“Then he walked away. I stood up, not moving for a long time, gulping back pangs of guilty anguish, ‘what would Matthew say? … should I tell him…Elise! Are you crazy?’ I almost started to laugh out loud at how juvenile this was. I mean, isn’t that the most cliché of s*x fantasies—the trench coat? I did it once for Matt in Spain, and it was hot. But to be ordered by a man eleven years younger than me, this punk phenom with the crazy hair and the swagger of a cocky adolescent…I was crazy to even consider it.
“But the mark still burned like the day it was burned into my flesh on the island,” she sighed deeply. “The feeling kept spreading upward and going deeper inside. I could almost recall the throbbing of his groin against my ass. Was that real? Or did I just imagine his c**k pressed to m
