Rogue (Real Book 4)

Melanie

It’s the perfect night for a party.

The perfect night for a kiss.

The perfect, most perfect night to be in love.

I’m sitting on a thick limestone terrace railing, my dress hiked up to my waist so that Greyson can wedge his body in between my thighs.

He thumbs my nipple, and I try to keep from moaning as I visually devour him before me—his body clad in a black suit, his hair mussed by my hands, his lips a little red with my lipstick. He stares back at me as he slides his large, warm hand up my thigh and tugs off my panties. I’m breathless as he tucks them inside the pocket of his suit jacket, his hand coming back to cup my sex while the other plays with my aching nipple.

Can you die of pleasure?

Can you die of the way your boyfriend looks and looks and looks at you?

I am. Crazy. About this man.

I would do anything for this man.

And I’ve been waiting for and fantasizing this moment for months.

Behind him, I can see the party getting under way—a party he organized to celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday, an event well over three months old. But trivialities like that don’t matter to a man like Greyson King.

What matters is getting his way.

And from the brand-new Harry Winston diamond necklace dangling from my throat, to the lavish party behind us, to the glimmer in his eyes that tells me almost to the last detail what he plans to do to me tonight, there is no doubt in my mind my boyfriend is getting his way tonight.

And all I can think is, It’s about fucking time.

I’m so anxious that I’m not sure I can wait for us to find our way to our bed.

Maybe if I unzip his pants and get him close enough to ride him . . .

But now hundreds of our friends mingle inside the Ceres Ballroom. These people include my boss and coworkers, my parents, my friends, and Greyson’s old and new business partners. The old ones are the dangerous ones who work for him at the Underground fighting circuit. The newer ones comprise the committee of his King Yacht Corporation he’s founded in honor of his mother.

Anyone could step outside and see us. Him standing before me in his elegant suit, and me . . . my blow-dried hair now in disarray as it flaps in the wind, my body shivering under his hands and his lips, and the way his beautiful hazel eyes look at me.

“Greyson . . .” I say, a plea. He uses his body to shield me from the ballroom doors, towering over me as he ducks so he can trails his lips over my jaw. “You look delectable, Melanie, you taste delectable. Who is it that you’re panting for?”

I grip his shoulders to brace myself from the delightful dizziness taking over me. “Who do you think?”

“I’ve been waiting for this for months, princess. Months.” He tweaks my nipple in his big hand and lifts the swell of my breast to his lips, covering the peak with his mouth.

His tongue rubs against the hard little point, and I die. I die as he suckles, gently first, then harder, causing a rush of desire to shudder down my spine.

I know Greyson is not a man used to loving. I don’t think he’s ever loved another human being since his mother got taken away from him over a decade ago. A decade of feeling nothing . . . until he met me.

He’s hungry now. I have felt his hunger building in him as our return to Seattle approached and my release from the hospital finally happened. He’s hungry and male enough to not give a shit about anything but this hunger of his tonight; for without thought or hesitation, he tugs down the sleeve of my dress to bare my breasts and moves to suck on my other breast. Quaking in a mass of lust, I grab his thick, copper-streaked hair and pull his head up so his lips meet mine. “Kiss me,” I groan.

He surveys my mouth first—already very well kissed by him. He rubs his index finger across my lipstick, rubbing what’s left of it off.

He takes his goddamned time—his sweet, long time—and I whimper and then sigh when he lowers his mouth to nip my lower lip. We groan and start kissing, his mouth melting everything around us but him.

He takes my hand and slips it around his neck, where he wants it, forcing my fingers to curl around his nape. “Someone could come out any moment . . .” I whisper.

The breeze caresses me softly. The salty scents of recent rain and damp cement and grass reach my nostrils. But more than anything, I smell him: wet forest. Metal and leather. His scents.

“I posted Derek by the doors. Nobody’s venturing out here.”

His whisper is more breath than voice, more groan. He edges back just a fraction, only enough to take me in with hazel eyes that sparkle like all the stars in the sky above.

“What if my friends want some fresh air,” I counter.

“Well, my girl’s taking up all the freshness there is out here.” He smirks and takes in my state of complete disarray. My hair is whipping around me, I can feel tendrils of it on my cheeks. My dress is exposing everything indecent. My heels are digging into the small of his back, my legs curled around him.

“Look at you, all sexy and undone just for me,” he whispers huskily, visually devouring me.

Shivering, I whisper, “What if I forgot how to do this?”

“Then I’ll just have to teach you what goes where. My tongue . . .” He rubs it over my top lip. “You see, my tongue goes here . . .” He eases it, wet and scalding, into my mouth. “My fingers like it here, where it’s warm and wet and clenching around me. Greedy for me.”

“Oh, Grey.” I rock my hips when he fingers me with one long, knowing finger.

“I have no problems teaching you. You have this beautiful, perfect cunt that was made for my cock. You’re not bedridden anymore, Melanie,” he murmurs between kisses, rubbing that finger deep inside me. “You’re very alive . . . as alive as you’ve ever been, those green eyes sparkling with life, this body pulsing for me. And this lovely bare pussy . . . .” he murmurs as he bends down . . . lower . . . and lower . . . and his head dives between my legs.

He flicks his tongue over my clit and pleasure rockets through me. He’s stroking a hand down my back while pulling my clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive flesh, playing with me.

I’m burning and I need him, need him desperately. I fist my hands on the back of his head, locking him against me by the hair.

Now I feel his lips nipping on my clit, lightly tugging, and my heartbeat gallops faster as he inserts two fingers into my pussy.

It’s been weeks, over three months . . . in the hospital; first the coma, then the rehabilitation. All this time, he was there for me. He was there for me when I woke, and there every time I fell asleep. My eyes sting as I feel an overwhelming desire to climax at the same time I feel an overwhelming need to make love to him.

“Grey!” I cry out, pulling him back by the hair.

He eases back and meets my gaze, straightening his black tie and smiling at me.

“I love you like this, all fucking hot and wet for me.” He slides his hips between my thighs and pulls me into his arms, raining kisses on my face as he embraces me in his thick, muscled arms.

My eyes drift shut. He’s hard against my bare pussy. Straining the zipper of his dress slacks. But I know he’s waiting for something special tonight. He’s been telling me how he craves to sink in me . . . lose himself in me . . .

So do I!

My pussy is still damp and gives a little squeeze at the thought of my guy, the only man I’ve ever loved, making love to me. Finally. After months of what feels like a whole life waiting. He’s told me he needs to make love to me without a condom. We’ve talked to the doctors, and I’m on low-dose birth control for a while. They mentioned it could only be for a little while because I’m also on long-term kidney transplant reject medication. But that’s okay. We will make use of these months like nobody’s business.

I’m so ready to feel him, to be with him . . . I didn’t want the party. I just wanted to come home and lie in bed with him. But Greyson can’t seem to get past the fact that he missed my twenty-fifth birthday and he’s making up for it in style.

He helps me arrange my dress, pressing one hot kiss on the top of my ear. “Ready?”

“I used to solve everything with a party. Sad? Party, girl. Mad? Party, girl. Bored? Just party, girl! How come it’s lost its old allure?” I scowl at him, then poke his hard chest with my finger. “It’s your fault, you know. The best parties now are the private ones with only you and me.” I slide down the railing and to my feet, my voice playful to hide the lust winding inside me. “Don’t look at my ass when I walk away.”

“Why, can you feel it?”

“Yes!” My limbs tremble as I head to the arched doors leading into the ballroom.

“Your princess looks fucking edible,” Derek says as he opens the door for me.

Greyson smacks the back of his head as he passes. “Apologize.”

Derek looks at me with a silver-toothed grin and I wave a hand in dismissal, laughing. “You’re forgiven.”

Greyson slaps the back of his head again. “Don’t think about her, don’t look at her, and definitely don’t tease her. That’s my fucking job.”

I’m terribly amused by his jealousy as I sweep into the ballroom. Long white columns welcome us and I can already see the crowd inside, all of them curious about the CEO of the new King Yacht Corp—rumored to also be the head of one of the top Underground fighting circuits. He’s like some sexy JFK Jr. figure and suddenly, I’m his Carolyn . . .

I spot Pandora and Kyle by the champagne fountain, helping themselves to a new glass. They spot me almost at the same time. Kyle waves; Pandora smirks and lifts the glass in toast, her eyes shining warmly. The room’s only spot of color tonight, apparently, is me. Everyone is dressed in black and white, while I’m wearing red. “It’s a black-and-white gala?” I’d asked Greyson when we arrived.

His lips quirked. “It’s never black and white for you.”

Greyson rubs his hand up and down my back as he reaches me, and my pulse starts accelerating as I remember little glimpses of our past.

My name is Greyson, Melanie . . .

I close my eyes, savoring this memory. When I was in a coma, I didn’t remember anything, but when I came to, all my memories slammed me almost to the point I couldn’t peel apart one from the other.

I love my memories now. What a treasure to know who you are, who you love, what you did yesterday, what you hope for yourself for tomorrow. What a treasure to remember the day I met the man I love.

And I remember it—every bit of it.

When I finally open my eyes, I feel his gaze on me.

As if he’s waiting for something . . .

That’s when the canopy that makes an artificial ceiling high above our heads, white and elegant, bursts open and a mass of white, red, and black balloons starts raining down on us.

Squealing, I tip my head back and watch them fall on us, stretching out my arms so I can feel them bounce on my palms. It feels magical, special, unforgettable.

Some of my friends take the long, sleek feathers adorning the tables and use the tips to start popping the balloons. Greyson is happiest when I’m happy—I’ve noticed this. Now he watches me with a curl to his lips, leaning back with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed, watching as I join the fun and start popping balloons. The music starts up as most of the balloons have fallen on the dance floor, and as the band starts playing, people try dancing around them while others are making a game out of popping them with their feet.

I’m laughing and lifting my dress, digging the heels of my shoes into a balloon.

Pop!

Pop!

POP!

When I look up, he’s still watching me.

I sense his happiness like it’s mine.

The song “This is What It Feels like” by Armin van Buuren rocks around us, and I start dancing to the music in the middle of the room, feeling it run through me, and I watch as Greyson pulls out a chair and sits down, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, brilliant, narrowed eyes fixated on me as I dance by myself.

He fills his jacket perfectly. I see the muscular arms, the perfect triangle of his wide shoulders, narrow waist, and I want it all. That mouth that seems a little bit pinker than normal due to my kisses. Those hungry eyes. That beautiful man.

He watches me come over with a stare that glimmers with love, and I feel like there’s a fist gripping my stomach because I suddenly want these people to pop away like these balloons so it’s just us. Him and me. He smiles, and I smile back, a tingle deep in my belly.

Even before we met, he’d been watching me and I didn’t know it. I had something that belonged to him—to his father—and Greyson had become a shadow I never noticed, but boy, did he notice me. He likes watching me. So I let him watch his fill as I sway my way over, and when I stop a few feet away, he lifts his hand and crooks his finger at me.

I start up again, laughing when he grabs my waist and hauls me down on his knee. “Do you realize how fucking beautiful you look tonight,” he whisper-growls into my neck, and in that dark suit, I’m Buttercup and he’s Westley who defeated the one with five fingers and now . . .we can be happy. We are happy.

He draws me closer to his chest, clearly savoring the feel of me, the scent of me. “You couldn’t be possibly any sexier, princess. Any fucking sexier. I could watch you until you wear yourself out, but I need you to have energy for what I have planned.”

His sexy voice so close to my ear ripples through my body. I start kissing his hard jaw. “When?”

“When we get back to the apartment,” he promises, his voice tight with lust.

He brushes my hair back from my face, and tingles race from the roots of my hair to my toes. He’s all I breathe and see. All I want and need. His eyes, hazel green and fiery. His mouth. Lips that look soft and firm. A jolt runs through me when he caresses his hand along the length of my bare back, and my pulse skitters at the caress as he roughly adds, “I adore you. Treasure you. Cherish you. I think I’m damn well keeping you.”

My entire body responds. I feel so cherished. His girl. Me. Me. Me. “Yes. Keep me. Love me. Ride me hard tonight, Grey. As hard as you ride your men,” I tease.

His men respect him, are in awe of him, maybe a little in fear of him too.

But I’m not afraid of him.

He may make men twice my size tremble, but not me. Okay, yes. He makes me tremble. He makes me tremble in love. In lust. But never in fear. Because I know that he’d never hurt me. In fact, he’s the only one who can truly make me feel safe.

He chuckles a low, deep sound. “You don’t rule a snake pit gently, but I’d rather use a firm but gentle hand on my princess.”

“Mm. And I hope you know in my instance, one hand won’t do. You have to use two!”

We laugh, and he nuzzles me as we do. I love how he calls me princess even when he’s no prince. But in my heart, he’s so much more. He’s my King.

♥  ♥  ♥

IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT when we reach our apartment building. Of course it was his apartment, but he asked me to move in, and now it’s mine too.

We’re crossing our building lobby, his hand laced with mine, when he presses the elevator button and then surprises me by scooping me up in his arms. “Um? I can walk?” I say.

“I know you can do many things, including driving me crazy with that very walk, but you’re going to need your energy for what we’re about to do. So sit tight and hang on.”

I grin up at him and do exactly as he asks, whispering in his ear as we ride to the top, “Nothing makes me feel as alive as you do. Smelling you, feeling you, loving you.” I kiss his thick throat and the back of his ear, glad we’re alone in the elevator so I can nip and lovingly kiss any part I can reach. “I love you,” I whisper, closing my eyes and inhaling him, rubbing my hands up the plackets of his suit. “I love you so much, I missed the smell of your skin and your hair and your shirts.”

He cups my skull and tips my head around to his. “Melanie.” My heart hurts from the way he looks at me, like I’m a living, breathing dream of his.

He takes my mouth in a long, hot kiss until we reach our floor. Then he carries me out of the elevator and into our apartment. I play with his shirt collar and whisper, “Set me down so I can take off my shoes and hang up the dress you got me.”

He drops a kiss on my mouth and sets me down, then locks the door behind us. “One minute. No more.”

I love the feel I get when we walk into this place. I’ve decorated it because the man can’t expect us to live forever in Sparta, and I’m trying to build us a home now. It was a giant step in my life, to move in with a man. A man I love. A man who’s dangerous, powerful, elusive, giving, secretive, all of the above. A man who, despite all that, I trust to protect me.

“I can barely get used to living here with you,” I confess as I admire my handiwork. The artwork over the stone chimney. The trio of live plants, some taller than others, by the window.

“And I can’t get used to the shit I need to live with in order to live with you.”

I laugh, then smile shyly as he follows me toward the bedroom area. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it because I’ve asked your opinion on it all. And I’m not done yet, you know. I want to paint the master bedroom royal blue and add some purple to our living room. And then I plan—”

“Enough, baby.”

We’ve reached the bedroom space, and he’s tugging his tie loose. Oh my . . .

Can he be any sexier, please?

Oh. My. He’s very determined tonight. Tossing his tie aside. Easing off his jacket.

“You can do anything you want with my apartment as long as I get to do anything I want with you,” he tells me in his most sexy voice.

I don’t stand a chance.

Nor do I want to.

I take off my heels—the black ones with the red sole he bought me—and I carefully set them aside. “Make me any indecent proposal you want, the answer is yes, Mr. King.”

“Right answer, princess.” Eyes twinkling, he pulls my panties out of his jacket and holds them out, then he crooks his finger with his free hand. “Come here, princess,” he finally murmurs—the command sensual. Hot.

“I am here,” I counter.

He tosses my panties onto a chair by the window. “You’re over on the other side of the bed. And I want you here.”

Oh my. Really. He wants me right where he is. He starts to unbutton his shirt and all that tan skin of his peeks out to tempt all of my fingers. I begin walking toward him, hearing him murmur—that’s right, princess—his voice a shiver down my nape as he closes the last steps—the last steps—to me. I start shaking with adrenaline as I grab the back of his head and immediately trail my lips across his hard jaw, then I whisper in his ear, “Yes.”

He groans hoarsely, running his hands up my back, holding me against his body—his impressive erection pressing into my pelvis. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask . . .” he huskily counters.

“It’s yes, Greyson,” I whisper, looking up into his hard face. “I want to feel you. I want nothing between us. We’ve already discussed it. I’m on the pill, and you’re clean and you’re mine. So it’s yes, you perfect, sexy man. Fuck me, love me, fight with me, spoil me, just don’t leave me.”

“Melanie.”

My name is whispered like a prayer. Within seconds, he pulls open the last buttons off his shirt and tosses it aside, and he’s gloriously bare-chested and crushing me against him. He’s so hot, muscled, strong, resilient, and buzzing like a live wire in my arms.

Suddenly I’m frantic. “Greyson, get me naked and get inside me.”

I’m rubbing his strong muscles, eagerly dropping kisses on the corner of his lips, his throat, his shoulders as I unbuckle his belt and pull it off his slacks.

Tossing it aside, I bend to lick his nipple ring, using my teeth to tug on the smooth white gold hoop. He groans and sets me down on the bed, coming down with me. His mouth settles over mine. He frames my face in his big hands, and I hold the back of his head, both of us locking each other in place so our tongues can eagerly taste. Our breathing turns erratic, but we won’t stop kissing.

He feasts on my mouth before he unlatches from me and slides his hands under my back to unzip my dress.

“Greyson, please,” I whimper, trying to pull him back to me for more kissing.

“Shhh. Wait me out a bit.” He tugs my dress down my body.

“It’s going to wrinkle!”

“Shh. I’ll fix it. I promise.” He throws it aside as though he plans to make it all right by buying me a new one, then he takes my bare legs and kisses his way up my calves, my knees, my thighs. “I want to kiss every inch of your skin, from your toe to the back of your ears, to your lovely little head.”

He covers one nipple with his mouth, trailing his tongue over the peak.

“Oh, please.” Damn the dress. Who cares? Who cares about anything but this?

He runs his tongue over my other nipple, stroking his fingers up my sides, over my ribcage.

I arch my spine.

His teeth skim my ear, tugging my earlobe.

The tips of my breasts throb as he tweaks them between his thumb and forefinger. My blood is like a scalding fire in my veins.

His lips continue torturing me, relentless, hot, wet, covering my skin, tasting, nipping, teeth grazing. A haze of pleasure envelops me, every feeling in me exponential. He presses his lips against my clit, then takes it between them and gently suckles as he fills me with two fingers.

I can sense the way he needs this. The way he needs me. He nearly lost me. He nearly lost me twice—and forever. His eyes have been haunted, as if he’s sometimes taken to that moment when he must’ve found me. Unconscious and almost gone to him.

I don’t know if this has been harder for him, or for me, but I never want us to go through something like that again. And by the determination I see in his face when he looks at me, neither does he.

“Jesus, you ready, baby?” He stands and unzips his pants, and I watch his cock spring free. Pulsing and pink, ready for me. Eager for me.

No condom tonight. Every inch of him will be inside me.

Quivering, I sit up on the bed, my voice unsteady. “Don’t make me wait this time, Greyson. I really crave and need—”

He presses a finger to quiet me, and I’m so starved, I suck it into my mouth.

Eyes smoldering, he watches me run my tongue up the length of his finger. “Hungry? Suck then,” he thickly commands.

“Make me,” I breathe.

He pushes his finger inside; making me. “That’s right,” he cooes with a soft smile, rubbing my tongue with his finger. “Your pleasure and need is mine to use and stir and mix until you’re a fucking beautiful mess. My wet mess.”

I’m hot enough to burst into cinders as I suck and I bite and nibble, tasting his delicious skin. As he slowly retrieves his lips, he lowers his head, the copper streaks in his hair shining in the lights as he comes closer.

Then my lips are under his, my mouth is his, my breath is his as I tilt my head back and melt into the fiercest, most delicious kiss I’ve ever had. Teeth nipping, biting, and then . . . our tongues.

His chest is warm, hard velvet under my fingers. Ripples of pleasure flow through me as his hands rub their way down to my bottom. My mouth throbs from his bites and I bite back, giving as hard as I take.

He spreads me out on the soft mattress beneath me, then he reaches between us and rubs his thumb over my sex. Moaning deep in my throat, I can hardly stand it as he slides down my body and kisses my pussy lips, lifting his head to look at me for a wild, frenzied heartbeat, his eyes shining like gemstones, then he bends down again and kisses my pussy some more.

“Stop me if anything hurts.”

“My pussy hurts,” I groan, locking his face between my thighs as I writhe from the intense pleasure. “My pussy hurts for you.”

“That’s all right, gorgeous, I’ve got just what you need.” He pushes his long finger inside me. I clench and almost can’t keep from coming.

He notices how close I am, my hands grabbing a fistful of sheets, and he surges forward and kisses me on the mouth, tasting of me. “Your smell, when you’re hot for me, intoxicates me. And you’re always hot for me, aren’t you?”

I can hear the heat in his words, his voice carrying a unique, but gentle force. “Yes,” I pant.

His deliciously hot kisses are driving me insane. Love, lust, need courses through me as he brushes his lips over my eyelids. “I want these lively green eyes, Melanie. I need these on me right now . . . when I’m in you. Just you and me.”

He’s on top of me, bare skin to bare skin, with only the necklace like some mark of his resting between my breasts. He smiles; he likes it. He watches me as he cups my nipples in his hands and I tease his nipples with my hands, one pierced, the other bare. Both of mine pucker for him. He groans when he looks at them and takes one in his mouth like something precious. He sucks so hard, my sex clenches around his finger.

I moan and rub my hands over his skin. “Ohhh.” I reach out to stroke his erection; he’s leaking and hard as rock for me. “Oh, god, here you are,” I breathe.

He pulls out his finger and brushes my clit with my own wetness as he licks my chin, my jaw. “Yes?” he rasps. Asking you okay?

“Yes,” I gasp, caressing his cock. I brush my thumb over the drops of semen already on the tip. He’s tense above me and his chest vibrates with a delicious rumble as he turns his head and sets his hot lips on mine. Wet. Our mouths are wet and hungry and our breaths fast and eager. We’re both bare naked and he’s so perfect. His erection long, thick, pink. I hungrily bend over and grab the base and kiss the tip.

“Awww, hell, Melanie,” he rasps as I savor him and carefully suck.

He takes a ragged breath, pulls me up with a gentle fistful of hair, and says, “Come the fuck here and let me put my cock where we both want it most.”

I press my nose to his throat and tremble knowing I’m going to feel him without a condom for the first time. “I want you.” I can barely get the words out, I’m so aroused. “You don’t know how I want you. I want this cock in me. This guy. This man. In me.”

Speaking my name in a gruff tone, he rolls to his back and pulls me down to his lap. I gasp when I feel him—hard and throbbing—at my entry. I spread my legs over him, lowering myself to his erection with a little rock of my hips and a gasp of excitement. He watches me with smoldering hazel-green eyes, and the LOOK, how I love the look.

I kiss the corner of his eyes and wrap my arms around his neck as the head of him stretches me. Another, deeper groan rumbles out of him and he clenches me in his arms and rolls me down onto my back, and when he rears up, he grabs my head with both his hands, fucks his tongue into my mouth as he thrusts his hips and shoves his cock deep inside. A cry escapes my throat and my breath catches. He’s in me, to the hilt. God. Bare. I feel him pulsing inside me. The pleasure is so exquisite, my eyes roll into the back of my head. I make a gurgling sound as my body writhes for more, starved as never before. Greyson is thrusting me, all the while kissing me, and my body knots up on every breath-stealing, heart-stopping plunge.

He viciously nips at my throat, wrapping my legs around his hips. “Hold onto me,” he says, voice husky in my ear.

I groan, undone. He’s just as lost. Groaning too. Pushing. Pumping. Swiveling his hips. Claiming. Taking. “I need you,” he hisses, “So fucking bad, I need you!”

I’m trying to keep up with him, clinging hard as my hips meet his in every movement, every frantic thrust. Over and over, like he’s trying to blend us into one. I’ve got both of my hands and my mouth all over his muscled body as I take in as much of him that I can, my fingers busy, my tongue busy, my hips rocking. Greyson Greyson Greyson, my heart is pounding his name. I shiver under the heat of his skin as he glides his scarred palm up my arm. He moans my name and rolls his tongue over my nipple, his mouth knowing and tasting me, fingers trailing and exploring my curves. My back arches. Head to toe, I throb and burn. I can’t believe the sounds we make in the dark. The way he feels. The way he smells. The way he wants me.

The passion in his eyes as he watches me. I suck on his earlobe. He shivers as I pull the ear and tug, and I whimper into his ear that I love him, I love him, I love him.

When I start to come, shockwave after shockwave hit me. With a soft cry, I tremble beneath him, feeling Greyson hold still and clutch me tight as he growls and jets off inside me. Warm. Wet. My king . . . filling me with him. It’s all so very yummy and so very intimate my eyes sting.

I quickly swipe at two runaway tears, and he murmurs my name, gently placing his thumbs over the corners of my eyes.

“Pinch me so I believe it’s really happening,” I suddenly whisper.

He kisses each of my eyelids instead and tenderly rubs the wetness dry with his thumbs. “Yeah, that’s not happening. I’m not ruining—”

I pinch his nipple ring. “Ouch! That’s not nice, Melanie,” he chastises, cupping my butt and giving me a light spank.

“Hmm. That was kind of nice,” I tease, and his smile fades and his eyes grow dark with renewed lust.

“It felt so good being inside you, baby. You feel me?” he huskily asks as he pulls me closer.

“Yes,” I breathe. My body hones in on the way he feels inside me, still as hard as before, and I swear I don’t want him to pull out.

As though thinking along the same lines, he pins my arms up over my head, and then he’s moving inside me again, murmuring slowly, tenderly, huskily as he makes love to me again. “Say you love it,” he cooes.

I moan and close my eyes. “God, you know I do.”

“Say you want it.”

“I do, I do.”

“Say it’s me, it’s always been me, say it, princess.”

“Always you, just you. You may be zero in your world . . . but you’re everything to me.”

Our bodies are straining and moving together, our chests rubbing and his piercing brushing against one of my breasts as he kisses me. And he kisses me until our mouths are swollen and red and our need and want and emotions have gnawed at us, and he’s mine, and I’m his.

Finally, the one for me.