She pulls the pillow from under my head and whacks me with it. In my sleep-addled state, with my hands under the covers, I can’t get my hands up in time to defend myself. I wind up with a mouthful of pillow, giggling.

“You. *****. *****!” I shriek. Pounce on her, straddling her so she is trapped, digging my fingers into her skinny sides, tickling. She wriggles violently and laughs and yells. “D! Stop it!”

“No!”

“I’m not ticklish!”

“You’re not?” I say, laughing, so damn happy. I tickle her some more, this time on her kneecap.

She kicks up hard and I fall face-first into her. Suddenly I am hovering over her, held by my hands, staring into her eyes.

Suddenly we are silent, serious. I stare into her eyes and she into mine and my lost feeling from last night returns. I swallow. She doesn’t look away. I don’t force myself, as I usually would, to look away. I let myself linger as long as she does. I can feel miles of her naked skin on mine. Feel wild and careless. I can feel her breath on my face. I’m daring her to do something. And I don’t know what.

She breaks the spell, but not the way I feared. It is like a still pool of gasoline in that second when the match hits, and the brilliance and heat are blinding. Bold as can be, she raises her hand and pulls me down to her, kissing me until I’m breathless. So unexpected that I moan loudly as the lust flashes over and rockets through me, heady emotion on its tails. I could disintegrate, happily.

She is so sweet and warm and eager below me. I grind down into her, and she groans. Her hands are rough in my hair, and she bites my neck in a way that will leave me with a blooming hickey. We grind into each other so roughly that I can feel the bone under our flesh, the hot sparking friction of it. “*****. Darah,” she gasps, hungrily ravaging my mouth.

She rolls me over so I’m on my back. I smile appreciatively as she bites the crook of my neck, yanking the smile violently from my face, making me cry out. She is thrusting into me, measured, accurate thrusts that cause heat to evolve and unfold between us. I am shaved, she is not, and the friction there is out of this world.