I hooked my fingertips into the waistband on either side of his hips and tugged, just a little, telling him to lift his ass off the bed. Once he did, I slid the boxer briefs down his legs and tossed them to the floor.

The fingers of both of his hands splayed on the bedsheet as I straddled his hips. He was hard, ready. But I was ready, too. That spark of desire had become a smoldering coal, ready to engulf my entire body if given the chance.

I settled on top of him, his hard length tucked snugly against the core of my body. His fingers clenched, gripping the bedsheet as I glided back and forth over him. I enjoyed the agony of prolonging the unfulfilled ache deep within me, of teasing my body, of bridging the gap between desire and need. Of pushing myself to the very edge, until there was no chance of turning back. Of bringing him there with me.

“Please,” Garth whispered. Begged. “Kat . . .”

My eyes locked with his, and I froze when I saw the sheer force of his desire. It was pure and unblemished by anger, by any lust for control. Nothing about his desire for me had to do with power or manipulation. This charge pulsing between us, connecting us, wasn’t born of adrenaline. This wasn’t about the heat of the moment, like so many of my hookups. It felt like so much more than that, than any of it. Like so much more than anything I’d ever experienced.

I raised my hips and reached down between my legs. Garth’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as I coaxed him into me, and he threw his head back, his neck arching, when I eased down until he was sheathed within me completely.

I sat there, unmoving, letting my body adjust to him. My inner muscles fluttered, almost like they were flirting with the idea of letting go, of washing my body with the pleasure of release from just that single moment of penetration. I sat absolutely still. Not yet.

Heartbeats passed, and I leaned forward, one hand on Garth’s waist, the other on his neck, my pointer finger curving over his chin. I wanted him there with me—needed him there with me—looking at me. Being present, in this moment, with me. I was suddenly starving for something beyond the basic primal connection I was used to. I was desperate to truly be with someone. To be with him.

Garth angled his face toward me and opened his eyes, dark pools in the dim bedroom. His hands moved to my hips, his fingers curling over my minimal curves.

I moved slowly, afraid of hurting his still-healing body. I’d never been one for soft, slow lovemaking. Hell, I’d never been remotely interested in having any genuine, worthwhile emotion involved at all.

Until now. Until I felt the slow well of pressure within me, the gentle build of heat, the soft swell of pleasure. This feeling . . . it was unreal. Unreal and so very unexpected.