Many of you have asked... and here it is! Chapter 11 is ready!

Also, as a disclaimer and a friendly reminder, this story is rated M *coughFORESHADOWINGcough*

A special thank you to Pia Bartolini for her superb editing skills! Between family commitments, power outages, and a broken leg, she STILL wanted to beta this and I am ever so thankful! Seriously, you rock!

Please read and review! I am SO excited to hear your thoughts!

"This sucks! I don't want to go to Dad's! I have a test tomorrow, and I have to share a room with Alex, and there's not enough room in the bathroom, and, Mom, come on!"

I let out an exasperated, guilt-stricken sigh. "Elsie, baby, I have to go," I try to soothe as sympathetically as possible. Being the Senior Legal Assistant of the firm, one of the requirements of my job is to coordinate and attend the yearly Partner's retreat in Portland, Oregon. To the kids, my absence was pretty much a free for all; a junk-food fest with Dad, watching endless movies, staying up late, and the house looking like it exploded by the time I returned on Wednesday night. So, as much as I want to be annoyed by the sour attitudes they're giving me, I feel terrible. Not only am I leaving them for three days, I'm leaving them in a place that is not really home.

I tune out Elsie's complaints when the GPS indicates the next turn. This is the first time I am bringing the kids to Seiya. In fact, I feel pretty foolish that I've never actually checked out where he lives before now. When the navigation indicates another left turn, I notice the flags and wrought iron gates of an apartment complex welcoming me. My eyes scan the property, brick buildings stacked next to one another, separated by rectangular parking lots. It's exactly what you'd expect from a suburban apartment complex; simple. Plain. No frills.

Elsie points me to the correct lot, but slumps back in her seat as I pull into the parking spot. Who can blame her? She's going to have to deal with being here three school nights. Meaning, three nights with sharing the one bathroom, of waking up earlier so Dad can drive them to school, and, from what I've heard via her weekly complaints, tight quarters.

I cut the engine and pocket my keys before turning to my children. Alex, as usual, is distant, staring vacantly out the window. Elsie is still pouting, but slowly repacking her items.

"I'll pick you guys up on Wednesday night, okay?"

A chime of less-than-enthused yeah's fill the cabin.

I try for a reassuring smile, but it falls flat. Not bothering to look at me, both kids grab their bags and shuffle out of Dory. My smile drops as I wonder much longer they will keep acting like this?

Sighing, I open my door and follow them to Seiya's apartment so he and I can discuss the weekend. But each step flares my nerves. What is Seiya's place like? Is it a total bachelor pad? Or kid ready? Modern? Laid back?

A sour thought crosses my mind. One thing I know for sure is that it is completely devoid of me.

Alex knocks at the door hastily before pushing it open, dropping his bags in the process.

"Alex!" I call out to him, but it's no use. He's already zipped over to one of the two rooms down the hallway and slammed the door.

Seiya materializes as Elsie skulks into the area. "Hey, babygirl," he greets with a kiss on her forehead. She, in turn, briefly nudges her head against his shoulder before trudging into the living room, bag dragging behind her in great theatrics. I drop my shoulders, sadness overtaking me.

"It'll be okay," Seiya says reassuringly, but the kindness doesn't quite soothe my needs.

"Will it?" I snap. "Will it ever be 'okay'?" A few moments of silence linger between us before I shake my head. "Sorry, sorry," I apologize. "The ride over sucked."

Seiya shrugs his shoulders, as if it's no big deal. "No worries. So, you had a few things you wanted to talk about?"

I am thankful for his urge to get to the point and end this discomfort. Seiya motions for me to follow him to the small breakfast bar, allowing me to take in the sights of his apartment. The living room is sparsely decorated with a black leather couch, oversized chair, and television. I spot his guitar from yesteryears propped in the corner on a stand, like it was back in our house. A few framed photos of the kids are sprinkled throughout the area, but for the most part, it's spartan.

I force myself to stop scoping the area and turn to him. "Yeah. I just want to make sure you're all set with pick-up and drop-off. Tomorrow Elsie has dance, and Al—"

"Alex has soccer. Dance ends at 6:15, soccer ends at 6:30. Just because I left doesn't mean I stopped knowing my kids' schedules, Serena," Seiya grumbles as he shakes his head, like I'm being ridiculous. As much as I want to lambaste him for never, ever, eeeever being involved with shuttling the kids anywhere, I bite back the remarks.

"I'll be back Wednesday night, so if it's okay, I'll pick them up here around 7?"

Seiya nods. "That's fine."

"I'm staying at the RiverPlace in Portland. I'll be working most of the time, but my cell will be on in case of emergency," I advise him.

"I figured."

"So, with that, I guess I'll go now?" I venture, not really sure how I'm feeling about this whole situation. It's a little overwhelming. In fact, part of me wants to cancel, take my babies home, and force someone else to step in and coordinate this whole meeting in my place, never mind that it's my job. Then again, I also want to get away. It would be so nice to clear my head and focus only on work. And boy, oh boy, there is a ton of it to be done.

Suck it up, buttercup, and let's go.

I make the short walk back to the doorway. "Kids, I'm leaving," I call out to them, my heart drops when I hear nothing in response. Not a 'bye Mom,' or even a hug. Nothing. And it hurts. It hurts so much that I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to force back my emotions.

"Hey, wait," Seiya suddenly interjects as I grasp the doorknob. "Can I ask a favor?"

I drop my hand, irritated that he didn't bother to reprimand our children for their poor treatment of me, yet had the balls to ask for something else. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Can you keep the kids Friday night and I'll pick them up Saturday morning? I know it's my weekend and all, but with the extra days this week, I was hoping maybe you'd be okay with it?" he asks hesitantly, hands shoved deep in his pocket. I shrug in response; it's not like I have anything important going on.

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Thanks. I was offered a gig on Friday, but I didn't want to accept it unless you were okay with it," he hastily explains, like he needed to clarify it wasn't for ill intentions. I have to process the words for a moment, then can't help but ask.

"A gig? You started playing again?"

A bashful smile crinkles his face, one I haven't seen in ages but still clenches my heart. "Yeah, got the old group together. Not as wild as we used to be, but it feels good to be back."

"Wow. You know, I never thought you guys should have ended things in the first place," I shake my head in amazement, remembering my disappointment when Seiya announced that their group was taking a hiatus. Between our two kids, his bandmate Taiki getting married, and Yaten going off for his PhD, things got too chaotic for them to make time to practice, let alone play a show.

He shrugs again. "Yeah, well, we all were settling down. And now that things are a little," he pauses briefly, "less hectic? You know, no babies or stuff, we can jam every now and again."

No babies or … stuff. Aka, no wife to get in the way for you anymore. My genuine smile becomes strained. "Good for you." Deciding now is the perfect time to leave, I quickly turn the doorknob and push myself out. "Tell them I said goodbye since, obviously, they're not coming."

"I will," he answers, and I leave it at that. The door shuts with finality in the damp Seattle evening, and finally the tears can fall.

The band – his band – back together again, playing a show? So, he's not just moving on from me, he's moving on with his life, picking up where things ended for him twelve years ago. Playing gigs in bars, singing into the microphone, plucking the strings of his guitar, being the rockstar that he always dreamt he would be.

I heave myself into Dory and drop my head against the steering wheel. Why does Seiya get to move on, but I'm stuck juggling work on top of being Elsie and Alex's emotional punching bag and taxi cab? Why does he get to switch weekends and pretend to be 24 again? Why does he get to pick my kids up with a fucking hickey on his neck? Why does he get to pick up where he left off?

Don't I deserve to do that, too? Don't I deserve the luxury of enjoying my life, of picking up my scattered pieces and putting them back together again? Hell, should I go back to school, like he's going back to music?

A blush suddenly creeps onto my cheeks as the tender moment from a week ago materializes in my mind: Darien's encouragement and confidence in my ability to go back and finish my law degree. I was so, so convinced all these years that I shouldn't. From spousal duties, to family responsibilities, to my job, I felt like it wasn't possible to achieve. But the look in his eyes, the way he held on to my shoulders, the certainty I could hear in his voice, he got me thinking. Could I?

After all, the kids are gone Tuesday and Thursday evenings. They're not home every other weekend. I could probably start small with some evening classes and do work on the weekends and my lunch breaks. And, now being a one-income taxpayer, I could probably get some financial aid, too.

So, what's stopping me? Clearly, Seiya has embraced moving on. He's finding a way to pursue his dream after life changed our plans. If he can find a new balance of family and personal goals, maybe I can, too.

#

The RiverPlace Hotel is easily one of the slickest venues I've ever seen. The waterfront location already gives it an unfair advantage, but I am a sucker for the modern décor. Everything about the hotel screams luxury. And as one who doesn't often indulge in lavish settings I take full advantage of my time here, especially when it's on the company's dollar!

My enjoyment is well-earned, I do say; I come down a day early to review the meeting room set up, assure all AV equipment is in place and presentations are preloaded, and coordinate all the meetings from the 10am working-breakfast to the 8pm dinner and social hour. Social hour, naturally, turns into drinks. Drinks, of course, turns into a gaggle of drunks. And then at the morning meeting I'm the one with the bottle of aspirin, bagels, and coffee waiting for them before they split up into breakout sessions. Throw in a late afternoon of massages or a game of golf, the second night is a total blowout of a party. Dinner is usually top-notch, the alcohol is free flowing, and it gets crazy. So crazy that I've come home with dozens of stories of disbelief, horror, and hilarity.

Meanwhile, I am in the background making sure everything runs smoothly. And though exhaustion comes with my responsibilities, I also have the reward of delicious meals, cocktails, and my own massage. Not just any massage - it's a 60 minute, full body, aromatherapy massage. I intentionally schedule it during the second night of drinks because I know that no one will miss me. The next morning I wake up refreshed and can take my time getting ready, before cleaning up the remaining bits of paperwork and heading home. So, while it's a long stretch of time to be gone, it's a nice switch from my usual work.

I'm in the thick of my preparations, tucked away in the back corner of the RiverPlace's Pub with my books spread across the booth. In reviewing Dowers' breakout session and the requested number of tables and groups he needs, I am trying to mix up the partners effectively. I am midway through table three when a shadow obscures my lighting.

"Working hard or hardly working?"

My cheeks flush just from the rich tones of his voice. I look up into intoxicating eyes and smile.

"Well I was working hard, but I believe you've effectively distracted me. What are you doing down here a day early?" I ask. Darien laughs before sitting down in the booth, eyeing my piles with curiosity.

"I didn't want to have to wake up early, so I thought I'd come down the night before. Is that John's breakout for tomorrow?" I nod in response, only to raise an eyebrow when Darien's face morphs into a grimace. "Oh, damn, please don't put me at table two. I can't stand Anne. Please," he pleads.

I giggle, but at the same time my heart is singing from his admission of his dislike. Anne has made it perfectly obvious that she is interested in him. With saucy outfits, manipulating the client lunch schedule, and pointlessly frequent visits to his office, her mission is clear as day. "Oh, really? I thought you two were the best of friends," I tease, my giggle turning into a full-blown laugh as I watch his expression shift to displeasure.

"No, no, no, no," he insists as he shakes his head. He shifts closer to me as his eyes inspect my chart. "How about you put me..." he trails as he removes his named tab from table two, "here?" I mock-frown when I see that he puts himself at the AV table.

"Not gonna happen," I counter, reaching for his tab. In response, he quickly snatches the tag off of my paper and stretches away from my reach. "Hey, give that back!"

"Nope. Not until you say you'll move me far, far away from table two," he barters.

"Nope, I need a Senior Partner at each table. Now give me my tab back." I make a grab for it, but he continues to hold it further away from me. I reach again, grazing against his arm, but Darien only laughs and persists.

"Say you'll move me."

"Nope."

"Come on!"

"Nope."

"I'd work much better at table four!"

"I already have Wilford at four," I defend as I strain my arm further. I nearly keel over when I feel my breast brush against him, all electricity and awareness, but he's being playful with me.

And, truth be told, I don't want to forfeit this little game we've started.

"Five?"

"Rainford."

"Three?"

"Hilsbach."

"So I really do have to stay at two?" he sighs dramatically, adopting a puppy dog look that nearly knocks me unconscious. I don't think I've ever seen a pout so erotic in my life.

"Okay, fiiiine," I concede, "I'll put you at four."

Victorious, he returns the pilfered tab. I snatch it and update my chart, the smirk never leaving my own face. "There! All set, you big baby," I reply as I close my book dramatically. "No more messing with my tables."

"Fair enough," he concedes with his hands up. "Done working for the night, then?"

I shake my head. "Nope, got a few more details to hammer out here," I reply as I reach for my second planning binder.

Darien grimaces. "Who's your boss? He must be such a jerk to give you this workload on a Sunday. I'd like to have a word with him!" he insists, playfully scoping out the patrons in the bar until I poke him in the arm.

"That'd be you, big guy."

"Ah, yes," he replies. "Well, if you're going to be working on a Sunday night, at the very least you've earned a refreshed drink."

I nod my head in acceptance. "Now that I will certainly take you up on. Maker's Mark? Neat, please."

He gives a quick bow of his head before disappearing toward the bar, and the damage is done. I don't know how on earth I am going to focus on the rest of the work I need to complete. It has been like that the last few days; any time I am around him my heart races and fingers twitch in desperation to feel the firmness of his jaw, the silky warmth of his hair, to touch him anywhere – anywhere at all! It's gotten so bad that I keep dreaming of the man! And in those dreams, he's kissing my neck, my shoulders, all over my body, and, ugh. I've got it bad.

I fidget with my pen and open one of my binders, desperately trying to will myself back into work mode and out of this self-induced state of desire. But once I get a whiff of his cologne, that delicious aroma of spice and cocoa, I am quick to lose interest. He shimmies into the booth once again, a little closer to me this time, and presents my drink.

"Thank you," I say as I tip my glass in appreciation. He smiles, clicking his own liquor with mine, and I sip at the delicious bourbon.

"Anytime," he replies, his voice thick like honey, and just as sweet. In an effort to try and drown out my body's response to his proximity, I take another slow, lengthy swallow, allowing the alcohol to settle my nerves.

"So, what do you have left to work on?" he asks, looking over the multiple binders spread out on the table.

I replace my drink and reach for my blue binder. "Well," I clear my throat, "this is the schedule for the extracurriculars." I shift forward to grasp the elusive book when I'm jolted by the feel of my thigh against his. As I settle back to my seat I am very, very aware of his proximity. "I need to finalize the last few Partner activities," I swallow thickly. He leans over, his bicep grazing my own, and studies the planner.

My heart is racing, practically to the point where my quickened breath has to be obvious. I smile and try to find something else to say, but I'm at a loss for words. All of my senses have been taken over by this fantastic specimen of man next to me, and I don't know what else to do.

Except reach for my drink and take another fortifying sip.

"I'm glad to see you put yourself on the list," Darien comments with a tap of his long, slender finger on the spreadsheet.

"Mmhmm," I squeak as I continue hiding behind my prop of a beverage.

"You're going pretty late though, aren't you? Isn't that during the dinner party?"

"Ah, yeah," I reply, the alcohol starting to kick in quickly, calming my nerves just enough that I think I can speak normally again. "I typically go when you guys are eating and networking."

Darien props his elbow on the table and rests his head against a closed fist. "You know," he begins, "If you are considering going back to school, I think it would be beneficial for you to come."

"Yeah, but, won't you guys mostly be talking about your casework and whatnot?" I counter, still finding my attendance pointless.

"But you're directly involved in it, are you not?"

"True," I amend, "but I'm involved on a whole separate level: the administrative level. Your discussions on CPE and specific facts are far superior to my deposition writing."

"I, for one, think your deposition writing is pretty damn good," Darien counters, "but I understand what you mean."

I smile. "Yeah, so, you can see why it's not really my place to attend," I add with a shrug.

"I guess, we can get pretty boring," he chuckles as he sips his own drink.

"I'll say," I taunt, only to giggle when he mock-scoffs at me.

"Are you confirming that I'm boring?" he places a hand on his chest, eyes on mine, as if daring me to answer him honestly. Unfortunately for me, the teasing response gets lodged in my throat, my smirk slowly dropping as his gaze holds my own.

"No," I utter breathily. The atmosphere around us transforms, no longer light and innocent, but tense. So, so tense.

"See, I think," Darien says in a softened tone that does nothing to slow my thundering pulse, "that if you were there, you'd make a boring conversation much more interesting."

My cheeks burn, the compliment swirling around my mind like frosting on a cupcake. "Oh?" I sputter.

A smooth, sexy smile weaves its way onto his face, and I'm pretty sure a feather could knock me down at this point. "Absolutely."

I bite on my bottom lip nervously but can't look away. What he's thinking right now, if his thoughts echo my own. How I long to move even closer, press forehead and lips and catalogue the planes of his face with my fingers? They itch to caress the soft hollow of his cheek, to weave through his hair as I taste him.

The butterfly-nerves in my stomach are almost too much as my self control stretches in the silence.

"I should go," I manage after what feels like eternity locked in his gaze. He blinks two, three times, and I feel heartened that it wasn't just me. "Early start tomorrow," I add as I gather my binders with nerveless fingers and Darien quickly slides out of the booth to allow me through.

"Thank you for the drink," I add, giving him what I hope is an easy smile before I back away and reluctantly pivot toward the door. Somehow, each step away heightens the tingling awareness that has settled in my bones. Fuck! That moment, that stupid moment, it was so damn intense that I might just… just… burst!

I rush to the elevator, pushing the call button erratically as I take a deep, steadying breath. My heart, however, will not stop pounding. I am completely worked up over here. All I want to do is get into my room, toss all my binders on the desk, and take a long shower with a side of self castigation for having these ridiculous feelings for Darien. You can't have him, Serena. He's your boss. Your boss. Do you realize the implications of what could happen if you started something with him?

The doors spring open and paneled metal walls beckon me. I quickly step in, grateful for the lack of a crowd in the elevator as I continue to try and calm my nerves. Forget this moment ever happened, whatever it was back there. Swallow your feelings, move on, and get to work. I let out a melancholy sigh. I should just go to sleep once I get back upstairs, because at least in my sleep, I don't have to feel guilty wanting him there.

But just as the door is about to close, a red binder materializes and springs the doors back open.

"You forgot your book."

My cheeks flush brightly as Darien steps in. "O-oh," I reply bashfully, reaching out for the forgotten planner. "Thank you." He nods his head before extending the binder to me, but it's no use. Between my flustered, aroused state from our staring contest in the booth and the fact that I am currently cradling four other binders, I fail to intercept. In fact, everything in my arms tumbles to the carpet just as the bell chimes our arrival at my destination.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, kneeling down to pick up my items. Thankfully, Darien puts his foot in the gap, keeping the elevator from sending us to another floor. I stand back up, binders askew, embarrassment warring with desire as Darien chuckles.

"Let me help you with those," he offers as he plucks two of the binders from my grasp.

I blush deeper as I mumble an embarrassed thank you, leading him down a few doors to my room. I fumble around to get the key out of my back pocket and tap it against the door, jimmying the handle with an elbow and bursting into the room. Miraculously, I manage to drop the binders on my desk, unscathed, before turning back to my amused boss.

"Thank you," I say as I approach him, "I appreciate the help. You didn't need to do that," I add with a grateful, hopefully-polite smile. Inside, though, I'm melting down, senses in overdrive as I stare at him once more. He returns my smile with that sweet, sexy twist of his lips that I can't get enough of.

"Anytime," he replies as he steps in a little bit closer. I reach for the binders but barely grasp them as our eyes lock again. My previous inner diatribe deserts me completely, and all I can do is tip my head toward those eyes. That mouth.

I want him. Screw the consequences.

He slowly bends towards me, head lowered, and like a magnet I feel myself moving in. I am wrapped up in his warm breath, smelling of vanilla and some wonderful unknown. A thrill shivers my skin before his lips—those full, sensuous lips— brush against mine.

The binders I was barely holding onto fall to the floor as his lips gently and insistently brand me, and for a fleeting moment everything else falls away. I savor his sweet, soft mouth caressing my own, and his fingers brush against my cheek. Not even my wildest dreams could create such a tender moment as this.

Darien pulls away from me slowly, but still too soon, and our eyes connect once more. The only sound I can hear is stuttering, unsteady breaths, and in his gaze I can see swirls of emotion that mirror my own. Hesitancy. Uncertainty.

Lust. Desire.

The next thing I know, he is consuming me, nearly knocking all wind from my lungs. His tongue begs entrance, gentle but demanding, and it's like nothing I've ever experienced. I moan into his mouth, the taste of whiskey exchanged in our commingled breaths. Instead of drifting away I anchor myself to him, rake fingers greedily through his hair, press my body against his frame. He cups the back of my neck, as if he can pull me any closer. It is magic, the way his lips burn into mine. His mouth is intoxicating.

We are kissing as if our lives depend on it. I have never wanted anyone like this before. Ever. I claw at his shirt, my hands desperate to sear his skin, to feel his chest pressed up against me. My knees start to buckle from the intensity of our embrace and I stumble back into the wall for support, all while fumbling with the hem of his shirt. In a bold move, I slide my hands underneath to feel his taut frame, and it's everything I had fantasized. Beneath my fingers his skin is silky heat. Hungry for more, I yank at the fabric barrier and pull it up hastily, but not before drinking in the sight. He looks like a movie star, from his well toned torso right down to his biceps.

I toss his shirt off to the side as Darien's hands settle at my hips. He slides the silky fabric of my top up my stomach tantalizingly slow, and I lean my head back into the wall. He leaves a path of goosebumps as his knuckles drag against my curves. His lips sweep against my collarbone, planting kisses along my neck, up to my ear, all while pulling the shirt up and finally over my head.

Darien's fingertips are electric; they must be, for wherever they touch my skin tingles in a frenzy of static. His hands map my arms, my shoulders, my abdomen, and back again. I am in a state of ecstasy. My soul is on fire with the slide of his fingers, and when he caresses my breast, I nearly come undone.

Somehow he moved us from the wall to the bed and we tumble onto it, the weight of his body on top of mine an extraordinary bliss. His face rubs mine with the bite of stubble but I don't care, I don't care at all. He feels magnificent. His hands are grazing my body, everywhere, and it doesn't matter that our mouths are already joined, I want him closer. I need him to be so much closer. A bolt of heat shoots through my core as the thought invades my mind.

This is not enough. I want so much more.

Our minds must be synchronized, because I feel Darien tugging at my jeans, trying to unbutton them as his lips sear my neck. Once the button gives way, he's crawling down my body, slipping my jeans down with him. I bend my knees back one by one as he frees my legs and tosses the pants aside. My hooded eyes lock on his hands as they work at his belt and jeans, shucking them to the floor with a gentle plop.

He hovers over me once more, fingers combing through my hair as our underwear is a final, insubstantial barrier. I feel him—all of him—pressed against me, and I inhale his shaving cream, his shampoo, and that extra scent that's just… Darien. I want to breathe him, lick him, eat him, drink him. His hands trail down to my inner thighs, caressing them as he nips my earlobe. I gasp as his fingers slide underneath my panties and rub slickly, with purpose, against my sex.

The sheets twist in my grasp as my body sings and writhes. His fingers hook my panties and slip them down my thighs, the silky barrier finally gone. In response, I tug at the elastic of his boxer briefs with urgency.

His lips leave mine.

Darien slips away from me, towards the edge of the bed, and for a moment I start to panic with fleeting fear that he doesn't want this. But my worries subside when I hear him fumble with his jeans. Propped on an elbow I watch him pull his wallet out of his pocket and begin to tear at it, dollar bills and business cards fluttering out. A silver foil packet materializes, then a quiet ripping noise.

He's back in a moment, sliding his taut frame up the length of me, and for the first time since we've begun this insane whirlwind of intimacy, his gaze is asking a question. I shiver beneath him, my eyes drawn into his. He grazes his thumb over my cheek, and my heart sings at the tenderness. My fingers answer as they caress his stubble, before I pull him back down for another kiss. This kiss, though, feels different. It's one of hunger, yes, but as I run my fingers through his inky black locks, I want Darien to know that this is absolutely what I want.

I want him. All of him.

Now.

Once again, it's like he's reading my mind, because I feel him slide against my heat, making me pulse and ache in anticipation. We break our kiss and his forehead rests on mine as he slips inside of me in one smooth, slick motion. I nearly cry out from the intense pleasure overtaking my body. My hands scrape and clutch his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut as I absorb the pleasure of each strong thrust.

He drops his head and groans into my neck, whispering my name over and over again. It doesn't take long. Between the grunts, the kisses, the nips, and the whispers of my name leaving his lips, I let out another deep, passion-filled moan as my body convulses. In an attempt to keep my cries of fulfillment from turning into a scream of passion, I slide my fingers against his face and pull him down for another kiss. I moan into his mouth as he continues to rock against my orgasm.

All pretenses have been abandoned. All hesitancies are gone.

As he rolls me above him and I grind down, watching with hooded eyes as his beautiful face twists with pleasure, I fall drunk with desire.

It's not a dream. It's not a fantasy.

This is real life.

And I am… Free.