This is all wrong. This is all wrong—Weston Grant standing in my tiny, embarrassing studio apartment, his hands on my body, his low voice snaking its tendrils into my ear…and the way my body melts under his touch, the way I let him do it, the way I want even more.

It goes against everything I believe in to make this deal—this arrangement—with him. I’m supposed to be doing this myself. I’m a responsible adult woman, and I’m determined that the world sees me that way. I don’t want anyone, not for one second, to think that I can’t wring what I want out of life with my bare hands.

But the words he whispers into my ear are too tantalizing to turn down again. My resolve melts under the hot touch of his breath. I’m raw with the expectation of what I was going to talk to him about—how there’s just no possible way I can live under such an agreement, but also no possible way that I can live without seeing him. I wanted to tell him that I know this doesn’t make any sense, but in some way or another, I have to see where it leads.

Yes escapes my mouth before I can stop the word, and I can’t snatch it back from mid-air and shove it back into my mouth, close my lips tightly, and never let it loose again.

I don’t want to.

“You won’t regret it.” His voice is nearly a growl, and then his lips are hard on mine, possessive and greedy in a way they’ve never been before. One moment, we’re on opposite sides of this battle, and the next I’ve surrendered.

And surrender has never tasted so sweet.

Everything else flies out of my head when he plows his tongue between my lips, his hands on either side of my face, tasting me so deeply that it feels like I’ll never surface.

I do surface, because he’s lifting me in his arms, moving us backward, and laying me on top of my own comforter. His hands work quickly, deftly, at my clothes, stripping the tank top over my head, unhooking my bra faster than I’ve ever done it myself, and wrapping me in one arm while his other hand explores my breasts, rolling one nipple between his fingers until I moan out loud, and then switching to the other.

“Fuck, you are gorgeous.” Now he does growl in my ear, and every nerve in my body lights up at the pure, undisguised need so evident in his voice. His hand leaves my breasts and starts to slide down my stomach, but he laughs, low and sexy, when his hand is stopped by my shorts. “Lay back.”

I do it immediately, without question, my mind emptied of everything but his voice, his touch, and then he’s standing at the foot of the bed, tugging down my shorts, and then my panties, and then I’m completely exposed in front of him. I don’t have a single urge to cover myself. Instead, I stretch my arms above my head and watch his green eyes travel over every inch of me.

He presses my knees upward, spreading me, his face the picture of lust, and he leans down and kisses the inside of my knee. 

I bring my legs together a few inches. His eyes are dancing when he meets my gaze. “What do you think you’re doing, Juliet James?”

“Demanding some fairness. I’m not wearing anything, and you—”

He reaches for the buttons of his shirt and tears them apart with so much force I’m surprised the buttons don’t pop off, and then he whips his t-shirt over his head.

My jaw drops.

He has the most gorgeous body I’ve ever seen on a man, and I went to college, so there was no shortage of shirtless men to look at there. Weston is sculpted to absolute perfection, every muscle carved, but he’s not bulked up beyond all human recognition. I’m in the presence of a damn masterpiece, a Greek god.

Then he strips off his pants and boxers, dropping them to the floor.

I gasp out loud.

I can’t help it.

Perfection doesn’t do him justice.

Not only is he huge, but he’s standing at attention already. The grin he gives me is a thousand times more wicked than any expression I’ve seen on his face.

I was wet before. Now I’m gushing.

He kneels on the edge of the bed, moving me backward, his arms hooked under my knees. “Fair enough?” He grins up at me one more time, and I am nothing but molten lava and expectation.

“Fair.” I can hardly get the word out.

Weston bends down between my legs, and then I’ve died and gone to heaven. Nothing else on the planet matters when he licks my waiting, pulsing slit, his tongue rough and powerful along its slick length, and I throw my arms over my face on pure instinct, as a low moan finds its way out of me. He licks again, and the muscles in my legs fire, pressing against his arms and going absolutely nowhere. He holds me open as he licks and swirls his tongue over every one of my folds. It’s like he’s licking raw nerves—it feels that good, so good it borders on painful—and I lose it completely, my hips rising away from the comforter.

He doesn’t let up. Weston is relentless, driving his tongue inside of me, diving into my channel, and then taking it away again, sucking my clit into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

I’m burning up. I’m about to combust. And I need him to take me over the edge before my heart bounds out of my chest.

I take my arms away from my face, but I can’t force my eyes open—there’s so much electricity between my legs that I can’t add the input from one more of my senses without losing my mind. “Weston—”

“What is it, angel?” He stops dragging his tongue over my pussy for just long enough to breathe the question.

“Please. Please make me come. I can’t wait any longer.”

His green eyes glow up at me, and the smile that sneaks across his face is filled with satisfaction. “No.”

“What?”

“You will wait, angel. You’ll wait until I tell you to come.”

“Oh, God, no…I can’t wait….” It’s almost a whimper, and in any other place, at any other time, I would have been mortified by my words. Not now. All I feel is the coiled need within me, the release that I almost can’t contain, and I need him, I need him to let me do this. 

You belong to him now. 

He bends his head between my legs again, and I put my hand to my lips.

But I still can’t stifle my cries.