He presses his mouth where my neck and shoulder meet. The light kisses and suckles he blesses upon that spot turn me into a whimpering fool. Seconds pass before I lean away to look at him. He stares back with that intensity that seems to come and go so easily. But this time there’s purpose in his eyes. It’s obvious in the slight furrow of his brow, in the clench of his jaw.

“Are we good, Nikki?”

“Absolutely.”

His hands fall to my waist. I shiver despite the temperature. His feathery-soft touches always do that to me. With both of us wet, my sense of touch is heightened. Every tap of his finger, every swipe of his hand on my body feels a million times more sensitive than usual.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t my idea of good.”

“Then tell me your idea of good.” I swallow his breath when I speak, we’re that close. “Please.”

He leans his face to my face, and we’re somehow even closer than we were a second ago. I’m certain he’s going to kiss me. But instead of sliding his perfect tongue into my mouth, he speaks.

“Good would be doing this with you every day. Good would be getting you to admit when you’re jealous and want only me. Good would be calling you mine.”

Digging my fingers into his shoulders, I’m practically shaking. Just when I thought we were firmly back in friends-with-benefits territory, he throws me for a loop with a statement like that.

If we’re both on the same page—if we’re both game for more—could we really make it work? Could he really give up whoever else he’s seeing casually for me? What about the festival? What about his plan to move back to Chicago?

Softly, he bumps the tip of his nose against the tip of mine, then presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Every thought, every question, everything that’s not this kiss fades away.

I pull away. “Are you saying . . . What are you saying, Callum?”

He lunges for my mouth, and we’re kissing so hard, I’m robbed of all oxygen. I lose track of time, location, what day it is, my senses.

Pressing a hand against his chest, I steady myself. “Say it again,” I say between broken breaths.

Say I’m yours. Say you want to be mine. Say nothing else matters.

He leans his head back, his chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon. “Nikki, I . . .”

Say you want me all day, every day. Only me.