She looks into my eyes and I’m lost. Wrecked. Owned. There’s no thought, no desire—except to please her. Make her see stars and touch heaven.

Deft fingers open her jeans, peeling them down her legs as I straighten up.

I take a moment to enjoy the view—Olivia’s flushed, heated skin almost bare in the middle of my bed. The way her pitch-black hair lies against the stunning, flawless flesh of her breasts. Her flat stomach, sculpted, and the way the thin straps of her pastel-pink underwear cling to dainty hips.

The triangle of fabric between her legs is lace—see-through. It shows a trim, pretty little bush of soft black curls. It’s different—most of the women I’ve been with do their damnedest to have their vag imitate Mr. Bigglesworth, Dr. Evil’s hairless cat.

I’ve yet to discover a thing about Olivia that I don’t like—but this, I like very, very much.

I feel her eyes on me as I lick my lips and slide the pink lace down her legs—giving me an unobstructed view.

“Christ, you’re a beauty,” I groan. With a smirk, I crawl onto the bed, hovering over her. “Pretty enough to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner—and still want more for dessert.”

I raise her ankle to my shoulder—then I move upward slowly, kissing and sucking on the skin of her calf, behind her knee, to her taut inner thigh. Her breath hitches when I place her foot back on the bed and my palms against her thighs, spreading her wide. I lick two fingertips and run them through her cleft, rubbing, searching.

Olivia’s eyes drift closed. “Nicholas.”

Yeah, that’s the spot.

My fingers circle Olivia’s pretty clit—pink and swollen—and I drop down to my stomach. I kiss her thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Say my name again,” I murmur.

Olivia’s chest rises and falls quickly. “Nicholas.”

She pants and gasps as my mouth moves closer.

“Again.”

Still rubbing with my fingers, my nose brushes those soft curls, every bit as fragrant and sweet as the rest of her. Maybe more.

“Nicholas,” she moans, her voice raw and pleading.

Music to my fucking ears.

Then I give her what we’re both aching for.

My mouth moves over her pussy, enveloping it in a heated kiss, and my tongue slides between those plump lips. With a loud whimper her hips rise, but I hold her steady. Focused and unrelenting in my need to make her climax.

Christ, her taste. The slick feel of her against my tongue. It’s magnificent.

Enough to make my hips thrust against the bed, searching for relief.

I move my mouth to Olivia’s clit, sucking hard while two fingers thrust, then pump, inside her. Oh, she’s tight. And hot. And so wet it may drive me mad.

But she’s so snug, I’m really going to need to take care with her.

The thought is chased from my mind when Olivia’s back curves, her neck arches, and her mouth opens to whimper my name. And she comes. Stunningly. Fantastically. On my tongue, against my mouth, writhing with the sheer bliss of it.

When Olivia goes limp against the bed, I practically pounce on her. She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, after just a few minutes of kissing and humping, she pushes me back, rolling us over, to kiss her way down my chest.

She makes quick work of my trousers, tossing them on the floor. And she stares at me, with a secret smile on her lips—long enough for me to ask, “What?”

Olivia gives a tiny shrug. “The Internet was wrong. They said you wear Calvin Klein underwear.”

They were very wrong—I don’t wear underwear at all.

“Don’t believe everything you read.”

When she wraps her hand around my aching cock, it feels so damn good, I have no words—my eyes roll closed and my head digs into the pillow behind me. Olivia strokes me skillfully—once, twice—but that’s all I allow.

It’s all I can stand. If she keeps going, I’ll fucking embarrass myself.

I jerk up, wrapping my arms around her, rolling her back under me and taking her mouth like a dying man takes his last meal. Blindly, my hand gropes for the night table drawer, for the condoms David put there. But when Olivia arches up—almost rubbing the tip of my cock against her slick entrance, I pull back fully. Quickly.

“Just a sec, love.”

I rip open the condom with my teeth and Olivia’s hands mix with mine, fumbling to roll it on as quickly as possible.

And then I’m there, over her, staring into those stunning dark blue eyes that caught me from the first moment. I breathe deep, silently begging for control, and then I press the head of my cock inside her. Gently and just the tip.

Olivia’s mouth opens with the pleasure of it. And my heart pounds so fast and hard, I think I might be dying.

What a perfect bloody way to go.

She presses her palm to my cheek, reaching up for a kiss, drawing me in. Slowly, I slide inside her—the beautiful muscles fitting so snug and wet around me—stretching to make room. When our pelvises meet, when my heavy balls rest against Olivia’s arse, I wait. Swallowing hard against a sandpaper throat.

Her eyes are closed, her lashes fanning out like tiny threads of black silk.

“Are you all right?” I pant.

Please, please say yes. Please let me move. Let me thrust and pump and fuck.

And then she does the simplest, most miraculous thing. She opens her eyes—and it feels like she’s ripping my heart out—taking it for her own.

“Yes.”

Definitely my favorite word.

I feel her squeeze around me—her hips pulsing upward, testing the feel.