ANNIE

His eyes are molten at my words, dark and thoughtful. There’s a spark behind his green irises, a window into Cohen James that’s newly opened as he pulls me onto his lap, curling my body to his chest.

Hands rake through my hair, soft and gentle at first, then faster, wilder. Our mouths connect in a tangle of heat as his hands fall still, grasping my hair tight. I can feel him against me as my legs wrap around his waist, and the sensation of him there, the anticipation for what’s to come mounts with each passing second.

When I part my lips to let him deepen the kiss, he groans, the note of pleasure sending shivers down my skin. Neither of us have much patience; as sweet as this moment might be, the tension between us has been building up for days, weeks, months, and it’s dangerous.

When the promises from our kiss becomes too much, Cohen presses a hand to my back and flips the two of us around, laying me on the bed as he hovers over me. The scent of him alone is enough to drive me crazy.

“Your clothes,” I murmur. “Take them off.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice, losing his shirt, his pants, and the rest of his items— save for his boxers—in a matter of seconds. “Your turn.”

“Me?” The robe has fallen completely open, so I shrug it off. It’s useless now, anyway. All that’s left is a lingerie set that I’d worn specially for him. “What’s left?”

He doesn’t seem to notice the lingerie, except to frown because it’s blocking his view of whatever’s underneath. He fiddles with the hook of my bra for so long I wonder if he thinks it’s a Rubix cube, before he finally curses and adds a little force. It comes off, finally, then the panties, and then I’m naked.

“God, Annie, you are... even more beautiful than I could’ve dreamed.” He grits his teeth, scanning me with an intensity that has me feeling more exposed than ever. “So gorgeous. You’re a masterpiece.”

His eyes are so piercing in their stare that I can’t help but bring up an arm to cover my breasts. I give him a playful smile, as if it’s all an act, but he doesn’t buy it.

“No, sweetheart. Let me see you.” He reaches for my arm, rests his fingers there, before gently pulling it away. “You have nothing to be shy about.”

“But you’re staring.”

“That’s what you do with a work of art, honey,” he says. “You admire it.”

My default is to lean into a smart retort, but Cohen seems to sense that too, cutting off my sarcasm with a touch of his lips against my throat. It’s hot, tender, and when his hand comes up to my stomach and presses there, it steals the words from my mouth.

He moves his head down, cupping my neck with one hand as he continues his rainbow of kisses across my chest. When he reaches my breasts, he gives them equal attention, massaging, teasing with his lips, his hand.

He stills there, pressing his other hand firmly against my core. Then, ever so gently, he slips one finger inside me while drawing my nipple into his mouth. The motions, together, bring out a moan that’s like no sound I’ve ever made before.

He knows just how to move, to stroke, to touch, pulling me toward the edge of sanity. I need to touch him, but the way he’s situated my hands, they’re pinned to the bed and clenching at the sheets. Eventually, my hands find his shoulders, latching onto him as my body arches against him.

Cohen lifts his head to find my gaze, my ragged breaths making it hard to respond. “Are you sure you want this? I will wait for you.”

“No,” I tell him. “We can’t wait a second longer.”

He nods, makes quick work of removing his last article of clothing and securing a condom, and then he’s back, perched over me. “I’ve wanted this moment for so long,” he says. “God, I love you, Annie.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper, and then I slide my arms around his neck and hold on as he presses inside of me. I bite back a cry as his name spills from my lips; the sensation of having him, all of him, sends ricocheting streams of fire through my veins.

His eyes are closed, teeth biting his lower lip as he, too, savors each and every pinprick of pleasure from this first moment together. Then, he moves. Slowly at first, gentle, as his eyes flash open to watch my face.

I meet his gaze with a needy whisper, urging him onward as my hips press toward him of their own accord. My fingers are digging into his back, the intensity rising with each beat we have together. The beats combine, forming a melody so vibrant, so filled with passion it pulses with wicked desires.

Cohen drives us toward the grand finale with a desperate crescendo. My eyes close, unseeing in blind ecstasy as his touches blur into one incredible rush. Just before the climax, we find each other in the midst of chaos, my eyes on his, our fingers locked in a spell that can’t be broken.

And when the waves of passion begin to subside, the adrenaline receding, we’re left with the golden dust, the aftershock of a fantastical symphony, a piece of art, of pure magic. Through doubt and fears we’ve wound our way here, together, and as Cohen wraps me tight into his embrace, I know this is where I belong.