He runs pressure along the bottom of my soles, and I almost close my eyes from the feeling. “I don’t understand.” He sighs, and I look toward him. “I’m serious. Are you doing this for the testosterone-fueled rush or for no-strings sex? Because you know you can hire a woman for that, right?”

“Paying a woman to have sex with me doesn’t turn me on in any way. And I don’t know exactly why I did it. All I know is that the idea of it, the buildup, the unknown of a new woman, the forbidden-ness … it all turned me on. The secondary piece to it is that I love to please women. And this lifestyle allowed me to do it without requiring me to have a relationship of my own.”

He’s talking in past tense, and I register that, yet still forge on. “Except for Chelsea.” God, I still dislike that woman. Even now, I can barely say her name without snarling.

“Ahh … Chelsea.” He frowns. “Chelsea was an experiment of sorts.”

“In monogamy?” So glad to know he failed that one.

“Actually, the opposite.” He doesn’t look at me, focusing on my feet, the gentle work of the muscles. God, if the lingerie business goes to shit, he could earn a million with just his hands. “I first met Chelsea in a threesome. I didn’t see her again until her interview. Things didn’t seem to have worked out with her last boyfriend. I thought that I would try the lifestyle from the other end. As a host, instead of a guest.”

“And?”

He pulls a blanket over my feet and tucks in the fabric underneath them. “I didn’t like it.” He looks at me. “And it made me realize how I’d feel if it was someone I really cared about.”

He’s not talking about me. I know he’s not talking about me but still, somewhere inside, a warm little flame lights. “Meaning what?” I say, in the most casual way a woman can ask a question.

He wraps his hands around my feet and brings them close to his chest, almost in the way that you would covet a tiny baby. “Meaning, if you and I ever date, I won’t want to do anything like that with you.”

Everything sort of stops. The crackle of the fire, the tightening of his hands, the movement of breath in my lungs.

“Ever?” I ask.

“Ever,” he confirms.

“But wouldn’t you miss it?”

“I can’t watch you walk into a room without getting hard. I wouldn’t need anything else.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Honestly, if I had any additional stimulation, it’d probably be an embarrassingly short experience.”

“That’s a common problem, you know. That men have with me.” I lift my mug to cover my smile. “It happens all the time.”

He scowls. “Put down that mug.”

“What?”

“Put it down.”

I carefully set it on the side table. “What’s wrong—” My question is cut off when he pulls me onto his lap, his hands firm on my hips, his eyes fierce with possession.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. About Mira. About Chelsea. About my sex life. I didn’t tell you the truth because I was worried I would lose any chance of us ever being together. And if I could go back to that first night, with Mira, I would. I would go back and never have stepped down that path. But I need to know if there is still a chance for us. If, knowing what you now know—and damn any risk to the company—if you will ever date me.”

Date. It sounds so trivial compared to everything we’ve been through. Would I date him? God, I’ve been in love with him for years. I’ve—

“Jesus Christ, Kate. You’re killing me.”

I look down, into his face, my eyes traveling over the edge of his jaw, the tensing of his lips as he swallows, the lines of worry that mark his forehead and gather at the corners of his eyes. Our gaze meets, and everything I know is there. “I want more than that,” I whisper.

I was going to continue, but I lose the words when he leans forward and captures my mouth with his.

Him

When a kiss waits for a thousand days, it erupts like a cyclone—a slow unfurling of lips, of tongues, hands ripping, clothes flying, hot swirls of breath met with a clash of frantic desire. I had always envisioned that I would take my time, that I would carefully taste her, my tongue sampling, a gentle moment that I would savor every second of. But in this kiss, we take a hundred seconds in every ten. I groan against her mouth and push her down onto my lap. Her knee moves, our hands fight to reconnect, then she is straddling me, and her hips grind down on me, and I break from her mouth just long enough to swear her name.

I’ve both feared and anticipated this moment for so long. I’ve wondered if we’d have chemistry or whether our tension was all a myth, the promise of the unattainable only hot because of its impossibility.

It wasn’t a myth. I’ve never experienced chemistry like this, each taste of her tongue, each shift of her body, the yank of her hand in my hair—each one fans the flame, my cock pushing painfully against my zipper, my skin burning to have more of her, everywhere against me. I slide my hands down the back of her pants and grip her ass, rolling with her, until she falls back on the leather couch, her hair loose and wild, her eyes burning in a way I have never seen. I pause.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asks, her chest heaving, cheeks flushed.

“Don’t move,” I whisper.

“You’re not coming, are you?” Her eyes widen and God, I fucking love this woman.

“No.” I grin. “I am definitely not coming. I just…” I just want to savor this moment. I just want to remember, forever, how she looks right now, the way she reaches for me, pants for me. I want to remember how her lips are swollen from my kiss, her heart is pounding, the glow of her skin. I swallow. “I just want to tell you that I love you.”

She slides her hand under the waist of my jeans and grips my belt, pulling me down to her. “I love you too,” she whispers, her mouth lifting to mine. “But right now, I really need you to get naked.”

I can’t argue with that. I steal another kiss as her fingers pull at my shirt, our mouths breaking apart as she pulls the cotton henley over my head. I stand and yank at my belt, nodding at her jeans. “Take those off.”

I should take her to my bedroom, but that’s too far away, and this moment feels like a mirage, one that could dissolve at any moment, her head in play, her doubts kicking, my past too much for her mind to overcome. I unbutton my jeans and push them to the floor, dropping to my knees as I move to the edge of the couch, my hands pulling on the waist of her jeans, helping to slide them down her legs, her back settling into the couch cushion as she watches me through heavy eyes.

I don’t know what is under her shirt, but seeing the expensive thong as it is unveiled, the familiar style, knowing my name is against her skin—it does something to my heart. It’s not just mine, it’s ours, our labor of love, our late nights, our arguments, our passion. I spread her knees and settle in between her legs, my hands sliding up her thighs, toward the black triangle of lace. I run a reverent hand over the delicate material, tracing the details of it and then down, in between her beautiful legs. I lower my mouth to the lace and follow the path of my fingers, planting soft kisses from her hips to her mound, and I breathe in the scent of her, my tongue moving over the lines of the thong, teasing her through the fabric, a small whimper of pleasure coming from her as I hit her most sensitive places. She curves beneath me, and I hold her in place, supporting her up against my mouth, as I pull the thong aside and fully reveal her.

I’ve gone down on countless women. I’ve never tasted a woman I didn’t enjoy, and I’ve never met a pussy that didn’t make me hard. But Kate … I don’t have words for the feelings I have when she is open before me, her thighs twisting nervously, the thin strip of her hair wet and matted with her juices, all of her exposed. I take a moment, my finger rubbing softly across her, and I look up, watching her mouth open as I gently roll the pad of my thumb over her clit, her body curving for more, her pelvis tilting, like an offering to the gods. I bend down and feast.

Chapter 19

Her