He kisses me as though he can’t get enough and tears at my boxer briefs, panting, “Off, off,” into my mouth.
I wiggle out of his grip and get out of the offending garment, then climb back on top of him, straddling his hips.
“Is there a specific way we have to do this?” I ask as I caress his pecks with my palms, coaxing pants out of him every time I rub his nipples.
“No. Someone needs to be inside the other, but it doesn’t matter who.”
I flatten my tongue and lick one of his nipples. His back arches.
“What’s your preference? What do you want?” I ask.
“You. In me. I need to feel you inside.”
“All right.”
We kiss again. Mouths lick and moan and claim. Hands roam and caress and rub. When I can’t take it anymore, I find lube and condoms in the drawer of the bedside table as he wiggles out of his underwear.