Where words hadn’t worked, Alex used his mouth and tongue to persuade. He enticed. He entreated. He showed her with each sweep of his mouth over hers and each gentle caress of his lips why she should say yes. Why she must say yes. There was no other answer. What they had together was too powerful and right to deny.

He took his time savoring and drawing out every taste and sensation of her lips before finally giving her his tongue.

She moaned at the first stroke. And then he made her moan some more with each sweep, each circle, each long, slow pull. He made those pulls echo in her chest, until the yearning became palpable. Until it turned to moans of need.

They were the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, because he knew what they meant: surrender. She was surrendering to the passion, and he had no intention of letting her go.

He took her for a long, slow ride of touch and discovery. He tasted the soft, silky skin below her ear and kissed the long curve of her neck. He used the back of his finger to sweep the taut tip of her nipple and then to circle the heavy curve of her breast.

He tortured her with slow and gentle. He wanted her to feel every touch and every stroke; he wanted to eke out every bit of sensation and every ounce of pleasure; he wanted to drive her mad with desire.

It was working. Her fingertips were digging into his shoulders. She was dissolving against him again, just the way he liked it, giving him free rein. Letting him lead and set the pace.

But those fingertips . . . they were driving him mad. He could feel her desire and it set off the sparks of his own. His mouth found her lips and covered them, as his hand found her breast and did the same.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted her naked. He wanted her warm, velvety soft skin sliding against his. He wanted her hands all over his body. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel all that dampness gripping him, all those tiny muscles spasming and contracting around him. He wanted to hear her scream his name as he made her shatter over and over.

She wanted it, too. Her breath was coming in low, soft pants, and she started to press against him, increasing the friction with increasingly insistent circles of her hips. It was so tempting to give her what she wanted—Christ, what they both wanted. He was so hard and throbbing he could explode with one touch. All he had to do was lean her back on the table, lift her skirts, and sink into her inch by silky hot inch.

But not yet, damn it. No matter how much his body was aching, the next time they made love, it would be with his ring on her finger.