“I’m in love with you too.” He caught a tendril of my hair, wrapped it around his calloused finger, and held my eyes. “I love you, Lyla. My Lyla. Prettiest girl in the world. All for me. All mine. Made for me.”

I made a noise that was kind of a sigh, a moan, a sob and kissed him.

He went to pull away and I knew why because I tasted me.

But I caught his head and held him to me, pressing up to him.

He groaned in my mouth, the fire he’d quenched sprang up again, and suddenly, I was desperate for him.

Suddenly, in a way I didn’t know existed because I thought I’d always felt that way, I couldn’t get enough of him.

I couldn’t take in fast enough this amazing man who loved me.

It got to the point where he had to warn me, doing it gruffly, “I’ll stop, anytime you need me to stop. But just sayin’, baby, soon, it’s gonna be hard to stop.”

“Then don’t stop,” I panted against his lips before I kissed him again.

He took over the kiss and, well, everything.

And then he was searching for his jeans, pulling out his wallet, sliding out the condom.

“You don’t have to watch, cher,” he muttered.

“Do you not want me to watch?”

“I want you to do what you want.”

“Then I’m not missing a thing.”

And I didn’t.

I didn’t miss watching him roll the condom on his long, thick, beautiful cock.

I didn’t miss him spreading my legs like he was preparing to make an offering to a goddess.

I didn’t miss watching him lower his big body onto mine.

And I did not miss a second, staring into his eyes, our breaths fusing, as slowly, very slowly, he filled me.

There was a twinge when he started and there was so much to him, there was a moment I was worried I couldn’t accommodate all of him.

But then he was inside.

And it was perfect.

He was perfect.

As I’d somehow known from the start, we were perfect.

“Yeah?” he grunted, like he was in pain.

“Am I hurting you?” I whispered.

“Baby, that’s my line.”

I smiled up at him.

He made another delicious noise before he slanted his head and kissed me.

Then he made love to me, gliding a hand between us because he was Preacher.

And he was sure to give me mine (again).

Before he took his.

He’d come back to me after he dealt with the condom, whipped the comforter out from under me, the sheet, then got in bed, took me in his arms, pulled the sheet over us, to my breasts, and then me into his arms.

My back to his front, our eyes to the French windows which had a view to a rectangular pool with lounges with white cushions, tall, lush greenery all around the deck and a pool house at the end.