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I can’t stand the thought of him leaving me for even a second. “Just pull out,” I insist, desperately. “Just pull out.”

“Fuck.” His eyes go wide. I can see the hesitation. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes. I need you.”

“Christ.” His voice breaks, and then his hands are back on my hips.

He pushes inside, making me cry out as he fills me. He’s so fucking big, so hard. Heat washes over me as he stretches me open. He grabs my hips, holding me steady as he slams into me again and again, each thrust making my arms buckle. I can’t get enough, I want him deeper, rougher, harder.

“Oh God,” he groans, all self-control leaving him. “You like getting fucked like this, don’t you, little girl? You’re such a slut for my cock.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He leans over, one hand on my shoulder, the other sliding around to rub my clit. “I want to feel you come again,” he growls into my ear. “I want to feel your tight little pussy squeeze my cock while I fuck you.”

“Oh God,” I whimper, feeling everything inside me tighten up. “Oh God, that’s so good.”

“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Let Daddy feel you come on his cock.”

I’m already so close, and the shock of his words tips me over. Suddenly, I’m coming again, this time the hard, thick strokes of his cock as I shudder around it dragging the sensations out until I’m almost crying. My pussy clamps down around him, and he growls, hips stuttering as he fucks me through it.

“Shit, baby. Oh fuck. You’re gonna make Daddy come.” He keeps going, never slowing, and then he pulls out suddenly with a loud cry, stroking his cock fast, and he’s coming all over my ass and lower back, his cum hot where it hits my skin. He pumps himself until every drop is out, his breath choked and heavy.

He reaches past me to the nightstand, grabs a box of Kleenex and wipes us both down, and then he pulls me down with him to the bed, wraps his arms around me, and kisses my shoulder and neck. His heart is pounding so hard I can feel it against my back.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice shaky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

I laugh, delirious and happy, and let him hold me until the world slows down again.

We lie there for a long minute, and then I have the strangest sense.

I can tell something has changed.

Maybe it’s in the tension returning to his body, or the way too much time passes without either of us saying anything. But the warmth morphs into something colder. And sure enough, Vince lifts his arm off of me. Sits up.

I turn to look at him. I can practically see the thoughts assembling behind his eyes. The reality of what we’ve just done. The implications. Everything he said yesterday, and everything he’s just undone.

“Shit,” he says quietly, and sighs.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I really . . . God. I don’t want to put you in this position.”

I sit up and look at him. “What position?”

He looks at me with pained eyes. “I told you we couldn’t keep doing this, and I even had . . . the fucking audacity to bring Camille over to the house.” He runs a hand over his face, and takes another deep breath. “And then I did this. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, Soph. This is a super shitty way to behave. I’m not— Fuck. I need to take care of you better. I shouldn’t have . . .” He trails off.

“Vince,” I say, reaching for his shoulder. “What the fuck?”

He averts his eyes, turns his body to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

He goes to stand up and I grab his wrist. “What are you doing?”

He turns and lays a hand on my cheek. The way he looks at me is devastating—soft and pained, a little bit broken. His gray eyes look heavy and sad. “Sophie, I meant what I told you yesterday. I can’t pretend those problems have gone away because I lost control tonight.”

“So what was this, then?”

He looks miserable. “I don’t know how to answer that.”