“I’ve wanted to touch you for days,” I whispered my truth, my lips closing over the soft skin beneath his chin. “You’ve been so … shirtless.”

A quiet laugh, his hand still holding my face with tender care as I kissed his neck, his fingertips in my hair. The other hand cupped my ass, squeezing it as if to test the weight.

“So you’ve forgiven me for the grope?” he asked, his hand shifting to the seam of my jeans.

My body clenched when his finger stroked the line. “You made me a swing,” I muttered, lids heavy. “So, yes.”

“And you’ve forgiven me for forgetting?” The question was softer, less sure, more repentant.

“Depends,” I said, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“On what?” He let me go to reach behind him, pulling it off and tossing it away.

My teeth pinned my bottom lip, my thirsty eyes on his chest, hungry hands on his abs. “On how well you plan on making it up to me.”

He bent to kiss me, grabbing me by the thighs to hoist me up and wrap me around him. His narrow waist in the circle of my legs. My fingers in the silky depth of his hair. My lips pressing his, demanding and submitting all in the same motion.

He walked us to one of the tables, setting my ass on the edge, spreading my thighs to nestle his hips between them. The length of him fitted against me—his basketball shorts masked nothing, and I praised their creator once more—and with the arch of my back, I stroked him, stroked myself.

A deep rumble in his chest, past his lips, across my tongue.

A flash of lightning in my heart.

It was fear, white-hot and electric. Because I’d never had a fling, never had a one-night stand. I’d never separated sex and feelings—I’d never had to. And with Luke, that separation was imperative.

Let her be wild. Tonight. Only tonight.

And so I let go.

Luke didn’t break the kiss, but his hands had their own agenda. The line of my jaw, the column of my neck. Collarbone, the tender flesh in the dip, the hard bone of the ridge. My T-shirt bunched in his hands, rising up my torso—this was what paused the kiss. Over my head, behind him somewhere into the void.

The room was warm, but a riot of goosebumps broke out across my skin, my nipples tight and straining against the thin fabric of my bra.

The second my lips were free of my shirt, they were his again.

A mewl into his mouth when his thumb brushed the aching peak of my nipple, my fingers twisting in his hair, my hips wild, angling for his.

I wished we were somewhere else. Somewhere soft where I could feel the weight of his body on mine. But this would have to do.

I flexed my legs, squeezing until his hips pressed into mine, hard enough that it was almost painful, if it didn’t feel so good.