“Shall I give you a clue?” he asked as the fingertips of his right hand trailed feather light over my arm. The sensation was both sweet and erotic, and it was all I could do not to turn in his arms and claim his mouth with my own.

“I could entice you with words,” he said. “Someday, I want to touch you only with my voice and tease you only with my words. I want to watch as you quiver with longing, as your body goes soft and slick. I want to watch the fire build inside you, and I want to make you explode before I even brush a finger over your skin.”

I trembled, knowing with full and humbling certainty that he could do exactly that.

“But not tonight,” he whispered as he gently brushed his hands over my shoulder blades. “I don’t have the strength tonight. Tonight, I need to touch you.”

As if in illustration, he slid his hands forward so that his fingers brushed the edge of my halter. I gasped, then stopped breathing when his hands continued to ease beneath the material and over my bare skin. Then his fingers found my nipples, hard and tight and so damn sensitive. “Yes,” I breathed. “Oh, god, yes.”

He pinched my nipple, and I gasped as hot wires of pleasure shot from my breast all the way down to my sex.

I had to bite my lower lip as I watched our reflection in the window, and the image of us standing like that—of his fingers inside my clothes, of me leaning back against him, of the soft and sensual expression on my face—just about pushed me over the edge.

His fingers paused in their magic, and I almost sobbed in protest as he pulled his hands away, leaving my flesh cool and bereft in the wake of his touch.

“You like this,” he said as he untied my halter, then unzipped the dress. It fell to the ground, leaving me completely bare. “You’re like a goddess in the window, bathed in golden light. Does it excite you, knowing that someone might be looking in? Might be across the street looking out their window? Might see how lovely you are?”

I didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. His hand slipped down to dip between my legs. “Yes,” he murmured, finding me wet. “Yes, I think it does,” he said as he trailed the fingers of his other hand over hips, my waist, my breasts.

I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of him.

“You’re too beautiful to hide away,” he said, “but I’m the only one who gets to touch you.”

“Yes,” I murmured. “Now. Please I need you to touch me now.”

Without a word, he moved around me so that his back was to the window. He knelt in front of me, his hands on my thighs, his thumbs achingly close to my sex. Slowly, he eased my legs apart, and I felt the cool, sweet air.

“I will always give you what you need,” Tyler said, then pressed a soft kiss on my pubis before rising, his hands following the movement of his body so that when he brushed his lips over my cheek, his hands gently cupped my breasts.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and I did, then lost myself in pleasure as he touched me everywhere, a series of strokes and kisses and caresses teasing every inch of me until my body was so aroused I wasn’t sure I could take it anymore.

Finally—oh, thank god, finally—he took hold of my hips and slid his tongue over my clit, teasing and playing as I tried to writhe in time with the pleasure but couldn’t—he was holding too tight, concentrating the delight on that one perfect point.

My knees went weak, and I had to reach out, one hand clutching the wall and the other his hair, as he took me closer and closer to the edge and then—when I didn’t think I could stand it any longer—the world exploded around me. A firestorm engulfed me—and I lost myself to the desperately erotic sensation of Tyler’s mouth against me, of his hands upon me, of his arms around me.

He was carrying me, and I snuggled close, suddenly spent.

Gently, he took me through the penthouse, then laid me in his bed. He stood at the side, and then slowly toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his slacks. He wore briefs, and I could see the bulge of his erection behind the gray material. He stripped those off, too, and I found myself staring at the most perfect male I had ever seen.

He pulled open a drawer beside the bed and drew out a condom. I watched, awed by how hard and perfect he was, as he took it out of the package and then rolled it on.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he said as he moved to the foot of the bed. “Because I really can’t wait.”

I nodded, then gasped as he gripped me behind each knee and tugged me toward him so that my ass was right at the edge of the mattress. The move was bold and wild and a little violent—and I moaned in delight, lost in the pleasure of submitting to him.

“Legs up,” he said, lifting my legs until my heels were at his shoulders. “Christ, I like that view.”

My legs were parted, and I was wide open to him, so aroused that even the brush of air over my sex made me tremble with need. Wet and aroused and very much on display.

I twisted my head to the side as I felt the blush hit my cheeks.

“No,” he said. “God, no. You’re beautiful. And so wet,” he said as he slid his fingers over me, thrusting two inside.

Immediately, my body clenched around him, drawing him in. But that wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough. I felt wild and wanton and so very empty. I needed him inside me. Was pretty sure I would shrivel up and die if he didn’t fuck me right that very second. “Please,” I whispered.

“Please what?”

“I want you,” I said. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He tugged my legs so that I slid even closer to him, and I gasped with the motion, then cried out in pleasure as I felt the tip of his cock press hard against me. “This?” he asked, slipping inside me. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

“You promised me hard,” I said. “Dammit, Tyler, I want you to fuck me.”

“Whatever you want,” he said, then ripped a scream of pleasure, of pain, of absolute satisfaction out of me when he thrust hard into me, pulling my legs up as he did, so that he sank deep inside, then again and again as our bodies slapped together and I reached to the side to claw at the bedsheets.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and I opened my eyes and found his gaze, hot and hard, pulling me. “That’s right, baby.”

Our eyes stayed locked as he moved rhythmically, and I felt spirals of pleasure twisting through me, rising higher and higher like some magnificent crescendo just waiting for the final triumphant burst.

I released my hold on the sheets, surrendering my body entirely to him. Concentrating on the glorious sensation of him filling me, the rhythmic pounding as he claimed me, the tight grip he kept on the back of my thighs as he drew me closer with each thrust.

I watched his face, wanting to memorize him, to learn everything about him. I moved my hands to my breasts, pinching my own nipples, and feeling a rising storm of satisfaction at his whispered moan of, “oh, Christ, baby, yes.”

I saw the pressure building inside him, recognized the rising storm in those amazing blue eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice raw.

“I’m not—I can’t—” I was close—the friction on my clit from his thrusts making everything inside me coil tight—but it wasn’t enough to release.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered. And then, more gently, “Do it, Sloane. I want you with me.”