He shrugged off his jacket, hanging it beside hers, and gathered her in his arms, kissing her softly as they made their way to the couch. “If I get carried away, stop me, baby. Okay?”

She nodded, a sexy smile lifting her lips as she set her glasses on the coffee table and said, “But you won’t.”

“Not on purpose, but you have no idea what you do to me.” He kissed her neck again and said, “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.” Not even when he was using drugs.

“Neither have I. I see you, Quincy. I feel the way you kiss me, the way you touch me. I may not have a lot of experience with guys, but I don’t need it to know that you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Never, baby.”

He lowered his lips to hers, and they sank down to the couch, kissing like they’d never get another chance. She tasted like everything that was good and sweet in the world, and no matter how hard, how deep, they kissed, it wasn’t enough. All those months of texting and wanting so much more and holding back came crashing in. He wanted to climb inside her, to feel what she felt, to pleasure her until her world spun—and then he wanted to be her grounding force, the man who held her through storms and loved her through sunbaked days and cold winter nights. He’d never felt so much so fast or grasped anything so clearly. All of those thoughts and feelings were accompanied by a shocking jolt, but he didn’t fight them. He wanted to revel in them, and he poured that passion into their kisses as he lowered her to her back. He ran his hand down her side, and she arched beneath him as he kissed her more passionately, sinking into her, becoming one in a way he never imagined. Her hands moved along his arms and up his back, her fingers spearing into his hair.

Fuck, yes, baby, I love that.

He slid his knee between her legs, and she moaned, riding his leg, clinging to his shoulders. He was hard as stone, grinding against her thigh. She tightened her grip on his hair, igniting fire in his loins. His hand moved down the curve of her hip, over the side of her thigh, and back up, stopping short of her breast, again and again, in a maddening rhythm. She arched and rocked, moaning and mewling. He knew she needed more as badly as he did, but he didn’t want to fuck this up. He tore his mouth away, dipping his head beside hers, and said, “God, baby. I’m dying to touch you.”

She whispered, “Quincy…?”

He closed his eyes and said, “I’m not asking. I just want you to know.”

“Look at me,” she said softly, and he lifted his face. The desire in her eyes seared beneath his skin as she whispered, “Touch me.”