Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “I can take it off—”

            “No.” He groans softly and thumbs the pebble back and forth. Pinches it just this side of too much, making me gasp. “I’m not going to fuck you, but God, I could.” His entire palm rubs against my breast, and my whimper is humiliating.

            This is going to feel good. Really, really good. It’s already much better than . . . than anything. Pulling embarrassing, unfortunate noises out of me.

            “What do I do?” he asks, fitting his fingers in the dips of my ribs.

            I look up at him, glossy-eyed, already a little dazed. “What?”

            “What do you like?” He’s looking down at my body like it’s a beautiful space oddity, something belonging to a minor goddess, to be investigated in filthy, methodical, obscene ways. His hand traces my flat stomach. Skims the place where my thigh highs transition into tender skin. Brushes reverently against the pod right above my panties, like this little thing my life depends on is as much a part of me as my navel. J.J. asked me to take it off, said he found it off-putting. Made bionic woman jokes. And then there’s Jack. Licking his lips and asking, “Where do I start?”

            I have no clue. “Um . . .”

            He kisses me again, this time slow and gentle, pulling back from that initial brink. He uncovers my other breast, and his fingers are back, playing with my nipple like it’s an instrument. Liquid warmth hooks low in my belly. “Trial and error, then.”

            “What do you do with other girls?”

            “Other girls?”

            “Normal girls.”

            He laughs into my collarbone, then starts sucking on it. “Elsie.”

            “I just want to know. If I . . . if I weren’t me, what would you do?”

            “No.” Against my sternum.

            “I just—honesty, you said.” He’s licking the inside of my breasts like they’re luscious, sweet fruits. I run my fingers in his hair, bow into him, beg, “Please.”

            He hums against my nipple. I wait for him to take it into his mouth, tense as a violin string, and when he doesn’t, when he pulls back to stare at me, I nearly groan.

            I do groan. A soft, miserable whine.

            “If you were any other woman . . .” His palms stroke my knees, spreading my legs apart. “If you were anyone but you, I would take you to bed. And I’d fuck you everywhere you let me.” His fingers are like electricity, climbing up my inner thighs, lighting up nerve endings. “I would go down on you, maybe while you’re going down on me. And because your tits look like something I’ll be dreaming about for decades, I’d ask for permission to come on them. Paint a picture.” He reaches the elastic of my panties. I inhale, sharp. “I’d clean you up and feed you before taking you home, if you wanted me to.” His thumb pushes the wet cotton to the side. Slides underneath. “But you wouldn’t be you. And afterwards I wouldn’t think of you very much.”

            He taps against my clit and I let out a moan. It’s knee buckling, how good this feels, the rush of pleasure climbing down my spine.

            “This is way too fast,” he says hoarsely, but he’s drawing slow circles around me. My pussy throbs in time with my heartbeat, and my nails dig hard into the windowsill. I am grateful for my black panties, which won’t show how wet I am. For the low lights. I’m grateful that I can close my eyes, pretend he’s not looking at me and seeing every little thing I’m made of. “Elsie, maybe you should ask me to stop.”

            “Don’t. Whatever you do, please don’t stop.”

            He laughs, breathless. “More? Less? What do you want?”

            I want everything, and nothing will ever be enough. I’m empty and I ache and I’m clenching around nothing and—

            “Elsie, what do you—”

            “I don’t know,” I whine, burning, out of control. “I don’t know, but please—can you—”

            “Shh. It’s okay.” The thumb presses harder, and my head falls back against the window. “I barely know what I want from you, and I’ve had much longer to think about it.” He’s close, licking my neck and my nipples, scraping his teeth around my throat. It makes everything worse and so much better. “I don’t know what I’m doing, either. Not with you. This is new.”