He slides down the bed to settle between my thighs. I track the movement, and he looks up my body to meet my eyes before pulling my panties down to puddle with my jeans, keeping my legs locked in place. I see his pupils dilate out into black orbs as he appraises my wetness and assesses my core, pulling me apart with his thumbs.

“Pretty,” he whispers huskily.

The compliment means that much more that it wasn’t said carelessly, but rather, after careful consideration. His nostrils flare, and he licks my clit. My head falls back, my eyes fluttering shut as all thought dissolves into pleasure.

Oh, God . . . so good . . . don’t come too fast or he’ll stop.

“I won’t ever stop now that I’ve had a taste of you,” he growls against me, accenting the promise with a thrust of his fingers inside me.

“Did I say that out loud?” I whisper, horrified but unable to stop. He just licks me again, and I don’t know if that’s an answer or if he’s obsessed with my taste, but he’s taking away my ability to form coherent thoughts so I have zero chance to ask for clarification.

I swear he’s sucking my brains out of my body, sending flutters through my gut as his tongue flicks my clit over and over. I come suddenly and powerfully, waves of a dark void shattering me into nothing and leaving me panting.

I feel . . . shimmery.

Technically, that’s not a feeling, but it’s all I can come up with to describe this, like I’m filled with glitter and rainbows, buzzing with champagne, and my bones are liquid.

“What did you do? I think you broke me.”

Blake chuckles, and I look down to find him wiping his lips. “I hope not because I’m not close to done with you yet.”

I gasp in surprise, but when he stands and I see his cock straining against his pants, newfound energy shoots through me and I kick my jeans and panties off the rest of the way, wanting room for him between my thighs.

And maybe in my heart?

He quickly undoes his button and zipper, and with one smooth whoosh, he’s nude between my legs, giving his cock a slow stroke. He reaches for the nightstand drawer to grab a condom, and as he slips it on, Holly’s advice floats through some responsible part of my brain. “I’m clean.”

“Me too.” His head notches at my entrance, pausing. “Zoey?”

I blink, trying to make my eyes focus, and realize he’s asking permission. One more check that I’m finally okay with this. Not the sex—I’ve been ready for that for longer than I knew—but for him and this connection we have.