A vibration wakes me from my sleep.

Cracking an eye open, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and simultaneously switch the lamp on. Turning it on, I see a familiar name, which wakes me up completely and causes me to momentarily stop breathing.

I swipe a finger over his name, and it leads me to a text.

I’m lonely tonight.

My eyes scan over the short text; they were three simple words, yet there’s an underlying question—or should I say demand—within them.

I wait a few seconds, already knowing what is coming next. And when the text bubble pops up, I feel a slow smile creep onto my face. I look away, towards the window leading to a balcony overlooking the city, butterflies making their way into my stomach from the anticipation. After a moment, the phone buzzes.

I want to see you.

Across the room, the clock on the wall reads just past one in the morning.

“That motherfu—” I mumble just as another text buzzes through.

I miss you.

My stomach is doing summersaults at this point. This is terrible. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him, much less be considering going to his place. Not after everything that’s happened. But my body tends to betray me. It wants to see him. It wants to be with him. I want to see him.

And I hate myself for it.

So I type my reply, a simple okay, and press send.

I jump out of bed, scrambling into the bathroom. In there, I attempt to make myself look decent—a bit of makeup, brushed hair, and teeth. When I get out, I throw on an outfit and make my way to his apartment, which is the top floor of the same building I live in.

Soon, I find myself walking into his penthouse and straight towards his bedroom.

“Hi,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

I smile back, taking in the image before me.

There he is, laying against the headboard looking like the god he claims to be. John’s dark hair is tousled and messy in a way that fits his disposition like perfection. In only a pair of drawstring pants, his entire torso and firm arms are on display. Perhaps he is a god. I feel my body heating just from the thought of what is to come next.

“Come closer,” he tells me, words like music to my ears.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I say, biting my lips.

He raises an eyebrow. “Then why’d you come?”

I stare into his dark eyes, whispering I don’t know because I really didn’t know why I came. Being with him was never a good idea. It always ended a mess—emotions becoming too much; feeling too attached. He was something so wrong; and yet, I always wanted more.

When it comes to him, I can never say no.

John shifts his position in bed, angling his body more towards mine. “Take off your jacket.”

My eyes snap back to his. “What?”

“Take off your jacket,” he repeats, his eyes boring into mine.

I let out a breath. Why am I so nervous? It’s not like this is the first time…

And so, with my eyes still locked onto his, I begin to unbutton my jacket. Once I reach the last one, I let the material fall to the ground. He lets out a low sound, I can’t distinguish it between a groan or a moan, and his eyes travel slowly down my body—and right back up again. “Fuck.”

I’m dressed in a lacy number, which really leaves nothing to the imagination. It outlines every curve of my body, and I’m aware of just how much it affects him. John might’ve been a god, but when it was just us—me and him; him and I—the façade faded a bit. During moments like this, I willingly let him have all of me.

I twirl around a bit, just to show off my outfit, and he groans again.

“You like?” I tease once we meet eye-to-eye.

“I love,” he replies, eyes darkening to obsidian.

My body is on fire at this point; I can feel parts of me throbbing from memories of previous intimate encounters and the prospect of another one today. Excitement drums through my veins as I see lust bloom in his eyes.

“Come closer,” he tells me, repeating words from before. But unlike earlier, I don’t shy away or question him. Instead, I begin to climb on the bed and crawl my way to him.

It feels like an eternity before I’m right in front of him; feeling his breath fan across my cheek as locked eyes gaze into my soul. John brings a hand to my face, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. He cups my chin with his long fingers and brings our lips together.

Fireworks don’t explode behind my eyes like the movies claim; but in my chest, I do feel thousands of butterflies flutter. Just simply kissing John makes my knees weak and thoughts incoherent. Our lips mold together in complete synchronization. It’s effortless. I don’t feel the need to battle him for dominance nor does it feel sloppy and awkward. It’s like I could kiss him forever.

He pulls me down to his lap, removing the hand from my face and tangling it in my hair. I do the same, weaving my fingers into his dark, silky locks.

Nearly forgetting how to breathe, I break away. As I gasp for air, John takes the opportunity to latch onto my neck; sucking, leaving bruises all the way down to my collarbone. I know that I definitely am going to have to cover them up tomorrow.

A slight moan leaves my lips when he begins to circle his tongue over my sensitive nipple. I’m still wearing the lacy number, but it still feels—

“Shame, it was so pretty on you.”

I gasp, “John!”

He ripped my lingerie—right down the middle, exposing my entire body.

“John!” I yell his name again, bringing my arms to cover my chest. I actually really liked that piece, and it also cost me a fortune. “What the hell?”

He only smirks, a sultry glare in his eyes. “I’ll buy you another one.”

“You can’t just rip—” He shuts me up with a kiss, leaving me stunned.

“You’re cute,” he smiles, a genuine one that has my heart bursting, “and don’t cover yourself, I want to see all of you.”

I roll my eyes and peel away what’s left of the lingerie, throwing it onto the floor. At this point, I’m feeling impossibly naked. I look down at his drawstring pants, biting my bottom lip.

“Don’t cover yourself,” I begin to copy his words, grazing my fingertips over the slight bulge in his pants, “I want to see all of you.”

As I say the last words, I never take my eyes off of him. The fire returns in John’s eyes, and he crashes his lips back onto mine.

I fumble with the knotted strings of his pants, silently cursing because the stupid knot doesn’t seem to undo itself. He must notice my struggle because suddenly, I find myself laying on the bed with a gorgeous man on top of me.

“Can’t undo a knot?” he questions, brows raised and all.

I let out a scoff, “I don’t know. Maybe you ended up pulling the string too tight…”

Then John does this thing with his hands, and the knot becomes two strings. “Too tight, you said?”

“Yep…too tight,” I mumble, looking away. This motherfu—

Before I can think of more obscenities to call John, he’s already pulled me into another breathless kiss. His hands roam all over my body, leaving burning handprints wherever they land.

John begins to grind his clothed hips onto my bare ones and I moan, the pressure feeling too good. He goes back to leaving those damn hickeys that I love to hate all over me—my neck, chest, and even my breasts.

His lips move to one of my nipples, and then the other, before he’s between my legs.

“You know, this is my favorite thing in the whole world,” he says before he swipes his tongue at the entrance of my cunt, causing my back to arch against the bed.

He continues to lick and suck, pinning my body down with his arms. I’m a mess…complete fucking putty in hands. He replaces his tongue with his fingers—slowly adding in one, then two—pumping at a rhythm that has me writhing.

“John,” I can’t help but whimper out, the pleasure feeling too intense already.

He looks at me, his entire expression heated. “John, what?”

“Fuck.” I can’t stop moaning.

“What?”

“Please,” I practically beg, “please.”

“Please, what?” He’s teasing me now, fingers moving painstakingly slow.

“Ohmygod John, fuck me already.”

In one swift motion, lowering his pants and boxers, he slams his cock into me. And I feel so whole; like John’s body is always supposed to be there. Always. He groans out a fuck and I tie my legs around him, changing the angle a bit so I can feel him more—getting him deeper inside of me.

“You’re so tight.”

John begins to pick up the pace, head now tucked into the crook of my neck. He hits all of the right spots, sending waves of ecstasy over my body. His hips rolls in sync with mine, our skin slick with a sheen of sweat.

And god, I feel so close.

“J-John…” I pant.

“No one fucks you like me,” he groans into my ear. My body tenses at his words. “I said, no one fucks you like me, do they?”

I furiously shake my head, and that only makes John go faster. He repeats those six words again, hitting deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, no…no one, John…there is no—” I try to get words out, feeling my climax getting closer, “no one else.”

This feels unreal, too good.

“Oh my…John,” I moan out, “I’m gonna…”

He pounds his cock harder, faster, deeper, until I can barely breathe. And that’s when I come undone, screaming out his name. John hits his climax at the same moment, releasing streams of milky white inside of me.

Once we fall from our highs, he kisses the side of my jaw and whispers words about how good it was. Getting up, he grabs a cloth to clean me—the moment feeling much more intimate than anything else that’s already happened. Afterward, he rolls over in bed and tucks me into his arms.

This action leaves me shocked; usually, he never lets me stay. I’m just a booty call. The girl he hits up when he wants a piece of ass. But I don’t fight it, and just simply let myself melt in his embrace