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I stifle a laugh. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Still, he’s next to me in a flash, opening my door. He unfastens my seat belt as if I can’t do it myself, then hoists me out of my seat. “Aren’t you?”

I wrap my hands around his neck, holding his gaze. “No.”

I’m not entirely sure how many layers there are to this no, or how many I want there to be. All I care about is the heat of his body against mine, that feeling I’ve been dying to know for years. Everything else can wait.

Oliver’s lips slowly stretch into a smile. “I like the sound of that.”

I laugh, pushing his shoulder gently, but it only makes him tighten his hold on me. “It’s unfair. I’m not thinking clearly right now. You can literally make me say or do whatever the hell you want.”

His eyes travel to my lips in a dare. “Yeah? That kinda makes me want to try it. See for myself.”

“Do your worst,” I breathe, my thighs clenching.

“If you insist.”

He crashes his lips against mine as he kicks open the front door and bolts to the kitchen, where he sets me down on the counter and wraps my legs around his waist. I gasp as every inch of his solid body molds against mine. I feel his hardness everywhere, especially there. And all I can think about is that I’m kissing Oliver.

I’m kissing Oliver.

“I don’t know where to start.” He trails a flurry of kisses down my neck while his hands grip my waist, keeping me close to him. I’m just a rag doll in his arms, waiting for him to play with me for hours. “So many possibilities.” He nibbles my earlobe, and I whimper. “So much power you’ve just given me, Charlee.” His hands slip under his sweater I’m still wearing, toying with the shirt underneath. “Could drive a weaker man to madness.” His hot breath skitters along my jaw until he reaches my lips again, hovering over them. “Not me, though. No. I can handle it. I’ll show you how worthy of you I am.”

“Please,” I whisper, tugging on his shirt collar and bringing him down to me.

My lips meet his teeth as he laughs against my mouth. I open for him, and the feel of my tongue colliding with his puts an abrupt end to his teasing.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. Pleads.

“I thought I told you I was yours to command.”

His eyes turn a dangerous shade of dark. “Just making sure.”

He presses his hands on my ass and slides me to the edge of the countertop. I yelp and tighten my legs around his waist.

“I can’t see you with this thing on.” He grabs the hem of the sweatshirt and pulls it over me, throwing it somewhere in the room.

My shirt is next, then his, and suddenly, he pauses, his throat bobbing. And I understand. I’m in the same state of wonder. Of shock. How many times have I pictured his chest beneath my hands? And now that he’s right in front of me . . .

“My dreams do not come close to doing you justice,” he tells me, echoing my own thoughts.

Gently, the very opposite of his urgency a few minutes ago, he lets his hands run down my arms in an impossibly tender touch. A thousand shivers riddle my skin, and I wouldn’t have thought of it twice if it weren’t for the fact that a simple caress has never aroused me so quickly or so much.

It’s him, my body seems to say. It’s always been him.

His fingers wander back up my arm, running over my shoulders and down on my collarbone. Oliver watches my immediate reaction with deadly focus, as if transfixed by how easily my body responds to him.

“Do you like that?” he asks in a breathless whisper.

“Yes.”

He lets his index finger trace the curves of my breasts, dipping into the narrow path in between before stroking his thumb over my bra, applying enough pressure for the fabric to rub deliciously against my hardening nipple.

“And that?”

I moan. “Yes.”

Oliver drags the fabric down, and my breasts spill out. I feel him twitch between my legs as he sucks in a breath, then releases it, the cool air a nice relief against my burning skin.