He recovered quickly, reaching out to touch a few outstretched hands, melting the front row of girls like one long stick of butter as he moved closer toward me.

I don't want you to be my fan. I want you to be mine.

Our eyes met and locked as the song came to a halt, followed by a screaming conclusion from the crowd, girls around us pressing me into the stage, forcing all the air out of my lungs, but I’d forgotten about doing anything so basic as breathing.

My knees were weak but he held me with one hand, guiding me with the motion of his hips. I was completely his to do with what he wanted and he knew it.

We were a galaxy exploding into a million pieces, creating a whole new world, as we crashed against each other on the soft surface of his mattress, a cloud in the darkness, our bodies finally falling together like rain.

He lifted his head, the sight of his dark, disheveled hair, eyes glinting with longing in the lamp light, the gorgeous spread of his shoulders, tapering down to the narrow thrust of his hips, made my ovaries ache deep in my belly.