A shudder rocks through him. “Me too.” He lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me slowly—a long, lingering kiss that scatters all thoughts from my brain. When he pulls back, I swear he’s looking at me. Maybe my body is better in the dark. Maybe he won’t notice the extra weight I carry in my waist or how chubby my thighs are. He traces my lips with his finger. I catch it between my teeth, and he groans before withdrawing. He traces a wet path down between my breasts, over my stomach, and tucks his finger beneath the waistband of my panties. “I want to touch you here,” he says, kissing my neck. “I want to feel you.”

I lift my hips off the bed and toward his hand. “Easton, please.”

He nips at the tender skin beneath my ear. He slips his hand under the cotton and grazes a knuckle over my clit.

“Shit!” I gasp.

I almost expect him to laugh at my outburst. Instead, he groans. “You’re already so damn wet. Did you wake up like this?”

“Yes.” Because it’s you, I want to say. Because I’ve wanted you for so long.

He slides his fingers over me. “I fucking love the feel of you on my fingers.”

My body winds tighter, tighter, tighter with every word he speaks. He’s barely touched me, and I already feel close. “East.”

He pinches my clit between two fingers, and I gasp. “Shh,” he whispers, his mouth over mine. “I want to hear you moan, but I need you to be quiet.” He sweeps his lips along my jaw again then slides a finger into me.

My body locks up, clenching tight around him. A single finger, but he’s stretching me so much.

“Relax,” he whispers. “Fuck, you’re wet. Are you okay?”

“I’ve never . . .” I draw in a breath, because my body has already adjusted to the stretch of his thick finger, and pleasure has chased away the discomfort. “Not this.”

“Not even with your own fingers?”

“No. Just . . .” I can’t speak. Can’t think. His hand has found a delicious rhythm, pumping in and out of me, stretching me. Every time he plunges in, I want more—deeper—and every time he pulls out, I feel like part of me is missing.

“Good,” he growls against my neck. “I have no right, Shay, but I wanted it to be me. I want everything to be me.”

I barely register his words as pleasure knots in my gut and ratchets up my spine. He presses his thumb against my clit, and my body jerks. That thumb strokes, and my whole body shakes as I climb, climb, climb.

“Don’t fight it. Just let yourself feel good.”