The first time passed in a blur of tearing off each other’s clothes, grappling on the bed, me pushing Conrad down on the mattress, biting his shoulders. Little pieces of the encounter pierced at me: how tan he looked against the pale yellow sheets; panting against his neck as I pumped over him; the way he held my face in his hands to watch me come. It happened fast, not the way I’d imagined it, just me rutting against him like some horny teenager in the backseat of a car. He smiled when I came and scooped up my semen, still warm, and fed some to me and then himself.
“Tastes good,” he murmured. When he rolled over to straddle me, I was still breathless, too fuzzy and weak to protest. He jerked off on my belly, one hand fisted over his c**k—dark as wine—the other between his legs, fingers
