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His teeth graze my earlobe, breath warm. “You’re sure?”

In answer, I rock against him, feeling the hard line of him through his jeans. The sound he makes is guttural, and it sends heat flooding through me. I want to consume him. I want to be consumed.

I stand up, pulling him with me, and he follows without question. We stumble toward the couch, knocking into the coffee table, sending the note fluttering to the floor. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but his hands on me, his mouth on mine, the weight of him pressing me down into the cushions.

His body covers mine completely, a solid wall of heat and muscle that makes me feel small and powerful at once.

“Laurel,” he growls, my name a warning and a plea.

I arch up, desperate for more contact. “Don’t talk.”

His mouth crashes against mine again, all heat and hunger, and I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer. The friction is maddening, not enough, never enough. My hands fumble with his belt, fingers trembling with urgency.

“Let me,” he murmurs.

He stands, and I watch through half lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head. The lamplight catches on the defined lines of his torso, the slight sheen of sweat already forming there.

When he returns to me, his skin against mine is electric. I gasp as his hands slide up my sides. His mouth follows the path his hands have traced, leaving a trail of fire across my stomach, my ribs, the underside of my breast.

“Fuck, Ashby, that feels so good.”

His mouth lands between my thighs, first hot breath against my underwear, then gentle tease with his nose.

Torture, delicious, surgical, until I nearly sob.

“Don’t tease,” I beg, warbling, but it just makes him go slower.

He peels my underwear down, dragging the fabric over my skin like he’s unwrapping something precious.

Then his tongue.

The first touch is enough to make my hips jerk, the second is so good I almost lose my breath. He knows exactly what he’s doing, alternating soft laps with shockingly rough flicks. I grab onto his hair with trembling hands, holding him to me, and he growls into my pussy like it’s a dare.

The vibration hits a fault line deep inside me, and I cry out.

“More,” I gasp. “Please, Ashby.”

He responds by sliding two fingers inside me while his tongue continues its devastating work. The dual sensation makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I’m writhing beneath him now, completely at his mercy, and it’s the most freeing feeling I’ve known since I got here.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against me, the words vibrating through my core. “Let go for me.”

My body is coiling tighter, pleasure building like a storm about to break. His fingers curl just right, hitting the spot inside me that makes my vision blur.

His tongue circles my clit with relentless precision, and I’m falling apart, shattering into a million pieces as the orgasm rips through me.

I cry out his name, my back arching off the couch cushions.

He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I collapse backward, glassy eyed, chest heaving.

My thighs shake uncontrollably, and I realize I’m laughing, no, sobbing, a weird animal sound that lives somewhere between shame and release.

His eyes flash with darkness and hunger as he climbs back up my body. He reaches between us, fumbling with his belt, and I help, my fingers clumsy with need. When his cock springs free, hard and ready, I wrap my hand around him, stroking once, twice, watching his face contort with pleasure.

“Inside me,” I demand. “Now.”

He hesitates for just a second, before positioning himself at my entrance. The first thrust makes me gasp.

He’s big, stretching me in ways I’ve forgotten, filling the emptiness that’s been growing inside me for days.