I'm almost amazed at the utter lack of nothing that swims behind my eyelids, no visions of David's face in my mind's eye, even as I start to sober up from the drinks. It's proof that whatever it is he's doing - because I've lost the ability to focus on each individual sensation, all of it blending together into what serves to make another moan fly from my lips, out into the empty air - it's working, helping to make me forget, at least for now. I lift my hips to help him remove the last scrap of fabric that remains and then it's only me, just my body bare beneath his, and the sudden and complete exposure has me trembling for a deeper reason.

My ears catch the sound of zipper lowering, the noise almost deafening in the quiet, only otherwise punctured by my gasps and his groans, and I welcome him back up as he slides above me, between my thighs, my skin rubbing up against denim as I hitch my legs up along the outside of his hips, drawing him in close, right where I need him. I'm so wet it's embarrassing, bordering on obscene, and I can't even attempt to remember how long it's been since I've felt that connection - and beyond that, enjoyed it enough to get off. I'm whispering something now, against his mouth, and it only just hits me, the realization of what the word is: please.