She rocked back into him, desperate. “Please. Please, give me more.”

Another lick. Another deep, consuming kiss. She was so damn close to ecstasy.

“Please,” she cried out, desperately seeking orgasm.

“Please what?” he said on a quick pause.

“Please, don’t stop.”

“I like that you said please. Now be as loud as you want. I’m not going to stop ’til you’re coming on my lips.”

She moaned and lifted her hips higher, dropping down onto her elbows, giving him all the access he needed, making herself one hundred percent vulnerable. Giving in to him. Handing over all her control.

“I’m so close. Oh God, it’s so good.”

He licked and kissed her in a heated frenzy, his own moans so damn sexy that his sounds of pleasure set her off.

She shouted his name.

Her body detonated. Her climax swept through her, crashing over every square inch of her mind and body. She panted and moaned, and practically sang out with joy from the sheer intensity. She didn’t think it would ever stop as wave after wave spread through her, bathing her in ecstasy. He slowed as the orgasm ebbed away, giving her one final sweet kiss before he rose, pulled her gently up on the bed, and wrapped his arms around her, spooning her.

She brushed her hair away from her face, her bones still humming, her body awash in the afterglow. “Wow.”

He kissed the back of her neck, and she turned to meet his gaze. He looked, quite simply, happy.

“That was . . .”

“. . . amazing.”

She trailed her finger along his stubble. “Are we going to have sex now?”

He shook his head, and she dropped her jaw in surprise.

“But I thought—”

He cut her off. “I want to. I want nothing more than to take you. But waiting for it is part of letting go.”

That was true. It was completely true. If she wanted to learn to give up control, he had to withhold. But that wasn’t the only reason he planned to wait for another time.

Because it ensured another time.

6

35,000 feet, midday . . .

The black, white and brown beagle mix wagged its tail at his feet.

“No more begging, buddy. Back to your seat,” Nate said, pointing to one of the back rows in the plane where a year-old French Bulldog, a middle-aged Terrier, and some kind of Dachshund-mix lounged on a blanket spread across the seats. The Dachshund had been particularly well-behaved and Nate was thrilled for that, given the home that was picked out for him.

The Beagle didn’t listen. He kept wagging his tail, waiting for scraps from the chicken salad that had been served for lunch. Nate was sorely tempted to feed the little guy, especially when that tail started thumping wildly on the carpeted floor of the plane. But the dog would be better off in his new home if Nate didn’t indulge him in bad habits now.