🔥STEAMY ALERT—getting REAL frisky in here, folks 🔥

♫ They say I'm shy, but you know that's a lie
I'll be over tonight
So I can blow your mind ♪
(Mya—No sleep tonight)

When they finally pried apart from one another, and Michael was catching his breath, Coralie peered left and right, taking in her surroundings, regaining her balance. Their kisses had made her a tad dizzy, and she needed something to help her refocus.

The lamplights left shadows to dance over Michael's expression, and his excitement showed in his sheepish smile. "Wow."

Averting her gaze, Coralie sighed. "I wish you hadn't done this," she said, without stopping to think how her words would come off, how wrong they'd sound. "I mean—"

"—what?" Michael's eyebrows furrowed. "Wish I hadn't done what?" He raised his shoulders. "Come here, to see you?" He squinted at her. "You didn't want to see me?"

"Of course I did." She shook her head. "I missed you. But what I meant was... I wish you hadn't surprised me."

Not that she didn't like surprises—but she didn't appreciate them when they might compromise her entire life and break several hearts in the process. Ryan was surely fuming, considering coming over that very second to confront Michael himself and break up with him for her. And with her luck, Chester would soon swoop down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, and wink at her before jutting his chin at some alleyway where they might make-out.

Make-out.

Her tongue weighed fifty tons and was coated in poison. She feared she'd relayed that poison into Michael's mouth, and that with its flavor he'd understand at once what she was up to—

"I'm sorry. How about I make it up to you by buying you dinner? Did you eat yet?" He half-spun to motion at the greasy diner across the street. One Coralie had avoided going to, but often thought about when getting home from her late-night shifts at the bar.

"I haven't." She recalled Delilah's delicious spaghetti sauce, and its heavenly scent filled her nostrils as if she were still in the kitchen. She'd much prefer to eat that, than whatever the diner offered. But to decline Michael's request might offend him more than she already had by implying she wasn't happy to see him.

She was happy to see him—she'd ditched Ryan to meet with him—but his presence put her in more emotional danger than ever. And more so after she'd reconnected with—and kissed—Chester, who tended to pop up wherever she went and haunt her thoughts more than she'd prefer. She wouldn't put it past Ryan to tail her, to watch her, spy on her, harass her until she ended things with Michael; but she also didn't doubt Chester might be following her, too, though he said he wasn't.

"I'd rather take you somewhere fancy, but..." Michael glanced down at his worn-out shoes, his wrinkled pants, and winced. "I'm not dressed for that. And I want to do my research on cool and hip New York restaurants first, anyway. So would you be okay with that diner?" He pointed at it. "I'm sure you've been there a few times, yeah?"

She shrugged. "No, but if it works for you..." Her mouth salivated as she imagined the taste of the smooth, delectable tomato sauce she'd be missing out on. "And if they have vegetarian options..." She held in her sadness at the recollection of how the meat and spices meshed to form the perfect accompaniment to the cooked pasta. "Then sure, why not?"

She offered to drop Michael's bag off at her place, first, but he insisted on keeping it with him, stating he had things inside it that he wanted to show her.

Once settled in a corner booth in the diner, he unzipped the bag and threw a few Polaroids on the table. Portraits, landscapes, buildings, parks—signature landmarks of San Francisco that all had meaning to them as a couple. He'd scribbled cute notes on the bottom, and drew hearts on a few of them, and blushed as he explained how and when he obtained each shot.

Others might have found the gesture cheesy, invasive, obsessive, even; but Coralie loved it. It was romantic, caring, thoughtful. And it was telling of his true feelings and his willingness to do cute things for her. All the reasons she enjoyed spending time with Michael in the first place. Unlike Ryan, who focused on himself and his career and his desires, Michael did all he could to woo Coralie. And unlike Chester, who should have come with a flashing red warning sign, Michael was easy to read, easy to get along with, easy to be with.

"This is... so adorable," she said, gathering up the pictures and piecing together where she'd hang them in her room. "I do miss San Fran, and you, too, so this... brings me the best of both."

A few of the snapshots were selfies of Michael making a goofy face with some spot or other in the background, reminiscent of a date they'd had together. She grinned, re-imagining those encounters, as they ordered their food.

A little later, after burgers and a platter of fries, she thanked him for the gesture.

Reaching around their shared vanilla milkshake, he took her hands and squeezed them. "I'm glad you liked it. But..." His fingers twitched, yet he didn't let go. "Are you really unhappy to see me, Cora? I booked a hotel room for my stay, and I could go to it tonight and give you space, if you... if you would prefer."

"No, no." She squeezed him back. "I'm always happy to see you. But I'm... and work has been... my life is a mess here, and I don't have a lot of free time." She gritted her teeth, because this wasn't a lie. Both her jobs were demanding, and she hardly kept up with her own insane rhythm. But the contributing factors to her crazy days and nights weren't only work; Ryan kept her busy, and Chester was often on her mind, too.

Sure, she wanted to entertain Michael, and for him to stay at her apartment—neither Ryan nor Chester ever showed up unannounced, thankfully—but how to explain her zoning out, her scribbles of steamy song lyrics, her constant fluster, and her difficulties sleeping? Maybe having Michael with her would help with the sleeplessness part, at least... she'd always had cozy nights with him and slept soundly in his arms. But what about the rest? How would she justify not making more time for him because of the other men who occupied her life?

"I can keep myself distracted," said Michael, his suave voice breaking through her facade of anxiety. "But I do want to spend some time with you while I'm here, babe." He released her and leaned into the seat cushions. "So hopefully you'll be able to accord me a few dates, yeah?"

Though she doubted she'd be able to—her schedule that week was insane—she nodded, finished the milkshake, and prepared to pay the bill. Michael smacked her hand and refused to let her get her debit card out, and once he'd settled the bill with his card, he stood up and offered his arm to her.

"Will you show me your apartment?" He winked. "No funny business."

As his arm compressed hers and she sensed his muscles bulging, something jolted in her belly. She gulped. He was flirting, and yes, she wanted to flirt back, but... how to forget what had happened earlier that day? How to pretend like she hadn't exchanged saliva with someone else, in an elevator, and she hadn't regretted it? How was she supposed to act normal when she felt anything but?

"Sure," she said, allowing him to guide her out of the diner. The burger she'd chomped down wasn't settling in her stomach, but then again... her unease could have come from her nerves, too. Because once upstairs, once near her bed... Michael would have urges, right? And she wasn't positive she could fulfill them. They'd had great sex before the move, and awesome, sexy video-chats... but it had been a while since they'd seen each other in person. Would he be able to satisfy her like Ryan did? Would she be able to satisfy him?

"Hey." He rubbed her upper arm as they crossed the street. "What's on your mind? You're... silent. More than usual."

"I'm tired," she said too fast, cutting him off. "Sorry, I'm... in another world, over here."

"I noticed." After they arrived on the other sidewalk, he let go of her and stepped back as she keyed in the code for the door to her building. "Even over the phone, in our videos, you've been... off. Is it this city? Or are you overworked? Or is it... something else?"

She grimaced as she pushed the door open.

I'm a cheating bitch and I don't know how to tell you without you hating me.

"Overworked, and the city." She twirled as she held the door for him. "But... it's all sort of thrilling, too. The hustle and bustle, the intensity... I like it."

As they climbed the stairs, they were quiet, their breaths and their footsteps the only noise echoing in the hallway. But once they reached her door, and she unlocked it, he nudged her inside and grabbed her ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he hauled her near.

"I have an idea for a different kind of intensity," he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows as he dropped his rucksack by the door, but maintaining a hard grip on her butt.

Coralie giggled, unused to him being so forward; but a part of her found it hot, enticing, intriguing. "Oh, really now? Well, it'll have to wait until Delilah is asleep."

She tried not to frown, because in truth, she hoped they would fall asleep before he had a chance to try anything. She knew he wouldn't push her if she didn't want to—he was all about consent and being in the mood—but she'd hate to deprive him of something he'd been hopeful for.

Yet she wasn't certain she had it in her to spread her legs for him when her brain was fixed on someone else.

He followed her into the kitchen, grumbling about his flights and how much he hated flying. And as she flicked the light on, she sighted a message on the whiteboard on the fridge.

"Do the thing!" it said, in Delilah's curvy handwriting.

"Do the..." Coralie glared at the words, trying to interpret them. With Delilah, they could have meant anything from "do the dishes" to "do my laundry" or "go out and get drunk." But the more she thought about it, the more she presumed it meant...

"Do the... thing?" Michael snorted as he snuck up behind her and snaked his arms around her middle. "As in... sex? Is your roommate asking us to have sex? Well, gee, is she asleep already? Or does she like to... listen? Either way—"

Coralie scoffed. "No, definitely not." She glanced about the kitchen, finding the pots soaking in the sink, the stove wiped clean, and any trace of Delilah's cooking vanished. Had she eaten and gone straight to bed? "And as for her being asleep... I dunno." Coralie weaseled out of Michael's embrace and crept to her room, pausing at the parted curtain to Delilah's room. No one was inside, the bed was made, the lights were off, and Delilah's purse wasn't hanging from its usual hook. "No, she's out for the night."

Was Delilah implying Coralie needed to get laid? And had she vacated the apartment for that sole purpose? She wasn't normally so eager to give up her comfortable bed to go sleep at one of her conquests' pads. Coralie wasn't even aware she had any conquests to stay with.

"So..." Michael's lowered, languorous voice slithered into her ears, and she sensed his warm breath on the back of her neck. "We have the place to ourselves, then?" His fingers tickled around her waist and rested near her navel, itching to go downward, beneath her waistband. "She does want us to..." he approached his lips to her earlobe, "do the thing?"

"Babe..." She tried to recoil from his touch, but with his body pressed up to hers, she stuttered, shivered, and froze. His chest glued to her spine, and something firm, farther down, pulsated to life against her butt-cheeks. "Shit. Not now, we... we just ate..."

His left hand fluttered under the hem of her leggings, stopping below her belly button. "We can take it slow. Real slow. Or we can... cuddle, if you'd prefer." His words were wisps of hot air that trickled down her back and caused more trembles to climb up and down her arms. He dipped his hand farther, halting right above the crease between her lower lips. And he paused there, as if waiting for confirmation. For consent.

Despite her brain yelping at her, and her heart thumping, beseeching her to think about this, Coralie wanted to give that consent. Because the more she felt his member growing, compressed against her buttocks, the more she imagined holding it, stroking it, tasting it. The more she imagined it sliding into her, identifying her sweet spot as he thrusted into her—delicately at first, then finding a faster rhythm as their bodies re-adjusted to one another.

Oh, Michael had always been gifted in the bedroom, even if he never made her scream like Ryan had. He was attentive to her needs, and never struggled to find her erogenous areas and work on them until she could no longer feel her legs. And that idea... appealed to her more than she'd been ready to admit.

"Fuck," she said, moaning as her body melted against his. It was so tempting to give in, to permit his fingertips to traipse farther into her underwear... but she felt disgusting, dirty, and guilty. Was it fair to indulge in this moment with Michael though she didn't deserve it, nor did she need it? Was it fair to him, or to Ryan, or even to Chester, for that matter?

"I'd never force you, babe." He trailed his tongue over her earlobe, and his left hand crept a bit lower, his finger about to pass into the zone that would make her crumble. "I care about you, and if you want me to stop, I will."

"It's..." She hissed as he kept his hand there, unmoving, but so close to flittering where she craved it to go that her adrenaline build up was driving her insane. If she declined him, his hand would retreat up to her abdomen. The rest of the evening all depended on her; did she desire him? Or the idea of him? "Not fair. You... know how to wind me up."

It was true; Michael never took advantage of her, but he also never failed to prove how well he knew her body, and which spots would turn her on. Like this one, right above her labia, perilously near her most sensitive area. His proximity there sent electricity into her veins, awakening her thirst for him. And he taunted her as he stayed immobile, waiting. So patient, so understanding... but so willing to give her everything she hungered for with one word.

Yes... that's all I need to say. Yes.

She chewed on her bottom lip, anticipating how it would feel if she let his finger dive into her wetness and twirl, twirl, twirl. How she'd squeak as he nibbled on her ear and pulled her leggings down with his free hand. Then he'd take said free hand and wedge it into her bra to massage her breasts and circle her nipples with his thumbs until she lost control of her vocal cords and squealed. He'd unclasp the bra, tug her shirt up, and trace his tongue all over her breasts until her back arched and yet another squeal erupted from her.

Oh, shit. Shit... he was always so good at that.

"Is that what you want? For me to keep winding you up?" He tugged his hand upward, but his erection jammed deeper into her backside, furthering her confusion, her indecision. "Or for me to stop? I mean it, baby. I'll quit. You can sleep in my arms, if that's all you need. I'll never be mad about us not having sex. I want you... but I do not want to push you."

She acknowledged his words, but her disappointment as he retracted his hand made up her mind for her. Screw her bad deeds, screw her adultery and her lies and her deception... she wanted to screw him. It had been too long, and though she had no clue if her vagina would respond to him, if it would provide the lubrication they'd need... she couldn't handle the jolts of anticipation jarring through her system anymore.

"Don't..." she grabbed his hand and shoved it where it had been sitting, "stop. Ever."

So he didn't stop. His fingers crawled into her undies and into the moisture pooling between her legs. He rubbed, he tickled, he flicked until her thighs shook and her body wouldn't hold her up any longer.

When he spun her, he did exactly what she'd envisioned, but of course ten times better than how she'd remembered. When he removed his pants, her breaths caught in her throat at the sight of him in the nude; more muscular than before, a new tattoo on his back, and his penis throbbing with excitement. And when he entered her, she begged to find a fatal flaw, a reason to disconnect from the act, a reason to criticize his performance, to downplay their love-making. But nothing came to her. He did everything to perfection, ensured she came multiple times, and had even brought ribbed condoms to provoke her pleasure above everything.

When she lay beside him, breathless and spent, she hated herself for trying to compare him to the other men in her life. Ryan was wilder, more passionate, but not as thorough in making sure she got off, too—though to his luck, she always did. And Chester... well, she didn't remember the details of her times with him. But she did remember how her body hurt after waking next to him, and the soreness in her vagina for days later.

She fell asleep, buther dreams were punctuated with Ryan pointing at her, accusing her of betrayal.And of Michael crying into her lap while trying to lick her.And Chester's naughty smile as he burrowed under her covers and penetrated her,one hand over her mouth to muffle her moans... while Michael slept next to her.

♥♥♥