I move my hands to either side of his head and slowly lower my lips down to meet the tip of his nose. Then, his forehead and each of his closed eyes. Finally, I press a slow, lazy kiss on his full lips.

A morning kiss.

A wake-up kiss.

With my forehead pressed to his, our lips barely touching, I whisper, “Good morning, Maverick.”

He opens his eyes and peers up at me. The corners of his mouth twist up in a tender smile.

“Morning, Goose,” he answers, sliding his hand into my hair, angling me for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more sensual. What started sweet turns heated when I hear a growl of desire from deep in Austin’s chest. It sparks a fire between my thighs. The air between us turns thick, heavy with need. I can’t wait another week.

I want this.

I want him. All of him.

Now.

I slip my hands into his hair and dip my tongue to taste his. I shift and center myself above his hard length. I sway my hips, brushing my core against his shaft, and let out a soft cry of pure ecstasy.

Austin draws in a sharp breath and tightens his grip on my waist. I grind against him, feeling empowered.

Feeling worshiped.

Feeling like a goddess.

I move my hands to his chest and I push myself upright. All I have to do is sink down.

Austin’s eyes shoot open and he grabs my hips with both hands.

“Easy, Goose. Those hips are writing checks your pussy can’t cash.” He’s wearing that taunting smirk on his lips, but his piercing blue eyes hold something more. There’s desire in them, but also a hint of concern.

I swivel my hips, teasing him, showing him how ready I am.

“I want this.” My voice is strong. I leave no doubt.

“Are you sure?” His voice is apprehension warring with craving. “Last night—”

I interrupt him. “This isn’t about last night. This is about me.”

I try to press down onto him again, but the grip he has on my hips stops me. His expression is pained, as if it hurts to resist. Call me a masochist, but it turns me on knowing he can barely hold back.

“Fuck,” he grunts, the word laced with lust.

His eyes are locked on mine, searching for any doubt. He won’t find it.

“I’m ready,” I tell him. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I trust him completely, with all of me. With my body.

With my heart.

He looks around the room before admitting, “I don’t have a condom.” He slams his head against the headboard with a frustrated thud.

“It’s fine. I’m on birth control,” I answer, aching for him.

He hesitates. After a moment he stills and locks his eyes on mine.

“I’ve never done it without a condom,” he confesses.