“What do you feel?” I want that to be my hand. “Fuck, I’m soaking. It’s tight, Andre. It’s . . .” Another moan, and I picture her sliding the finger out, it glistening in the low lighting of my room, then pushing it back in. “It’s been a while.” My cock throbs. “It’s mine now, Olivia.” I don’t know where it comes from. I shouldn’t think like that, possessive, controlling. I can’t think like that. But I do all the same. And when she replies, “God, I’m yours, Andre. Tell me what to do,” I know I’m really fucked.
