Before I can catch my breath, he drops to his knees, hikes one leg over his shoulder, and buries his mouth between my thighs. Licks me clean. And when he’s done? He crowds me against the wall. Fists my hair in his hand. Forces my mouth open. And spits that masterpiece inside. “You wanna be a mom one day?” he asks as he tries—and fails—to fix my dress, the mess of hair on my head, and I think it’s wild he’s asking me this when he still hasn’t asked my first name. “One day,” I manage, gasping as I stumble, legs officially giving up the fight.
