That made him laugh. This woman, with all her worldly confidence, genuinely surprised him sometimes with how little thought she’d given to sex.

“No, Knightlina. Everyone comes just a little bit differently.” He continued to stroke her with his thumb, placing two fingers at her entrance, just touching, nothing more. Her eyes went so wildly unfocused, it was like she’d taken a hit of something potent. “The way a person orgasms is a reflection of their personality. Them condensed down to that moment of complete freedom.”

“How so?” It was a miracle she was still talking. But her words slurred, and that made him smile and slow his fingers even more.

“So, a shy woman will usually be disbelieving when she comes. She might even cry. An exuberant one will make sure you know exactly how exuberant she is. She comes harder when she gets to really show how much she’s enjoying it. Then there are the ‘in it to see if it’s worth their while’ women, and the ‘I had no idea it could be like this’ women. Those are the ones that imagine you proposing even as they come. Which kind of takes away from the entire thing.”

She started to convulse on his fingers, slow, long pulses that sent seismic tremors through her body.

“And I?” It was a sob, a gasp, the most beautiful sound.

“Look at you, all needy for praise.”

She squeezed his hand between her thighs, giving him every last bit of her release, stretching out under it, pushing herself into it. “Fine, don’t tell me.” Another shudder, then another. Her eyes fluttered closed as though nothing but what she was feeling mattered.

“See, this . . . for someone who is so focused on not caring at all, you come with care. You involve every single cell in your being. You give yourself over to it.”

Without opening her eyes, she reached for him and moved just enough to slide him into her, one leg draped around his hip. It was exactly what he needed, all he’d ever wanted. There was no rush this time. No pounding hunger. They lay there side by side, their bodies facing each other, touching without overwhelming, without owning. Savoring. A balance of giving and taking. And yet when he was done, spent inside her, he knew there was nothing left of him. No him outside of her.

The power of what had just happened between them hung in the air like reverberations from a million gongs as they sat up and pulled on their clothes. This time the wordlessness was heavier. Something inside them had been wrung out.

“Do you think we can present in a week?” he said, because he knew that this silence would only make her fall into her thoughts, and he didn’t want her going where he couldn’t reach her.