“Nothing,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “I like this.”

I return his smile, a different kind of warmth blooming in my chest. “Me, too.”

Dinner goes off without a hitch. Ava’s girlfriend, Marcie, is a delight. She has us in stitches most of the evening, telling stories about her time as a clown for hire and all the wild things she saw at kids’ birthday parties. She does mostly data entry now, but when she tells stories, Ava watches her with hearts in her eyes. They ask about my book, but not too much, which is nice. I’ve been talking about my book for weeks; I want to talk about other things.

The whole time, Ryan finds excuses to touch me. His hand rests casually on the back of my chair so his thumb can brush against the nape of my neck. His thigh presses up against mine under the table. He brushes my hair off my shoulder and leans to whisper something into my ear. At one point during dessert, his hand lands on my knee.

By the time we leave, I’m desperate for him. The ride back to my condo is excruciating, especially because he strokes a light finger up and down my inner thigh under the cover of darkness as we sit in the back of the cab. When we get to my building, I run ahead of him up the steps and through my hallway—heels be damned—so I can unlock my door for us to tumble inside.

He slams the door shut behind him, then spins me so my back is pressed against it. Wasting no time at all, he presses a hot kiss against my fevered neck. “I missed you.” Another on my collarbone. “I missed this.” Another on top of the swell of my left breast above the scooped neck of my dress. “And this.” Then, my right breast. “And this.”

“Ryan.” I exhale as he drags the hem of my dress upward.

“I missed those little noises you make.” He pulls the fabric up so it pools over my hip, leaving my soaked panties on display for him. His finger meets the cotton material, and he groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Fuck, Scarlett. Have you been this wet all night?”

“For you,” I say breathlessly. “Always for you.”

He tucks my panties to the side and dips a finger into my waiting heat. I cry out in pleasure, digging my nails into his shoulders, trying to gain purchase through the fabric of his shirt so I can ride his hand. He pushes another finger inside, and the way he stretches me is exquisite, even if it’s not quite enough. As if he can read my mind, his palm meets my clit. His dark eyes meet mine before he swallows my breathy moans with a kiss. Pressure builds in my core, and I claw at his shoulders, begging for more.