Lorne's release was accompanied by loud guttural bellowing reverberating through the cabin as he pumped into me. I cupped his butt cheeks to pull him closer, deeper than I thought possible, but my clit still didn't reach his pubes. I tilted my hips and ground on his pulsating shaft to pop me over the top and into another orgasm, my tremulous whoops morphing from dissonance to harmony with his waning howls.

We lay slumped together for a long while, a panting, sweaty, sticky heap while we recovered. Neither of us spoke – there was no need – our souls conveyed all.

After several minutes, Lorne said, "That worked."

"Ummm."

A while later, I added, "Wasn't spontaneous, was it?"

He shook his head. "No. Nor manipulated up."

"Except through thoughts."

"Hunh? How so?"

"With your distractions, as you called them. Thoughts of Miss Fanny."

"Hmmm!" He paused for a while, then shook his head. "No, I didn't go there."

"Then, how?"

"A flood of feelings about you. Your spirit, your acceptance, your enfoldment. Your love. When I kissed you, they drowned my churning thoughts, and my body took over."

"Ummm. I love where it took us."

"Yeah, me too."

"Feelings out of the blue? Or did you trigger them?"

"Triggered, I think."

"You think? How?"

"I lay awake with you asleep in my arms. So peaceful. Thought about how much I had enjoyed pleasuring you. About how much more I wanted to do with you – family and so on. Then, my thoughts drifted to one of my psychiatrist's exercises."

"Psychiatrist?"

"Yeah, I had asked my doctor why it didn't work except for pissing and relieving blue balls. That was when asexuality was considered a mental disorder, and he diagnosed me with HSDD – hypoactive sexual desire disorder. Referred me to a psychiatrist for treatment."

"Treatment? For an orientation? Good God – like treating me because I'm sexual." I laughed. "Sorry, I interrupted your thought – the shrink's exercise."

"Ummm. He explained latent sexuality – demisexuality, as it's now called – and gave me a checklist to use in understanding sexual attraction and desire and how to apply them."

"Like a sex recipe. How fricking mechanical for something so organic."

"Yeah, as I discovered after using it until I was so frustrated with failure that I quit trying."

"When was that?"

"High school – grade eleven."

"The football hero. With all the girls flocked around you, I couldn't even get near enough to say hi."

"I always saw you. Wondered why you always turned and walked away."

"Hmmm."

"Then you moved to the Okanagan, and we lost contact."

"Yeah. Wrote so many letters to you but never mailed them, fearing rejection."

"You still have them?"

"No, the fears faded long ago?"

"Hunh? Oh! No, I meant the letters."

"Oh!" I nodded and smiled. "Yeah, they were the core of my first novel – I called you Cedric in it, and it's filled with steamy scenes of us. Very steamy."

"Hmmm! Not familiar with that one."

"The manuscript's bundled with all its rejection slips and my unmailed letters to you." I shifted my hips when I felt Cyclops swelling.

Lorne offered a tentative thrust. And another. And more as he continued expanding. "Yeah, the recipe works."

I grabbed his butt cheeks and churned to encourage him onward. "What's the recipe?"

"Look into the girl's soul, at her spirit. See her as a person, not as parts." He paused and offered another long, slow stroke. "Consider what she means to you. Is there mutual respect? Trust? Bonding?"

"And if there isn't?"

"The shrink said to work on building them." Lorne added another slow thrust.

I responded with a deep-throated moan. "How did you build them?"

"Never made it that far down the checklist until this morning. Laid awake with you asleep in my arms as I analysed what I knew about demisexuality. The need for deep emotional bonding."

"Ummm. We certainly have that – intensely so the past few hours."

"Yeah." He stirred my pot with Cyclops and chuckled. "And this proves it."

I melted into his gentle thrusting, my mind blank to all but the pleasure until I realised – Nathan rarely exceeded a minute. Two, if I was lucky. "How do you last so long?"

"Edging."

"What's that?"

"Masturbating to the edge of release, then pausing to enjoy the near-orgasmic sensations while tensions ease."

"Hmmm! Why deny yourself the orgasm?"

"Because men get only one pop, not the multiples women enjoy, and edging makes it more intense. When the risk of climax eases, I resume and repeat a few or several times, building to a mind-blowing orgasm and a massive ejaculation."

"Oh!"

"Yeah, huge O." He chuckled. "May I take you to another?"

I trembled. "Oh, God. Even in my steamiest novels, I've never written you so fucking hot and desirable."

"Hunh? Written me?"

"The central heartthrobs, the dream hunks, the panty-wetters. You've been the model for all eleven of them – twelve with my current work, thirteen with the unpublished first one."

"Oh! Why had you never told me?"

I shrugged. "Embarrassed."

"I'll have to reread them." He gave two quick thrusts and paused. "So, do you want another O?"

I churned my hips. "Silly question."