appraises my dick. It jumps under her perusal. She cocks her head to the other side, narrowing her eyes as she squints at it, like she’s looking at a piece of abstract art trying to decide what to make of it.

“What the hell, Rylee?”

It’s never taken a girl more than two-point-five seconds to grab my dick when it’s been put on display in front of her.

“Hmmm,” she ponders. “Beast? No. I’d say it’s more of a barracuda.”

I laugh as I take a step towards her before remembering my pants are around my ankles.

“Arm!” she yells as I fall towards her on the floor.

I put out my right arm to keep me from colliding with her.

I roll onto my back and remove my pants and shoes. “Damn, woman. You did it again.”

“Maybe we should move someplace safer,” she says.

I nod to the bedroom and she smiles.

I pick her up with my right arm. She gets a strong hold around my neck as I pull her up with me. “You know, the last time I checked, my legs do work,” she says with a sarcastic grin.

It’s not lost on me, however, that she makes no effort to extricate herself from my arms.

My bedroom is dark, only the light from the living room illuminating it. I walk her to the end of the bed and sit her down on it. Then she slips off and falls onto the floor with an “Oof.”

“Shit, Ry. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not as accurate with my right arm.”

She laughs, getting up and sliding back onto the bed until she lies back on my pillow. “It’s fine, but are you getting the idea that the universe doesn’t want us to do this?”

“Fuck that,” I say, climbing on top of her. “I don’t care what the stars or the signs or the magic eight ball says, we’re doing this. There is no way in hell we’re not doing this.”

I start to unbutton her jeans, and then I pause when I think about how bad that might have sounded. I look up at her. “Rylee – we are doing this, aren’t we? I didn’t mean—”

“Brady, if we don’t do this, I think I might spontaneously combust.”

I smile and then proceed to remove her jeans and panties almost as fast as I removed my own. When I crawl back up her body, I take my time at every curve. Her knee – I kiss it. Her thigh – I caress it. The curve of her stomach – I lick it. She squirms under me as I dip a finger between her legs and spread the wetness up and over her clit.