He’s killing me and I haven’t even made it out of my underwear yet.

My fingers have a hold on his chest hair that can’t possibly be comfortable, but I can’t seem to let go—it might be all that’s keeping me vertical. A problem Eli solves by dipping down, scooping me up, and tossing me onto the bed. I feel it give underneath me. Deep, sinking luxury with no bounce.

This isn’t a bed to be escaped easily.

I look up at him standing over me, still mostly dressed, with a loopy grin on his face. I’m not the only one remembering how this once was between us. The playfulness. The goofy spontaneous combustion of two kids heading hell-bent into totally new frontiers. I’m not the only one appreciating the differences between now and then, either. He’s filled out into muscles and hard planes, ones strong enough to hold his fierceness and protect his softness.

Once upon a time, I was madly in love with both.

I reach for him, needing more connection than the gaze of his eyes. Appreciation I can get elsewhere, although I’m glad he likes what he sees.

He sits down beside me on the bed, slowly undoing the buttons of his cuffs. Never taking his eyes off me.

I tug on the sleeve, wanting the shirt off.

Something flashes in his eyes, and then it’s gone. He grins at me and lets the fabric slide off his shoulders, dropping it onto the pile that started with my dress.

I eye his belt buckle, wanting that to go next.

He chuckles and lies down on the bed beside me. “You’re in charge of buttons tonight, shorty.”

A buckle isn’t a button, but I have no plans to argue with him. I swing myself up to sitting, which brushes my sensitized nipples against the lace of my bra. I hiss in a breath and move to undo the clasp in the back.

His hand stops me. “That’s mine to do.” His lips brush over the lace, blowing warm heat over skin that’s already tormented.

His other hand slides lower, to the lace between my legs. I moan as he finds the fire building there, rubbing soft lace against my most sensitive parts. I try to squirm away—I’m not done with foreplay yet. I have an entirely delicious man to explore, and so far, all I’ve managed to feel up is his chest hair. I push against his arm, which doesn’t move an inch. “I want to touch you, Eli.”

He lies back and sets a hand under his head. A one-man buffet, laying himself out for my pleasure. Except for the hand still between my legs, his fingers sliding under the lace and into parts of me desperate for his touch.

I grit my teeth and reach for his belt buckle.

His fingers slide deeper, rubbing firmly over my clit as they delve into my wet heat.

I manage to get the buckle undone, but it’s a close thing. I stare at the button of his pants, not at all sure I remember what to do with one. I lean down and catch one of his nipples in my teeth, just as he does something sharp and wicked to my clit. I bite down harder than I intended. “Take off your pants. Please.”

His chuckle is low and dark. “Since you asked so nicely.” A sinuous jungle-cat move and he’s back lying down on the bed, naked and bold and entirely unselfconscious.

My eyes want a chance to look, to just drink him in and get to know the Eli of now, but my hands don’t have anywhere near that kind of patience. Or any other part of me.

I go to shuck my underwear and his hand stops me again.

Bossy man. I raise an eyebrow. “This is your idea of vanilla sex?”

His eyes soften. “Let me. Please. You’re a present done up in some really pretty ribbons, and I want to unwrap you.”

I stop, fingers under the lace of my panties, all of who I am melting at his words. Those are the feelings of the boy I once knew, but he never would have been able to say them. Only his cello knew how to speak about what lay deep inside a quiet, gangly teenager, yearning to break free.

This Eli has learned to use his words.