“Dean, you can fuck me any way,” I say, reaching back to caress his jaw.

In response, he grips my hip and nudges against my ass until he finds my sex and slowly guides himself inside. We’re so close, I can feel his heat, inhale our mingled scents, and hear his ragged breathing.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I chant as he enters me completely. “So good, so fucking good.”

“You like the way I fill you?” he whispers against my ear.

“Oh God, yes.”

“Let’s see if moving inside you feels even better.” With that warning shot issued, he presses his chest against my back, eliminating even a centimeter of space between us, and fucks me from behind as if the orgasms of our lives depend on it. “Solange, squeeze my cock. Take it each time. It’s yours as long as you fucking want it.”

His declaration sounds almost like a promise. Almost. But I know better. I don’t just want his cock. I want his heart too. I grind my ass against him in frustration, meeting his thrusts, until he snakes an arm around my waist and centers two fingers over my clit.

“You want this?” he asks against my ear. “Do you need it?”

“Yes, oh God, yes.”

He fucks me and strokes me in tandem, and I don’t know which way is up, or whether I’ll ever stop wanting to claim Dean as my person. Minutes later, we come together, our bodies freezing and shuddering as we shout our release. Once my breathing evens out, I turn over to face him, and he pins me with a questioning gaze.

“What?” I ask.

“That was better than average, right?” he says, panting. “Tell me it’s not just in my head.”

“It’s not.”

In fact, it’s so not that it’s disconcerting. I can’t remember the last time a man asked me what I needed in bed—and gave it to me so eagerly. Dean didn’t assume he had the answers; instead, he asked the questions. And shared what he needed for his own pleasure too.

“Okay, good. In that case, I think we should do it again. When you’re ready. After all, practice makes perfect.”

I know he’s teasing, but as my eyes grow heavy, I’m struck by how close to perfect that truly was. Worse, I’m forced to face the inescapable truth: I planned to rock his world; instead, Dean’s steadily upending mine.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dean

Solange lays her head on my chest, draws the comforter to her chin, then lets out a satisfied sigh. I’m watching a favorite memory materialize right before my eyes. Wanting to complete the picture, I stroke her hair and twirl a curl. Yeah, this is perfect. Addictive, actually.

For the first time in forever, I’m considering the possibility of dating for dating’s sake. No agenda. No endgame either. Who the hell am I?