"“You go at sex the way you walk.” “The way I walk?” His erection subsided. His dick didn’t like the way that sounded. “Remember when we went to the movies? You saw the marquee, and led me diagonally across the lot, through that short alley, between two moving vans, and jaywalked. A straight line to the goal.” He rolled back on his haunches. “Watch me,” she said. “Don’t touch me except where I put you. I’ll tell you if I need help. Otherwise, don’t touch me. You’ll want to do something slick-like, like stick your finger in my ass or something. Every time you do that, you reset the meter. Be patient. And you shouldn’t drive anywhere until the engine is warmed up anyway.” She took his hand, squeezing two of his fingers between her own, moved the fingers back and forth across the outer edges first, ruffling the faint downy trail below the navel before brushing along the shorter, bristly hair between her legs, at one point moving slower and slower, his hand just grazing just teasing, then faster, then tracing the fingers straight up the center, parting the folds, her back bucking as she did, and slipping in only the tip of his finger, and Achilles bit his lip at the heat as she made larger and larger circles around the outside, her other hand strumming up and down until his breath was as shallow as hers, shorter and shorter her breath, faster and faster the fingers, until she was rigid and then melted, and he was as long catching his breath as she was. His hand. His hand. And his hand, feverish with the memory of her skin, spent all that night stroking his chin, bowled like an oxygen mask. After that, he knew their bodies were made for each other." ~ Hold it Til it Hurts, T. Geronimo Johnson.

bonus track ~ The Perils of Intimacy