“Yes,” she gasps.

“Do you want my mouth on your clit?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Badly.”

I run the feather back up her body, around her nipples, between her cleavage, and then around again, creating a figure eight with my motion. Her chest lifts from the bed, her breasts begging to be touched, her eyes glassy with lust.

It’s almost painful how hard I am. If I were any less of a man, I would have her let go of the headboard and feel my cock, drag her hand over it, work me to relieve my aching, pulsing length.

But I’m not that kind of man. I move the feather back down one more time, teasing her with whisper-like passes over the juncture between her thighs, turning her legs into quivering messes.

Just as she lets out a long moan, I position myself between her legs and test her slit with my finger.

So fucking wet.

I part her with two fingers and then dip my head between her thighs and press my tongue against her clit. She hisses in response.

Very lightly, I move my tongue up and down, lightly, just enough so she can feel it without pushing her over the edge.

Just a tease.

“Fuck,” she moans. “Alec . . . please.”

Loving that she’s always saying my name . . . rather than God’s, I begin to flick my tongue up and down.

“Yes, just like that. Oh Alec . . . oh, right there.”

I move my hands up her thighs to her breasts and pinch both of her nipples at the same time. Something unintelligible flies out of her mouth as her hips buck up against me. I let her ride my tongue as she builds and builds and builds . . .

“Alec, yes, you’re so good. You’re so good.”

Fuck, that makes me even harder. My cock grinds against the mattress as I swivel my tongue, savoring every last bit of her arousal until . . .

“Oh fuck.” She bucks against me and then screams out my name, her orgasm ripping through her faster and harder than ever before. “That . . . oh, Alec.” Her head falls to the side as she catches her breath.

After a few seconds, her beautiful eyes open and a lazy smile spreads across her face. “Take off your briefs,” she says. “I want you to straddle my face so I can suck you off.”

Holy fuck, I very well might love this woman.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Huh?” Luna looks up at me as she twirls a feather between her fingers. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She glances down at the feather and then back up at me. “Is this the one we used last night?”

“Nah, I saved that in my nightstand. You know, just in case you ever want to run it up and down my dick again.”

Her breath catches in her throat as her cheeks redden once again. I’m starting to notice a trend here. She’s a dirty girl, but talking about it brings out her innocent side.

Last night, after I made her come, I was about to follow her orders and straddle her face when she pushed me back on the mattress and instead teased me with the feather—and Christ, I came just from that. It was slightly embarrassing, coming so hard from just a feather, but if I had the option, I’d do it all over again.

“We can do that again, you know . . .”

“No.” Her eyes snap up to mine. “Tomorrow is a big day. We are not going to be distracted.” She points to the half-finished centerpiece on my coffee table. “Focus, Alec.”

“Fine.” I sigh and pick up a twig I dipped in gold paint. “At least talk to me about something so I’m not constantly thinking about sex every time my fingers run over one of these godforsaken feathers.”

She chuckles. “Hope you don’t get hard on camera tomorrow when you’re fondling these.”

“Hell, I didn’t even think about that. Women have it so easy—they don’t show any signs of being aroused.”

“Women have it easy? Did you really just say that?”

I pause, considering my words. “I would like you to strike that from the record.”

“Consider it expunged.”

“Thank you, Madam Counselor.” I tip my head in her direction, and she rolls her eyes.

“You can be really corny sometimes, you realize that?”

“Yup, but I know you like it, because every time I’m corny, you grace me with that perfect smile of yours.”

“And there’s the charm.” I wink in response and turn back to the centerpiece. I start messing around with a mass of fresh feathers as she asks, “So . . . are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Not really. I mean, I feel like this is the best I can do, given the resources and theme.”

“No.” Luna sets down her feather. “About seeing your mom.”

“Oh.” I set down the feathers I was working with as well and lean back on the couch. Luna scoots in closer and puts a reassuring hand on my thigh. “I’m not really nervous—more concerned about what I’m going to say, how I’m going to react. I have a lot of pent-up anger toward my mom. I’ve been stewing over things for years that I never talked to her about. I don’t want it all to come flooding back tomorrow, you know?”

“I understand. Maybe if you talk about it with me, you can get it off your chest so you can have a nice day tomorrow, before you ease into solving those issues with your mom.”

“Maybe.” I sigh. “But I really don’t feel like talking about it. Opening that can of worms right now would make it hard to shut tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” She looks off to the side. “Then tell me something else, something to help get your mind off it all. What’s your favorite meat?”

“What?” I laugh. “That’s what you’re going to ask me? What’s my favorite meat?”

“I panicked. I didn’t want you to get mad at me for asking about your mom, and all I could come up with was meat.”

“It’s going to take a whole lot more to make me mad at you, especially after what you did with that feather last night.” She smirks devilishly. “But if you really want to know my favorite meat, I’m going to have to go with steak.”

“Steak, very popular choice. The filet?”

“T-bone.”

She scrunches her nose. “Really? You like all that excess fat and stuff?”

“Chew it right up.”

“Blah,” she says, gagging. “Oh God, maybe . . . maybe we don’t talk about this.”

“And leave me hanging about what your favorite meat is? That’s not fair.”

“Well, it’s not T-bone.”

“I think we established that. So what is it?”

“Uhh . . . I really like chicken.”

“Ehhh, wrong answer,” I say, impersonating a buzzer. “You should have said, ‘Alec, your penis is my favorite meat.’”

“Oh my God.” She pushes away from me as I laugh. “What the hell is wrong with you? You graduated from Columbia, for crying out loud. Show some class.”

I rest my hands behind my head and kick my legs up on the coffee table. “Sorry, Luna Moon, I have none.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you sweating?” Thad asks.

“What? No.” I scan the set, looking for someone I haven’t seen in years.

“It looks like you’re sweating. I see beads of sweat.” Thad leans forward, and I swat him away.

“I’m not fucking sweating.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no need to drop the f-bomb. We’re in a family-friendly environment.”

I press my fingers to my forehead, wishing Luna had spent the night last night—at least then I would have been able to wake up with her in my arms, have her say some reassuring things to me, and maybe feel her up a little bit before we had to leave. But no, she went back to her place . . . again.

I’m tense—I know that. And I’m not sweating—just tense. I want the initial surprise of my mom being here to be over. I want to hug, move past the awkwardness, and then maybe go out later for dinner or something, start that healing process.

“Hey, did you see the drawings Team Hernandez has?” Naomi whispers, hurrying over to our workbench. “They have some kind of stick triangle thing with flowers . . . and a feather.”

“What?” Thad exclaims. “We are owning the feathers in this competition. Have they not seen our vision board? The damn thing is covered in feathers. I can’t believe they’re ripping us off.”

“It’s just a feather, Thad,” I say, realizing it’s the wrong thing to add to the conversation the moment it comes out of my mouth.

“Just a feather? Just a feather?” he says a little louder. “That’s where it starts—next thing you know, they’re trying to pull off some boho-chic bullshit wedding with a Miami-at-night vibe. I will not stand for it.” He slams a fist on the workbench.

“That can’t happen, because the venues are all set,” I remind him. “Next week is decor, and I’m sure they’re going to stick with their lace crap.”

“If they use feathers, I will scream. I will scream right here on set.”

Jesus Christ. The last thing we need is more screaming.

“Don’t scream, for the love of God.” From my back pocket, I pull out a piece of paper and unfold it, showing my drawing of what I was thinking for the centerpiece. Simple vases spray-painted pink to go with the theme, with large feathers cascading from the top. “I was thinking of things this week and came up with this. It’s different, but it could work.”