It’s why with other men, I never stay, I never sleep, and I never love.

Breaking from my mouth, he says in disbelief, “Is this how you kiss?”

Before I can think of how to answer, he puts a knee between my thighs and hitches me up a little higher. He returns to my lips with a groan caught in his throat. I have now found something I like better than sugar, and I’m an instant addict. Worse, a junkie. I’ve subsisted on his one-second glances my whole life, and now I’ve got his mouth on mine? I know what I’d do to keep him. He should feel afraid.

The first touch of his tongue loosens my knees and I’m grateful that he’s holding me up. I shudder a breath out. He inhales it, changes our angle, exhales it back to me. Air is better from his lungs. Life is better with his kiss.

The word mine is now something I need to make him understand.

The second touch of his tongue is an inward slide, and it’s not calculated to seduce me. I’m being licked for my flavor. I feel the point of his tooth, the scratch of his chin on mine. There’s a pause of deliberation for a moment, and then I feel his pleasure shivering out of his body, absorbed into my skin. I’ve been tasted, and I am exactly right.

I think the good boy pipes up in the fogged logic section of his brain—You’re being too wet for a first kiss, too hungry, too animal, check she’s okay—and he tries to end the kiss with a gentle squeeze on my waist.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn him. “Do not go easy on me.”

He obeys instantly, dropping back to me with a sense of relief. He presses his hips against me without shame, and how badly he wants me has me gasping. He’s not going to go easy on me tonight.

“No one else is kissing you anymore,” he tells me in a conversational hush, not breaking our contact. “Your mouth is mine.” The thought is more than he can bear; now we’re twisting each other’s clothes and the kiss is like a conversation with no words—louder and louder, talking over each other: Listen to me. No, you listen to me.

In unison: I will kill anyone who touches you.

We’re changing the sky and affecting the air. When the cloud directly above us boils over and the rain pounds harder, I barely register it. A fine mist is settling on our clothes.

My breathing sounds like I have absolutely zero cardio fitness. I’m going to wear myself out here in this doorway, but it’s okay—the person I’m kissing will look after me.

Don’t fail me now, heart.

The thought knocks me out of my rhythm, and he trails fingertips up my neck and takes us back to soft. Sweet. Light enough to give me a chance to rebalance my body and my heartbeat. I become aware of sounds again; it’s raining properly now, hammering on the tin roof of the porch.

The grumble of thunder above us is deafening, but it’s a tiny wolf-howl that breaks us apart. We stare at each other and say at the same time: “Patty.”

We don’t care about the mess; it’s the fastest way, so we stumble through the ruined house in the dark. Every time I trip, his hands pull me upright. Like bad, selfish humans we pause at the back door and kiss again to fortify ourselves for the run through the overflowing gutters. His tongue promises me more, if I can just make it to the studio. I’d swim the English Channel if I had to.

By the time we toe off our shoes and pull the glass door of the studio closed, we’re soaked to the skin. The light switch won’t work, my alarm clock display is black, and Patty is nowhere to be seen. On top of the wardrobe, Diana goggles down at us before ducking back down into her apple crate.

Tom is deeply apologetic. “Patty, come here.” Her face peeks up at us from under the bed. “I feel so bad.”

“You didn’t know.” We try for a minute more until she creeps out, tummy on the floor, until she’s into her bed. I put a blanket over her and tuck her in tight. As we straighten up, lightning flashes and he gets a proper look at me. I see his wet shirt stuck to his body. We both make identical lustful eye flutters and heave simultaneous exhalations as the room goes black again. Then we laugh at each other.

“You’ve had a kiss like that inside you, all this time?” He begins on the buttons of his shirt, quick and thoughtless, like he’s about to dive into a pool. He gets about halfway when he gives up and steps closer to me. Another few seconds without me against him is not something he can bear. “I think I need to update my life insurance policy.”

“Better call them now.” His laugh is in my mouth because we’re kissing again. I feel flatness on my shoulder blades; I’m against the wall. Only my toes touch the ground. The gold bubble is skintight around us. When my head rolls to one side and his mouth moves to my neck, I can see the steam rising from his damp shoulders. The machine in his chest is working in overdrive.

For years as I’ve watched Tom’s mouth as he talked, I’ve known how he would kiss. Earnest and sexy and primal. Each lush press is to learn what I like—but he’s realizing I like it any way he gives it. Soft, slow, teeth and tongue. Fast and rough. Bonus points for a hand on my throat. A squeezing handful of my butt has me shuddering and oversensitized; the seams on my clothes are like blades against me. He shows no sympathy and instead takes a tour of my body. When my breast is in his hand, he feels the stud in my nipple against his palm.

“Bed,” he says in his alpha voice, and my Underswears lose their elastic. I’ve said the exact same thing to him. I wonder if I made him feel this way.

“You’ve finally caught up.” I’m being transported backward with no effort on my part. I feel lighting cables under the soles of my feet but I’m not snagged or tripped. He’s got me. “I tore a room apart and told you to get in my bed, and you just—”

He tips me down onto the bed.

“I’m going to make up for it, I promise,” he says with a smile in his voice.

Chapter 19

His knees press on the mattress, one, two, either side of my calves. He’s a huge shape in the dark above me. Hands either side of my head, one, two. I feel the downward dip of his body, and he’s breathing against the side of my neck.

I say up to the ceiling, “Tell me I smell right.”

He senses the uncertainty underlying my sharp order. “You smell like the only person.”

I exhale. “Well thank fuck for that.” I hold my arms above my head and he tugs my top off.

“Your obsession with lace has destroyed my sanity. Do you know that your bra is always visible, no matter what you wear? It’s like your clothes don’t really want to be clothes.” He gives me a kiss on my neck that gives way to a suck and a bite. “You’re like a self-peeling banana.”

I start laughing. “That’s how I feel around you.”

“It fucks me up when guys look at the lace on your skin.” The thought has him returning to my lips, and jealousy is a spice in his mouth.

I know how he feels. I’m keeping my hands on this skin for the rest of his life, so there’s never any doubt of who he belongs to.

He arranges me across a dim stripe of light from a gap in the drapes. My lace is admired, complimented, rubbed on his cheek, then it’s slingshot-gone into the dark corner of the room. He slides his tough, hardworking palms all over me.