He takes a few endless moments to consider my unorthodox request, and eventually he says yes.

We drive to my spartan apartment in silence.

I hope he’d back me to the wall and kiss me as soon as we get in like when we went to his cottage. Except he doesn’t. We stand in my entryway, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Nathan presses his mouth into a hard line.

My heart clenches in my chest.

I’ve grown familiar with this feeling ever since Nathan and I spent that night in the Grotto two weeks ago. Still, it leaves me perplexed. How can a man I barely know suddenly matter so much? Why do I feel so sad leaving him behind? Why do I hunger for him as if he were the only one for me? As if I were in love.

It’s perfectly absurd!

Worse, it’s ridiculous, shallow, and downright moronic.

Oh, I have tried telling myself it’s not him, it’s his size.

More exactly, the incredible sensation of being stretched and filled so completely. I’ve never experienced it before, and I’m unlikely to experience it again.

Perhaps not even tonight, if the way things are going is any indication.

But, deep in my soul, I know it’s not just his cock or his lovemaking. It’s also the way we connect, the way he makes it easy for me to be candid, to be myself, the way he moves, the way he looks at me. The way everything about him feels right.

Suddenly, a truth I’ve been choking for days breaks its invisible chains and barrels out. “You’re by far the best thing that happened to me since I came to Burgundy.”

He says nothing.

“Come away with me,” I beg.

“There’s nothing for me in Paris.”

“Not true! I know a lot of people there, I’ll help you find a job, and then—”

He shakes his head.

Oh, Nathan.

I take a step toward him. “Then tonight is all we have.”

His gaze sears me.

“Here I am,” he says. “Mad at you for leaving, and at the same time, craving you, dying to bury myself in you.”

God help me, I’m dying to let you.

“I ache, Nathan. I feel empty inside.” My voice is hoarse with lust. “Please.”

His chest rises and falls and his eyes grow darker.

I take another step and slip a hand under the hem of his sweater, flattening it against his hard stomach.

Suddenly, his hands are everywhere on my body, my face, in my hair. Shirts are unbuttoned, sweaters pulled over heads, and belts hit the carpet with thumps.

I lead him to the bedroom where I remove his underwear. He bares my breasts, sweeping his tongue over my stiff nipples. As he alternates between them, his hand slips inside my panties and I moan at his touch.

Reaching down, I touch him, too.

Ooh, that sweet thickness! It belongs inside me.

“Tell me what you crave,” he murmurs. “I want to hear it.”

“Your hot skin against mine. You on top of me, around me, in me.”

He groans. “Rissa.”

I gaze at his massive shaft. Then I kneel and lick the underside, every vein on it, the tapered head and the small slit.

My center throbs, heavy, needy.

Nathan pulls me up. “I want to come when I’m inside you.”

“Here, I bought the biggest condoms I could find.” I hand him the pack.

He glances at it. “They’ll do.”

Climbing on the bed, he stretches himself on his back. “Will you try to take me in as deep as you can?”

I nod, removing my panties.

He places his hands on my hips as I settle on his broad tip and begin to lower myself slowly, his expanse stretching me, filling me. With every breath, I impale myself a little more, take a little more of him, almost weeping with the joy of it.

When he’s as deep as last time, I pause.

“It’s OK, baby, no need to push more.” He frowns in concern. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me.”

The crease between his brows remains.

“I stopped to feel your shape inside me,” I say, rocking my hips, my voice coarse with lust and emotion. “I can take more.”

“Rissa—”

“I want to take more.”

As I push myself a little more down his throbbing shaft, he cups my mound and begins to stroke. His gaze is a silent plea. Wetness gushes in me, and I open a little wider still, slide down more, caressing him with my inner muscles, until his tip hits my womb. I draw in a breath and bear down a little more, making that contact tighter. There’s no more room inside me for him to invade.

“Oh, Rissa,” he rasps. “Sweetheart, I’m in to the hilt. So deep.”

Lifting his head, Nathan stares at where we’re joined. I stare, too, lightheaded, sweat running down my forehead. I wipe it from my left temple.

He reaches up and wipes my forehead and right temple with his big hand. “I’ve never been so deep in a woman, didn’t think it was possible.”

His shaft twitches inside me, making my eyes roll in my head.

Through the haze, I hear him say, “Thank you for this gift.”

And I fall apart, my legs shaking uncontrollably.

He waits until I’ve ridden my first orgasm, then lifts me up and lays me on my back. “Want more?”

“Yes.”

“Hard?”

“Yes.”

Nathan slams into me, making me yelp and cling to him, digging my fingers into his back. He pumps deep and fast, no longer anxious he might hurt me, no longer trying to control himself. I should be wary, but instead I spur him with my heels, urging him to penetrate me deeper, take everything, breach my womb if he must.

My second orgasm is the most powerful I’ve ever had. He thrusts relentlessly, and I come and come, crying out his name. His face contorts as he comes, too, his pleasure consuming him.

When he collapses on top of me, I breathe him in, kissing his face and squeezing his tight butt.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you really liked me,” he mutters, pushing my damp hair from my forehead.

“I do.”

He pulls back a little and stares into my eyes. “Stay in Burgundy, with me.”

“I can’t.” I hold his gaze. “Come with me to Paris.”

He shakes his head.

I almost beg him to at least come visit me occasionally, before I stop myself.

There’s too much intensity, too much passion between us. I don’t want compromises. If we aren’t going to be together fully—body, heart, and soul—then it’s best we make a clean cut now and never see each other again.