I was breathing as if I’d run a marathon. He was right. I needed to slow it down. Savor it, us, him. He stared up at me, his eyes intense but with a glint of humor. His lips curved up on one side so I leaned down and kissed the corner. His smile deepened and that wicked dimple appeared, taunting me. I kissed it and then his eyebrows, his nose, the line of his jaw. I felt his body move beneath mine, and I realized he was laughing. I pulled back to admire him. I loved it when he laughed. I suspected he hadn’t laughed near enough in life. He took the opportunity to roll us again, so that I was on the bottom.

“You’re a playful one, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Me?” I blinked innocently. Then I pinched his side. He yelped and laughed again.

“Yes, you,” he said. He caught my hands in his, laced our fingers, and held them by my head. Then he began to kiss his way down my body.

“Reckless,” he murmured. He drew a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, nipping the tip, making me grunt, and then soothing the sting with his tongue. My eyesight went fuzzy. He repeated the process with my other breast, making me hiss.

“Impulsive,” he whispered. He kissed his way down my belly, swirling his tongue around my belly button. He chuckled when I squirmed and giggled. I tried to pull my hands free to block him, but he wasn’t interested in tickle torture. No, he was focused on another goal entirely.

Not letting go, he pulled my hands down so that they were beside my hips, his fingers still laced with mine. The soft light in my bedroom illuminated the planes of his face, and I was again caught breathless by how incredibly handsome he was. His gaze met mine, and it was ripe with intent. He was the predator, and I was the prey, and I was happy to be so.

He released my hands and turned them so that my palms were facing down. He curled my fingers around the bedsheets, indicating that I should hang on, then he moved my thighs wider apart as he settled in.

“Goddess,” he hummed into my most personal private space before he put his mouth on me. It was everything. He used his lips, teeth, and tongue in a sensual assault that had me arching my back and begging for something that sparkled just out of reach.

“Please, I need—” I stopped, unable to form a fully coherent sentence.

“Let it come, Annabelle,” he demanded.

“What about you?” I asked. I felt myself going under but clawed my way back. It didn’t seem right. I was the initiator; I should be making him fall apart first.