“No touching,” I repeated firmly. “But I’ll make you a deal. Give me three reasons why I should let you.”

“Three reasons?”

“Three,” I confirmed. “And make them good.”

“Reason one…” His gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Because I’ll worship you the way you deserve.”

I let out a soft hum, running a single finger down the column of his throat, feeling the way he swallowed hard beneath my touch. “Not bad,” I mused. “But you’ll have to do better.”

“Reason two…” His voice wavered, as if it hurt to speak. “Because my hands don’t know what to do with themselves if they’re not on you.”

“You’re getting there,” I said slowly. “One more.”

“Because I’m yours,” he finally said. “Because I’ve been yours since the first time you looked at me like I was something worth holding onto. Because I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“You want to touch me that badly, huh?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, baby, I do.”

His words echoed in my bones, in every place I thought had gone numb. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was doing that reckless, fluttering thing it did whenever he got too close.

“Hmm.” I pretended to think about it, watching him struggle, watching the desperation flicker across his face. “I don’t know, Blake. You make a compelling argument, but I still feel like you could try harder.”

A strangled groan escaped his throat. “Because I swear to God, Beverly, if you don’t let me touch you, I might actually die.”

I couldn’t help the slow roll of my hips, just enough to make his breath catch. His fingers gripped the armrest harder, his knuckles paling as he fought against the urge to touch me.

“Beverly,” he choked out, his voice strained and hoarse as his head tilted back against the seat, exposing the curve of his neck.

Leaning down, I let my lips graze the curve of his jaw before trailing lower, teasing the spot beneath his ear with a sharp nip. Blake shuddered in response, and I pulled back slightly to cup his face, smoothing my thumbs over his cheekbones.

“Do you still love me?”

His eyes snapped open. “I’ve never not loved you.”

I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. “Say it.”

“I love you.”

“Again. But mean it this time.”

“I love you. More than I should. More than is good for me.”

“Now beg a little more.”

“Please—”

I rolled my hips again, just to make him suffer.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”

I watched him, noticing the way his chest was rising and falling too fast, the way his lips were slightly parted, and the way he was looking at me like he was in pain.