“It couldn’t hurt,” I say.

He moves our wine glasses aside and scoots toward me on his knees. I expect him to meet me where I am, lying on the blankets and pillows and ravishing me with kisses. Instead, he holds out his hand.

“Come here, Marina.”

He reaches out for me, and I meet him there. He brushes my fingers with his lips. “I love holding your hand.”

He pecks each finger before kissing my palm and then my wrist. His touches are soft and delicate, yet my heart rate kicks into a wild flurry. He takes my other hand and does the same, his touch almost featherlike.

“These hands that create games and carry notebooks and rescue things,” he whispers, his voice raspy.

A breathless giggle escapes.

“Rescued me.” He sets my arms around his neck, his fingers dancing down them. Goosebumps break out over his soft touch and the night air.

“I love these arms that steer the ship across the high seas,” he grins, and I laugh. “I love them most when they’re around me.”

I want to speak, but I’m breathless and captivated by him. His fingertips skate over my neck and collarbone and then down the front of my dress. He finds the hem and lifts it over my head.

His hand falls over my raging heart. “I love this heart… that always makes room for everyone.”

He leans down and kisses my chest, his lips lingering there. “I love that it has the most room for me.”

His hands slide around my back, unclasping my bra. He tugs it away and eyes me lovingly.

“I love this body. Every freckle. Every scar. Every beautiful curve,” he says, his fingers traveling over my breasts before cupping them. His thumbs drag over my nipples, making me moan. I swear my heart might ram out of my chest—loving every second of his attention but desperate for him to give me more.

More, Grady. More. I almost whimper.

His hands slide under my panties, yanking me closer by my ass. I cry out again, and he smiles.

“I love every moan,” he whispers, his breath hitting my lips, “when you’re breathless, when you come.”

I tug on his shirt, nearly ripping it as I yank it off him. My hands tremble, undoing his pants.

“I love the desperate way you love me.”

“I am desperate, Grady,” I manage.

He smiles with soft satisfaction while I die for him. My hands race over his bare chest, but he grabs them, holding them still.

“I love that when you fall apart, it’s only with me,” he says, his voice almost stern.