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“Am I?”

“Taking your sweet time.”

“With a sweet girl.” I feel the ripple of her swallow. Press my teeth over it. “The waiting sharpens everything.”

“I don’t remember this about you.”

I press my smile to the base of her throat and kiss my way up the other side. “We were always so desperate for each other.” Which is how I feel right now.

“God, weren’t we.”

“I might’ve learned a thing or two since then.”

“Oh.” A ragged breath falls from her lips, her hands clasping my biceps, sliding higher. “I forgot how good . . .” Her words trail away, so I finish for her.

“The best. Always.” My lips make another pass over hers. “If we start this thing,” I whisper, “I’m not stopping here.”

“Don’t stop. Please.”

So I kiss her, soft at first, like restraint is part of my plan. But it doesn’t last—gone in a second as she gives a tiny whimper. The sound unravels the carefulness inside me, and I step into her as the tenor of the moment changes. My mouth on her jawline, my teeth scraping her neck. Her hand to my bare chest, the contact searing my already burning skin.

“God, I’ve missed this.” Did I say that? Did she?

“Give me your mouth,” I demand.

This kiss is different from our kiss on the dance floor. Slower, deeper, it feels like it has the power to devastate me. The tiny whimpers she makes are like fuel to my soul as the world narrows to just this. To sensation. To breath. To the heat building between us, and the urgent sounds we make.

“Oh, God, Troy.” On tiptoes, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling on the strands and making me growl.

“I want to touch you,” I whisper hotly in her ear. She gives a soft moan as I draw my teeth across the fleshy lobe. My palm skims her ribs, her waist, her hip, slipping under the hem of her T-shirt. Skin hot to the touch, I grip her ass over her panties, spreading my fingers wide to maximize the contact. She writhes against me, as hot as any flame. But it’s not enough.

I pull the cotton over her head. Take a half step back.

“Fuck.” It’s not eloquent, but it feels as profound as ten sonnets as the cotton drops from my hand.

The flare of her hips, the deep dip of her waist, the round fullness of her breasts. And the tiny triangle of her silky panties, ripe for ripping. Clara Forbes has been visiting my dreams for years, but my nocturnal mind has been doing her a disservice.

“You’re staring,” she whispers.

“And you’re so fucking lovely.” I fit my hand around the curve of her hip. Watch it rise all by itself, my thumb sliding over her rib cage. My mouth waters to taste her, to inhale her scent. To let the musk of her linger on my tongue. After she’s ridden my face.

I cup her breast, and the soft sighing breath she releases sounds like pure encouragement.

“My legs,” she whispers. Pleads. “The bed.”

“Hush.” I press my finger to her lips as my touches linger, tracing where I want to grip, stroking where I want to pinch. The restraint hurts in the best kind of way. It makes the wanting louder. In me. In her. “Your skin is so soft. And your tits . . .” My gaze lifts. I want her to see my face. “They’re fucking amazing, Clara.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks flush, and she looks away.

“Ah, ah,” I murmur, bringing her attention back. “Don’t deprive me of this pretty face.”

“My knees feel like they’re about to give out.” The confession falls in a rush, her embarrassed expression seeming to unlock a new kink for me.

“Let me help.” I turn us, backing her up against the vanity. Taking her hands, I curl them around the edge. Shoulders back, the sight of her . . . I can’t resist sucking her rose pink nipples.

“Oh God.” The sound feels like a lick to the underside of my cock. “I-I don’t think this is going to help.”

“You think I’d let you fall?” I move my mouth over her, pressing my teeth to the soft swell. Then trace the shape of her with my tongue before pulling the taut bud into my mouth to start all over again.