Oh. The feeling that consumed her when he said “yes” so simply, so earnestly. As though he knew what it meant to her.

She hoped he knew what it meant to her. If he didn’t after everything, then he wasn’t who she believed herself to be in love with.

She rocked herself against him as she sucked his neck, her fingers undoing the few buttons of his shirt. She slid her hand down and tugged it from the waistband, yanking it up until it couldn’t go any farther because it was trapped by his arms.

“Raise your hands,” she commanded, and he did, allowing her to slide the shirt off his body.

He was breathing heavily, as was she. His gaze intent upon her face as though focused entirely on her.

The way she wanted it.

“Put your hands back on your thighs,” she continued.

She flung the shirt behind her, where it presumably landed on the carpet. She moistened her lips as she looked at him—at his heavily muscled chest, at the strain in his arms as he resisted the urge to touch her.

She lowered her lips to his nipple, drew it into her mouth and sucked gently. She heard his quick intake of breath, and could feel how his cock twitched. She smiled against his skin.

Her left hand found his other nipple, and she rubbed it gently, sliding the pad of her finger over it, feeling the coarse hairs on his chest tickle her palm.

He was solidly, hugely masculine, and he was entirely under her control.

It felt intoxicating.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

She shifted so her sex was pressed more against his cock, and then drew back, then forward in a slow rhythm.

She gave one final flick of her tongue to his nipple, then drew back, holding on to both his arms as she met his gaze.

“Perhaps. I am proving a point.”

His mouth twitched into a slight smile, and she saw his eyes glint mischievously. Good.

“Then by all means, prove away. I look forward to you reaching your . . . conclusion,” he said with a sly grin.

“Mmm,” she said, before sliding back into him. His hard cock gave just the right amount of pressure on her, and she let out a soft moan, making his eyes narrow.

“Please, Della, let me touch you,” he pleaded.

She shook her head, still working herself on him. “No. Not without my permission.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Della. Just let me touch you,” he said.

“No.”

He let out a frustrated noise, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. But he did as she wanted, keeping his hands clamped on his thighs as she pressed herself against him, finding the rhythm that was speeding her toward her orgasm.