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He groans against me, and the vibration makes my hips jerk toward his mouth. His fingers dig harder into my skin while he tastes me like the months apart created a hunger nothing else could reach.

“Ryan.”

He looks up.

Dark eyes hold mine while his tongue moves over my clit.

My head starts to fall back.

His hand leaves my thigh and catches my chin.

“Watch me.”

I force my eyes to remain open.

Ryan spent one call telling me where to place my fingers and months making me imagine everything his hands would do once distance stopped protecting us. I believed I understood the intensity of his attention.

I didn’t.

His mouth stays between my thighs while his eyes keep me exposed. There is no shame inside the position, only possession, desire, and the unbearable relief of giving him what distance denied.

My fingers move into his hair.

“I’m going to come.”

He pulls away far enough to speak. “Not yet.”

A broken sound escapes me. “Don’t do this tonight.”

“You’ve had seven months to decide what you would let me do when I finally had you again.”

“I didn’t include torture.”

“You enjoyed the torture.”

“I lied.”

His laugh moves across my wet skin before he rises.

I reach for him, but Ryan turns me toward the counter. My palms land against the granite while his bare chest presses against my back. His hands travel over my body, one covering my breast while the other moves down my stomach.

Our reflection fills the dark kitchen windows.

Ryan behind me. My face flushed and desperate. His tattoos framing the body he has touched only through memory since the castle.

“Míranos,” he says against my ear.

I keep my eyes on the glass.

“This is what you imagined in your boutique?”

“Yes.”

“Me behind you?”

“Yes.”

“My hand here?”