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If that’s the case, why did he sneak into your house and cuff you to your bed while you were asleep?

Good question. And I really ought to get an answer now. Many answers, actually. I shouldn’t cave in to ruthless seduction by a breaking-and-entering lover.

But I don’t hate him touching me. I like it. No, I love it. What does that say about me?

“You’re tight.” He maneuvers his fingers into my hot depths. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” I gasp. “And a few months.”

“Then let’s make sure you’re good and wet before I fuck you.”

There. I hear it again, that something familiar in his voice… “Do I know you?”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

“What? I have every right to ask whatever I need⁠—”

He silences me by gliding the rough pad of his thumb across my clit, the sweet, hot friction robbing my ability to speak.

“More?” he taunts.

Get the hell out—of my body, my bed, my life. That should be my automatic response. It isn’t nearly as automatic as whimpering and lifting my hips to him again.

I fight to whip up my defiance. But why fight everything I’ve been wanting since my divorce? Hell, since my marriage to Tim went south? I want passion, hot and wild with no strings attached. This stranger is giving it to me, as if he knows my body intimately, perfectly.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“Good girl. I’ve got a reward for you…”

The fiery press of desire burns between my legs. His hot exhalations graze my clit, sending my temperature spiking.

Before I can berate and beg him in the same breath, he settles his head between my legs, wiggles those fingers still impaling me, and runs the tip of his tongue right over my clit.

I scream with the livewire sensation. Shockingly hot. Wickedly destructive.

The sensations magnify when he sucks my clit into his mouth. The wet blade of his tongue strokes my sensitive nub, shredding my self-control.

With a loud cry, I arch to him, gripping the headboard in my fists.

“That’s it. I’ve thought about doing this to you so many times…” he murmurs against my slick folds.

In an insistent pace, he kisses, nips, suckles, thrusts—and utterly possesses me. Pleasure soars. Blood engorges my flesh, making every swipe of his tongue even more sensitive than the last. My heart roars like a wild gong in my ears. Boom, boom, boom. Tighter, tighter, the ache coils, building into something beyond big. Huge is too small. Gigantic. Phenomenal. Mind-bending.

“Oh! Oh my…” I pant.

“Now,” he demands, thrusting his fingers into my depths and finding just the right spot as another lash from his tongue has my ache peaking, my pleasure skyrocketing.

With a scream, I explode in a never-ending series of spasms and clamp down on his fingers, ecstasy saturating me.

I barely catch my breath before the stranger wends his way up my body, covering me. Every inch of his body is rigid with hunger, taut with holding back. I shiver, knowing what he’ll want next.

Feeling how much I want it, too.

“Are you still on the pill?”

Still? He knows I have been? Does he know about my irregular periods, too? “Yes.”

“Good. Got to fuck you. Now,” he growls. “Nothing between us.”