So demanding. I swear, I nearly come from that alone: Delilah Baker ordering me to get naked. Jesus.

“Yes, ma’am.” I pause. “Wait. Here?”

There’s a reason I’m protesting the location; I just can’t focus enough to remember what the hell it might be.

“Yes. Here.” She lifts her head. Hair mussed, golden eyes dazed, she smirks, and it is damn sexy. “Unless you have some objection—”

“Here’s good. Kiss me.” I groan when she does. “That sassy mouth.” I delve into it, taste her flavor. “God, Delilah. Give me another taste of that tart mouth.”

She hums, and her hand slides down to cup my dick. Ah, sweet relief.

“No, wait. Shit. Condom.” A breath shudders out of me. “We need a condom.”

A whimper of protest sounds in her throat as she leans her head on my chest. I take the moment to clutch her close, grind my hard-on against her heat. She whimpers again, and I clear my throat. “Upstairs. Now.”

We both scramble off the lounger.

The trip to my room is a clumsy dance, broken up by frequent stops because I keep pushing her up against any available surface to kiss her mouth, eat at it like it’s my last damn meal. I’m starving for Delilah.

She’s just as hungry, tearing my shirt off in the hall. It drops somewhere in our wake. Her strong, deft fingers trace along my abs as we struggle to find the bed.

“God, Macon. You are so fucking . . .” Her pink tongue flicks my nipple. I’m not ashamed to admit I whimper. She smiles. “Gorgeous.”

I’ve been called that in some form or other my entire life. It’s never meant anything. Until now. Because she doesn’t look at my body when she says it. She looks straight into my eyes. She looks at me like I’m hers. I’m damn close to begging her for mercy. And she isn’t even naked. I need to fix that.

With a grunt, I haul her close, wrap my arm under her plump ass, and pick her up. She makes some protest about my leg, but she doesn’t know how strong of a motivation I have. I carry her the last few steps into my room, my lips never leaving the haven of hers.

When I finally put her down, everything changes. We fall quiet, staring at each other. I’d say she is shy, but that’s not it. Lips parted and swollen with my kisses, Delilah meets my gaze. She’s soaking this moment in the same way I am. I want to remember this, the way the light caresses her burnished skin and sets the flyaway strands of her hair aglow, the way her eyes are wide and wondering. I draw in the scent of her skin and lean closer, needing her warmth.