He leans down to kiss me, his tongue sliding against mine, his arm coming to band around my lower back as he shifts me, moves me farther up the bed. When he’s on top of me again, my hips rise to meet his immediately, and without the material of my underwear covering me, without that trace of anxiety, the contact between us makes me gasp in pleasure. He bends his head, his tongue tracing that curve I showed him on my breast with his tongue, the exact right pressure before he licks up to my nipple, his teeth grazing me, and when, a few delicious minutes later, he moves his hand between us, I can tell from his first touch he paid such good attention, such close, close attention, and I practically jolt off the bed in pleasure.

“Can you—” I gasp. “Can we practice that later? It feels so good, but I need . . .” I trail off, pressing against him.

“Say it, Meg.”

My God, the way he does this, when we’re this way together. The way he’s the right kind of direct. The way he makes it safe for me to be the same.

“I want you inside me.”

He rewards me again, because we both know now the wait, the anticipation is over. He reaches his arm out, yanks the drawer of his small nightstand open for a condom, and within seconds he’s shucked his underwear and sheathed himself, movements I watch with the same hungry intensity that he gave to me.

And when he settles between my legs and pushes forward—so slow, so perfect, so focused—it feels so good, right from the very first second, and I see what’s happening inside of me. In my mind there’s a gorgeous, dangerous taking shape, swooping across my thudding, happy heart, looping behind and around it, catching it unaware, holding it fast and tight.

In a sort of desperate, surprised panic, I clutch at Reid’s sides, pulling him closer to me, relieved when the bolt of pleasure I get from feeling the full length of him inside of me scatters the rest of those too-soon letters from my mind as if they’re pencil shavings I’ve blown from the page. Then all I can think about is the next thrust of his hips, the next roll of mine, the way we find such an easy, perfect rhythm together, like walking in sync, like reading the signs we share with each other—a touch here, a suck there, a gasp, a groan, a sigh.

I make a liar of myself, my release building fast and insistent.

“Reid,” I breathe. “I’m close.”

He ducks his head, presses his forehead into the now-tangled mass of my hair, gusting out a breath even as he—gorgeous, smart, always-paying-attention man—keeps the exact same pace, the one that’s rocking me to a pleasure so intense I’ve never felt anything like it before.