I reminisce about my first night with my favorite lover. I slipped into a black fishnet bodysuit, a black bra, and a pair of denim shorts. My long, curly hair cascaded down my back like a dark river, while a simple bold red lipstick sealed the look. I had ghosted him a few times before—it was on and off with my boyfriend, a little complicated. But I finally said yes to a date. He told me, "I’m picking you up at your door, no way you’re canceling again." I laughed. His arrogance already had me hooked. I’ve rarely seen a man more beautiful—his golden blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes, and that lean, muscular body. The tattoos that crawled up his arms and snaked around his neck always made me want to sink my teeth into him.

When we arrived at his place, he offered me a drink, but before I could take a sip, he grabbed my chin and murmured in that distinctive voice of his, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks. You made me wait, naughty girl.” His lips crashed into mine, fierce and hungry. There was never anything gentle about him. No, his kisses were devouring, filled with raw passion. He wasted no time stripping me down, his mouth finding its place between my thighs. If you think you know what oral feels like, I promise you’ve never truly lived until his mouth is on you. His hands slid under my hips, pulling me to him as his tongue teased between my folds, even flicking lower, before coming back to devour me. He stayed between my legs so long that I thought I’d die from the pleasure, orgasms hitting me relentlessly, my body going limp in his grip.

Then he slid inside me, lifting one of my legs to rest on his shoulder while keeping the other hooked around his hip. My breath came out in ragged gasps as waves of pleasure overwhelmed me. I writhed beneath him, moaning, while he chuckled softly. Slowly, he pushed deeper, making me feel every inch of him, his thumb teasing my clit. I tried to escape his touch, but he flashed me a predator's grin, leaned in close, and whispered in my ear, “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, baby.” He stole a kiss as I came hard around him. Then, pulling out, he climbed over me, pressing himself into my mouth so I could taste myself on him. He pushed deeper into my throat, making sure I could feel just how thick he was. I let my throat relax, taking him as far as I could while his muscled thighs tensed under my hands, his fingers gripping my hair as he fucked my mouth.

Finally, he let me catch my breath, whispering against my lips, “I’ve been dying to mark you. I want to piss all over you.” A shiver of excitement ran through me as he straddled me, letting his warm stream cascade over my body as he stroked himself, eyes dark with desire. There’s no one else who makes me feel this filthy, this wanted. Only with him does sex get so wild, so nasty. His release finally spilled over my breasts and face, his head thrown back in ecstasy, that chiseled chest of his illuminated by the soft glow of his bedroom.

I still touch myself thinking about that night. When I brought it up to him just this week, as he picked me up after another date, he laughed. He said it’s rare to find a woman who lets herself go the way I do, and that I have a special place in his body and his heart.