I grinned. “Or be my slave.”

“I would.” He closed the book, leaning his elbows on his long thighs. “I am.” I had his full attention now.

“Fan me with palm fronds and feed me tiny succulent grapes.”

It felt like the air stopped moving between us.

“Say that word again,” Elliot asked hoarsely.

“Fan.”

“No.”

“Tiny.”

He sighed, exasperated. “Macy.”

“Grapes.”

He turned back to his book, releasing a weary growl. “Pain in the ass.”

I grinned, licked my lips, and gave him what he wanted: “Succulent.”

He looked up, eyes dark.

Door open.

“Succulent,” I whispered again, and he crawled to the floor, leaning in to kiss up my neck, tickling. I squirmed, glancing at the door. “You are such a word nerd.”

His tongue followed the path of my throat and I heard his smile when he said, “Put your hand down my pants.”

I cackled, whispering sharply, “What? No. My dad is literally twenty feet away.”

Our eyes went wide in unison as, just then, the car engine started in the driveway, tires crunched down, down, down and then disappeared.

“Okay. I guess he’s more than twenty feet away,” I mumbled.

Elliot pulled back and stared at me, eyes dark and carnivorous, and it felt like a switch, bubbling something up inside me. I reached out and

finally

finally

put my hand over the buttons on his jeans, felt what I’d really really wanted to feel there.

“Now what?” I asked. This was happening. This was happening. I was touching. It. Him—it.

Elliot’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You don’t know?”

“I’m not sure?” I said, left with no more questions when he growled out a smile and covered my mouth with his.

We fell back to the floor, legs and arms entangled, lips bruising against teeth, messy and desperate and completely perfect. After all the forced physical distance and discussions about everything we wanted to do to each other, and never knowing when or how we would get time alone, this tiny window felt like the Hope Diamond, dropped into our palms.

I had never known this feeling, this ache that bloomed in my stomach and spread, lower and hot, driving me past my senses and pinpointing my entire universe down to this one sensation, and then the next. And then wanting what came after.

My shirt came off. My pants were unzipped and peeled away. I pushed closer, afraid that even naked we wouldn’t be close enough to satisfy this new hunger.

He bent down, licking my neck, my breasts, and then returned to me, greedy lips sucking at mine and then back down over my chest. His hand pressed flat against my stomach and fingers teased at the hem of my underwear.

“Too fast?” he asked, breathing heavily, and I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me from where his mouth explored my breasts.

“No,” I said out loud. It was too slow. Not too fast—too slow. Fire crackled up and down every nerve ending and I wanted more, even if I didn’t know exactly what that was.