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forehead resting on my hipbone as he tries to control his breathing.
    When he looks up again, it’s like a switch has flipped, and the entire stage is suddenly lit up. He stands up, sheds his jeans, pushes down his boxers, and then steps out of them.
    I know I sigh none too quietly, and for good reason. He is perfect, heavy, long, and incredibly thick. It’s like two , I think, but as soon as he smirks, I know damn well I said it out loud.
    He reaches down and pulls me up before quickly making his way to the bedroom. There are no curtains, and the sky is crystal clear. The moonlight cascades across his bed, and I am throbbing inside, thinking about finally having him.
    He presses his hand firmly between my shoulders so I am bent over the bed. He kicks my feet apart, and then I feel his hand land firmly on my ass.
    “What the fuck!” I shout, trying to stand, but then, without warning, he impales me. “Dammit,” I cry out.
    I feel his hand fall loudly against my other cheek.
    “What the fuck are you—”
    He slams into me again.
    “Jesus,” I cry out into the mattress, fisting the blanket.
    He strikes me again then thrusts deeper.
    “You fucking deserve every handprint you’ll wear tomorrow. And every time you sit”—his hand strikes me again in a different spot as he pulls out, and then powers back into me—“you’ll cringe, thinking about the big, fat cock that almost split you in two.”
    After three more smacks and three more thrusts, I am trembling around him, crying out into the comforter, and my legs are literally shaking.
    “There you go, Madison. A nice two for one special.” He pulls out as he reaches around and pulls me up on my feet then turns me around as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Now, open up wide and make it good.” He takes my hand in his and guides the strokes.
    Mesmerized by its size and the two orgasms received by one Billy Jeffers, I stroke him as I sink to my knees. I would love to tell him how perfect he is, but I won’t.
    “Mouth, Madison, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he groans.
    I take him in my mouth completely, his head tickling my tonsils. With my mouth full of him, I look up.
    He looks so tormented and vulnerable, just like he makes me feel all the time.
    “Fuck, fuck, Madison, I’m gonna—”
    I let his cock fall from my mouth with a pop, and then with every ounce of strength I have, I stand and quickly pull up my dress to cover my tits back up.
    “What the fuck are you doing?”
    “Goodnight, Billy,” I snap as I all but run out of the bedroom, then out the door.
    Afraid he will come after me, I take the stairs, barefoot and sated. I run down four flights and nearly fall twice.
    I push the door open and enter the lobby, straightening my dress and running my hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it. I walk with my head held as high as possible out the door.
    I slide into my car and realize I didn’t lock it. Then I realize that I must have left the keys in his apartment. Banging my head on the steering wheel, I sigh before reaching over and opening the glove box.
    “Thank God for spares.” I laugh as I start the car. Then I laugh harder and harder as I pull out of the parking lot.
    When I come to a stoplight, the laughter turns to tears. What the hell did I do?
    I reach up and turn on the radio, seeking a distraction, a sad song. One about a more dejected person than myself.
    “You have got to be kidding me,” I groan as if someone is going to hear me complain. “Fucking Bieber.”
    I want to grovel in self-pity. I want to cry big, wet tears that only come during an ugly cry, and this fucking song is ruining it for me.
    My knee bounces to “Love Yourself,” and of course, I begin to sing along.
    This is now the anti-Billy song. It will play in my head while I hold it high in the air and walk into the office tomorrow.
    At home, I undress in front of the mirror, expecting to look different. Things changed for me tonight. For the first time