“Take me to bed, Cameron,” he says in a teasing falsetto, his deft fingers slipping my underwear down my legs. He presses his mouth to the inside of my knee, licking up my inner thigh. “Make up your mind, woman.”

“I guess this will have to do,” I say. His beard tickles in the most fascinating and delicious way and my fingers reach for his hair even as my legs spread, helpless against his ministrations.

He slides between them, his hands wrapping around my hips and pulling me closer. “God, I could live here.”

“You do live here.”

“Not here,” he says. And then his tongue takes me in a long, slow, curling lick. “Here,” he says meaningfully, and my fingers grip his hair as I call out. He licks again, suckling at my most sensitive spot and twirling his tongue. “And here.” He slides his finger, dipping it into my center, and pressing more intently as he sucks harder, nibbling and devouring. “And here.” His hot whisper destroys me, and I rock into him, holding his mouth in place and crying out.

“That’s it,” he says, before sliding his tongue flat against me, eating me whole. “Come apart for me. Come apart on me. God, I love you. You’re so beautiful.”

And then he’s quiet. His tongue diving and scooping and tearing me to pieces, his fingers filling me, curling and nimble. I gasp and shudder and buck against his mouth, wild and completely out of my mind before I finally shatter into a million glistening shards with his name on my lips. He gentles his touch, guiding me back to earth, and presses achingly soft kisses to my thighs until I’m boneless and wrung out.

“Damn, Riggs,” I whisper, hoarse, as he crawls up to meet me on his pillow. “You didn’t know how to do that last time.”

He runs a fingertip down my neck and traces it along my breast, circling the tip.

“That’s not the only thing I’ve learned.”

I press myself closer to him, stretching my knee over his thighs, and capture his lips in a long kiss, tasting myself on his tongue.

This might be the hottest … ugh. I slip my hands down his flat stomach, feeling the ridges of muscle taut beneath me. I lay him back on the bed.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He stacks his hands under his head and grins, boyish and too pleased with himself. “You could take them off.”

I slip his fly open and tug, pulling his jeans down his thighs, my mouth watering. Glorious, glorious thighs. I press a kiss to his quads just because I want to. Mine.

“Tree-trunk thighs,” he muses. I look up and his eyes are sparkling in the candlelight.