I couldn’t stop touching him. We had barely made it through the front door of my condo before the clothes came off. Now, lying close together in my bed, I was pleasantly sore in all the right places, sweat and c*m drying on my skin. Even with all that evidence he was real and here, I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Zack didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be suffering from the same affliction. He’d sucked up livid purple marks on my collarbone and neck, and he kept running his fingers over them. Since I liked the smug, satisfied smile he was wearing, I wasn’t inclined to stop him.
I knew we needed to talk, but I was reluctant to break the postcoital silence. We were both content and happy, and I didn’t want that to change. Conversation could wait as far as I was concerned. Zack was
