“I need to tell you something,” he says breathlessly.

“What?”

“I never liked your rules.”

I smile against his mouth. “But sometimes rules are fun.” I step back, letting my unzipped dress fall off my shoulders and into a puddle on the floor. His shirt’s unbuttoned, revealing the undershirt beneath it. I can almost make out the ridges of his abdominal muscles through the thin cotton.

His eyes are all over me, taking in every inch of my skin and black lace underwear. I put them on thinking of him. Thinking of this room we share and hoping he’d catch a glimpse. Maybe I knew we’d end up here tonight. Maybe I hoped.

“I’ve loved the way you look at me since the day we met.” I draw in a ragged breath. “I’ve wanted you since then, too . . .”

He groans, and then we’re on each other again. I’m peeling his clothes off. His hands are on my hips, my stomach, my back, cupping my breasts. Everywhere all at once. Greedy and demanding in a way that makes my blood blaze. And my hands are on him, unbuttoning his pants and pushing his clothes to the floor.

He turns our bodies until I’m against the wall, and he pins my arms above my head as he lowers his mouth to mine. He positions a knee between my thighs and grips both of my wrists in one big hand.

“Not fair,” I say. “I can’t touch you.”

“You had your turn.” He drags a hand down my side and back up, his knuckles rubbing over the lace covering my breast, and I rock into his thigh, desperate for more of his touch. More of him. I love him holding me like this, even as I ache to pull him into my mouth again. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says into my ear. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to make myself sleep on that couch last night when I wanted to hold you in my arms?”

“You could have,” I say. “I told you there was enough room for us both to sleep there.”

“I wasn’t interested in sleeping. I wanted to feel you against me. Naked in my arms. I wanted to hear the sounds you’d make as I slid inside you.” He nips at my neck, then soothes away the sting with his open mouth. I want to tell him that I want him too, that my rules were a pathetic attempt to protect myself—an attempt to protect a heart I know would be so easy to put in his hands. But his mouth on my neck, his teeth scraping across my collarbone, and his hand between our bodies . . . I can’t think through the pleasure, and lose all capability of speech.

His mouth dips to my breast, and he sucks my nipple through the lace.

I cry out. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asks. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” I murmur.