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skim my fingertips over my breasts and imagine him stripping off my shirt and releasing my heavy breasts from my bra. I squeeze my nipples with the thought of Max taking them into his mouth. Men have always liked my breasts, and I love having them played with, squeezed, sucked. Would he have kept me in his lap, his hand stroking me through my jeans as he sucked and played? Or would he have taken me to my bedroom so he could lay me down and explore my body?
    My mind latches on to that image—a bare-chested Max hovering over me in bed, unzipping my jeans and dragging them down my hips as he sucked my nipple into his mouth, laved it with his tongue.
    These aren’t new fantasies, but knowing Max is mine now heightens their intensity. This “what if” could just as well be our “next time.” Remembering how good it felt to have his hand between my legs and his breath in my hair, I’m already close when I slip my hand into the hot water and find my swollen flesh. I’m so wrapped in the fantasy that the hand isn’t mine anymore. It’s Max’s. His hot mouth is open against my neck, and all he has to do is slip a finger inside me— God, yes, like that . I imagine his hand, his hot breath at my ear, his groan. I cling to the thought and I come.
    After I wash my hair, dry off, and put on my pajamas, I lock the door and pad to bed with my phone in my hand. When I climb in, I pull up the text messages on my phone and enter Max’s name.
     
Hanna: I hate that you had to leave when you did.
Max: You and me both. Are you okay?
Hanna: I am now. Took a bath and imagined how things could have gone if my mom hadn’t shown up.
Max: Want to tell me about it?
Hanna: The bath? It was what you’d expect. Hot. Wet.
Max: You’re killing me.
Hanna: That’ll teach you to choose walking my mom to her car over finishing things with me.
Max: Lesson learned.

     
    I wake up to someone climbing into bed next to me, hot, hard muscle cozying up behind me.
    I blink away sleep. Max is in my bed and I want to enjoy it, enjoy him, but sleep has such a tight hold on me I can hardly keep my eyes open. I snuggle as close to him as I can get, but sleep is already tugging me back down.
    “Couldn’t stay away?” I murmur in the darkness.
    “You know I can’t,” he whispers against my ear. His voice is different somehow. Deeper? Maybe sleepy? I don’t have time to think about it because I’m wrapped up in his heat, his bare chest against my back, one of his hands right between my breasts, and I can’t fight it when my dreams suck me back in. But somehow, with his heat against me and his arms around me, my fitful dreams fade away and I don’t just sleep. I rest.
    When I wake again, the room is still dark, but Max’s mouth is doing delicious things to the side of my neck. I arch against him and am greeted by the hard length of his erection against my ass. I have to bite my lip at the thrill that rushes through me. Not only can I do that to him, but he wanted me enough that he had to come back tonight.
    Under my shirt, his fingertips skim the underside of my breasts, and a soft moan slips from my lips. He cups my breast in his hot hand and grazes his callused palm against my nipple, toys and teases until it’s hard and tight under his hand and I am rocking back into him instinctively.
    “Jesus, I missed you so much.” His voice sounds funny, but I hardly have time for the thought to register before he’s squeezing my nipples, sending electric jolts of pleasure from my breasts and right up through my center. His touch is harder than it was earlier. Rougher. But I like it. He’s so good at this. He knows exactly how to touch me, exactly how much pressure I like. I wouldn’t want him to ever stop touching my breasts if it weren’t for this nearly painful ache that’s been pulsing between my legs since we were interrupted in my living room—the ache my own touch couldn’t quite ease.
    I circle my hips and rub my backside against his erection.