The last time I woke up with my body this twisted up and hot, I was in the throes of puberty, tossing and turning every night through dreams of my classmates’ uniform skirts swishing against the backs of their thighs.

I was thirteen then. I’m in my forties now.

And my dreams go a fuck of a lot farther than an inch of naked thigh, especially when I’m waking up with desire itself pressed so close, I can practically feel the texture of her skin through her thin nightgown.

Liv.

Delicate. Soft. Beautiful.

I don’t understand how someone this frail and small can give off so much heat, but everywhere her body touches mine, it’s like a raw hot iron brand taken from the forge and pushed against my skin until it sizzles.

I can’t peel my eyes off her.

Not when half my dreams were dick hungry obsessions, remembering her body under mine, the way we tangled, and how her softness yielded.

Yielded just perfect when my cock swelled against her, and I couldn’t ignore the way she looked at me, the way her strawberry lips parted...

That was half my dreams.

The other half was terrified replays of every bullet fired, every splash of blood, that moment when I found her in the pit and thought her splayed body was lifeless and broken instead of just tired and a little bit dirty.

She’d fallen asleep so trustingly in my arms after I carried her back to the house.

The entire time, I couldn’t help thinking how close I came to losing her, when I’ve never actually had her. I don’t know where my mind is right now.

I’m the asshole who said no emotions, no entanglements...aren't I? No confusion. No temptation. No insanity.

Yet, I’m the one aching to kiss her awake.

To touch her softly and coax her into opening for me until she sighs herself lucid enough to open her eyes and pull me deeper and deeper into her.

To go on a rampage between her legs, biting the last moan off her lips while every hard inch of me strokes her to heaven.

I can’t help but drink her in. Her nightgown feels paper thin. It's that same pale, almost pearl blue she wears so well in everything, only so sheer the color of her skin turns it sweetly cloudy. Her limbs show through it like mist. Her curves outlined so clearly, I can see where the delicate lines of her panties bite into the lush flesh of her hip, where the pink rises of her nipples darken her tits.

Fuck.

I tell myself I’m taking in every spare detail to remind myself she’s safe, down to every last scratch and bruise that does nothing to mar her near angelic beauty.

But if I’m honest with myself, I’m being selfish. Letting myself look to appreciate her for once when those wide, sweet eyes don’t prompt every instinct I’ve ever had to kick in and shut her out before I can hurt her.

No.

Before she can hurt me.

Angry teeth sink into my lower lip. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Hurt.

My first marriage was just the pain of that look in Crystal’s eyes, the careful distance around me, and then suddenly more distance damn near unfathomable.

It wasn’t my wife looking at me like I was some kind of monster anymore, but instead my wife looking at me across a chasm as deep and black as the River Styx. And there was no way I could cross it because fate already decided she belonged on one side of death and I belonged on the other. Fate didn't give us time to sort shit out, file for divorce, or do anything.

Fate moves on its own fucking schedule.

I’m not angry at Fate, or her for the pain, the confusion, but I’m angry at something.

Life, maybe. And I’ve been brick-walling so hard in that anger, stewing, trying to keep out anything that could ever cause that kind of torture again.

Like a pretty young woman who looks up at me and tells me I don’t frighten her.

That I make her feel safe.

Her hand rests so trustingly on my chest, curled into a loose fist. I give myself the luxury of covering her slender hand with my own – only to frown as I feel something grainy and fine on her skin, almost like sugar or sand under my touch.

I pull back a little, looking down. There’s a fine dust of white on my chest, passed from her hand to me, and more streaked against her fingers. Both her hands.

What the hell? My brows slam together when it hits me.

I don’t need to sniff or taste to have a very good idea what that is, considering whose house we’re in.

No. Not Liv. She fucking wouldn’t...would she?

There was nothing in the file Landon gave me on her. No hint when she was living under our roof that she was hiding a habit. No sign of her jonesing for anything but a friend.

But shit, if she's got a secret habit...if I’d known, I'd have –

What, exactly?

A month ago, my answer would've been I’d have put her as far away from my daughter as possible.

But now, all I can think is that I would’ve found a way to help her, if I’d known.

Like I need to help her now, to make sure she’s all right.

She took a hard fall and might've hit her head. Mixing drugs with even the mildest concussion can be fatal, and I feel sick inside at the thought of seeing Liv through so much only to lose her to something like this.

I sit up, blood rushing to my ears. She’s breathing steadily, resting easy, but better safe than sorry.

Catching her face gently in my palms, I stroke my thumbs over her cheeks, coaxing.

“Liv,” I murmur, then a bit more firmly, “Liv. Wake up. Please.”

She makes a drowsy noise, protesting, and just screws her eyes shut. Carefully, I jostle her, repeating her name a bit louder. “Liv.”

“Nnh.” Liv yawns dramatically, then cracks one eye open, one hazy, dark eye peering at me without much recognition. “Hmm?”

What I can see of that eye doesn’t tell me much. It could be dilated with stimulants, or just dilated because of the darkened room.

“Sweetheart,” I say, keeping my voice low and soothing. “I need you to wake up for me. Need you to tell me how much you took, and how long ago.”

That sparks a touch more clarity, her other eye opening as she looks at me in sleepy puzzlement. “How much I...took? Huh?”

“Liv, your hands are covered in what I’m pretty damn sure is cocaine. You fell earlier. Might have hit your head. I need to know if I should get you to a hospital.”

Liv blinks. Then just blinks again, suddenly wide awake, and flinches back from me, looking down at her white-streaked hands and arms and my chest.

“Cocaine? Oh my God.”

I arch a brow. She’s way too lucid. “You’re not high at all, are you?”

“No!” With a groan, she curls her hands helplessly. “Oh God, no. No, I – Milah almost – I had to stop her. And I did. It kind of spilled out everywhere. Then I was so tired after searching the house for her stash, I guess I just didn’t notice it was still all over me.”

Milah. Of course.

I shouldn’t feel so relieved, but Milah’s already in recovery while Liv would’ve been a whole new problem.

Wait.

Milah’s in recovery.

Or Milah’s supposed to be in recovery, at least.

I frown. “Milah’s still using?”

Liv winces. “Sometimes. She backslides, whenever things trigger her. Her counselor said it’s bound to happen. We just deal with it and try to help her as much as we can.”

Now I get it. The secretive behavior. The almost manic need for Liv to come with Milah.

The way Liv dodged my suspicions before. She wasn’t hiding anything to do with the Pilgrims.

She was keeping her sister’s secrets, trying to protect the family she loves.

“Is this what you haven’t been telling me?” I ask softly.

“Yeah.” Liv lowers her eyes, staring down at her knuckles. “Milah’s trying so hard. She just doesn’t need the world to know she’s still struggling. All her fans rallied behind her when she opened up about her problem a few months ago, you know? And she doesn’t want to let them down. She’ll get there. She will. If she trips a little on the way, it’s her business, and no one else’s.”

She’s so earnest, in her belief in Milah. Even after everything Milah’s jerked her through, Liv’s still there, still saying she can do it, I know she can. And the only thing for me to say in response is, “You’re right.”

It’s not my business.

Not to judge, not to tell.

All I can do is support Liv, and it stuns me down to my core to realize that I want to.

That I want to be the one to hold her up while she’s struggling to carry everyone else.

She looks up at me with her eyes so clear and startled, as if she’d expected everything but those two words. “Thank you, Riker,” she whispers, her smile radiant. “Thanks for looking after me.”

“You don't have to thank me.”

“No?” A bitter note enters her voice. “Do you have any idea what life's like growing up with someone who doesn’t respect even the smallest hint of your freedom? Who makes all your decisions for you? Do you know how it feels when someone suddenly does respect even one tiny thing that you might want? My own freaking father...he's why this happened. Everything that's bad for Milah, and for me.”

Before I can answer, she pushes away, still shaking her head. It’s so abrupt I let her go without realizing it, and she tumbles out of bed, still clutching her hands to her chest, carefully held away from her skin and nightgown. She swallows hard, then offers me a wan, tense smile.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “Let me go wash this off. Who knows if absorption through skin contact is a thing?”

Then she’s gone, disappearing into the attached bathroom.

I’m left lying there, cocaine dusted on my chest, staring after her and wondering just what the hell is happening right now.

I don’t know if she’s upset, angry, or happy.

I don’t know if I want to protect her, get her as far away from me as possible, or tear that flimsy nightgown off and devour her from the inside out.

I listen to the sound of running water from inside the bathroom.

Have to close my eyes when she emerges, a dripping wet towel curled in both hands, and splatters of water all over her gown. The little babydoll nightie was already translucent, but now it sticks to her in transparent spots that make me want to seal my mouth over them and suck every bit of moisture from her flesh.

If I open my eyes, I won’t be able to look away.

Fuck, even with them closed, she’s seared on my vision. Every dark spreading stain of water branded on my mind’s eye.

The splash over her left breast, molding over the upper curve in that plush, perfect swell leading in toward her nipple. The soaked spot against her stomach, just below her navel, sealing fabric to her skin and drawing my eyes to the temptation of her panties, swooping low beneath the subtle curve of her belly and leading down to the lush flesh making a warm, inviting mound against creased fabric.

What would that pussy be like under my tongue?

Would it burn right down with her clit in my teeth?

Would it come real sweet, even sweeter than she moans?

“Riker?” I hadn’t heard her footsteps, but her voice sounds closer, almost to the bed. “Here. So you can – oh!”

My eyes snap open at that cry.

Just in time to watch her come crashing down onto the bed.

Fuck. Her ankle, it must've –

Everything in my brain cuts off, short circuiting, as the wet towel slaps down coldly in the center of my chest...followed by a much, much warmer body, tumbling down on top of me.

Instinctively, I catch her arms to steady her, before I freeze, my entire body locking up with painfully intense awareness of hers.

It's not Liv's ankle at all. It's not a mistake, a misstep.

I couldn't mistake what's happening now for my life.

Her tits are soft wells of heat pushing against my ribs, nipples hardened, wrapped in silk and stroking in twin points of fire over my skin. Her stomach rests over my hips, yielding to the growing, hardening rise of my cock, her slim, soft thighs anchored along my legs.

She pushes herself up with a stammered apology.

Then she freezes as the position makes her legs slip to either side of my hips. I’m not wearing much, just a pair of loose, thin cotton pajama pants, and she’s wearing even less...and suddenly it feels like pure skin-on-skin when her panties drag against the painful hardness of my cock.

It’s like tissue paper on fire, and yet no fire could ever be this wet.

She’s been so quiet, so subtle, I hadn’t even realized until she’s straddling me, pressing down, and soaking into the fabric separating us until we’re slicked together and I have to hold my breath against the thick, sweet scent of her – or else I’ll turn into a complete fucking animal.

More of a beast than I already am, I should say.

She’s breathing slow, but shallow. Like she’s having to control every one, holding perfectly still, her hands braced against my stomach.

Neither of us move as the towel slides slowly off my chest and crumples to the sheets against my arm. I can’t tear my gaze from her, and her eyes are locked on mine, seeming to beg me for something, a silent shivering plea building in the trembling tension between us.

I realize I’m still holding her arms, trapping her on me, and loosen my grip.

“Sorry,” I force out, throat dry.

But before I can fully pull my hands away, she curls her hands against my forearms, just below the elbow, brutally insistent.

“Don’t be, Riker.” Soft, breathy, and trailing into a hitching, agonizingly erotic sigh of my name as she shifts tentatively against me and her panties make a soft, damply rasping sound as warmth slides over me enticingly, through me. “Riker, please.”

Fuck. No one’s said my name that way in years.

No one ever should say my name that way, when I’m so pent up I could explode and this snarling, furious creature inside me that wanted to protect Liv is now throbbing with the need to possess her.

I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can't think.

It’s all I can do to hold still when my cock strains toward her, pulsing between us, and if I move, I’m going to do something we both might regret.

When she looks at me with such gentleness in her gaze, despite how young she is, somehow I feel as though she’s the wiser one.

The one who knows what she wants, and who knows what I’m thinking, what I’m struggling with, without me having to say a single word.

It’s in her smile, in the way she leans, in the way her voice softens and warms with quiet, coaxing understanding.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Whatever this is, I feel it, too.” She smiles faintly. “God, right now it’s the only thing I can stand to feel. Everything’s so wrong with all of this. My sister, my Dad, these people trying to kill us. Make me forget. Even if it's just for a few amazing hours...”

When she reaches out, I grab her wrist, fisting it. Her eyes widen and another lightning strike coils through me.

Wrong is the biggest understatement on earth for all this. Damn if it means I'm going to be able to stop, what's taking on a life of its own as I search her near naked body. “Liv...”

She doesn't care how strained her name sounds on my lips. She just smiles.

Little minx. Must know this is nothing but a one-way express ticket to hell, but fuck if the ride isn't worth it for one night.

My grip loosens.

Her fingers trail up my chest, stroking, seeming to awaken every dormant nerve ending she touches. Then there's just a stark awareness of her skin, of mine, of everywhere we come in contact.

She bows over me, her hair tumbling down over her shoulders to curtain us both, trapping us in our own secret darkness. Her delicate fingers find my throat, then stroke up through my beard, into my hair, making me quake with a groan.

She presses her lips to my jaw, and leaves sensations like droplets of burning rain melting into my skin as she trails kisses up toward the corner of my mouth.

“You’re the only thing that feels right,” she whispers. “Is it so wrong to ask you to feel right with me?”

It’s completely fucking wrong, and she knows it, but damn if I can even hope to remember why. “Liv...”

“Please.” Shyly, she kisses the very edge of my mouth, a flirt and a promise and a tease that only makes me crave the real thing. “It doesn’t have to be real. It just has to be right now. Can’t we have one thing that feels good?”

It doesn’t have to be real.

I don’t know how to tell this beguiling little slip of a girl that for me, it’s already real.

That every time I’ve tried to push her to the edge of my world, it’s not her I’ve been fighting.

It’s myself. The instant, insane pull I felt the moment I saw her face looking up from that dossier photo and knew that Olivia Holly was someone I needed to protect with all my heart and soul.

If I thought this could hurt her, there's no way I could ever give in. But when I realize how much she needs this – a kind touch, a moment of comfort, a night to forget, to lose herself in passion and fire – and that the only one who’ll end up hurting is me...

“Liv. Fuck.”

I curl my hands against her hip then and tumble her back, rolling over to spill her to the bed half-against me, beneath me, our legs tangled and her curves fitting perfectly against my edges.

She makes a startled sound that trails into a shivering gasp as I curl my hand against her hip and stroke over the sheer fabric turning smooth skin into silk, my thumb dipping in to trace the line of her panties along the crease where her thigh meets her hip.

Her lashes lower in a demure sweep, her eyes averting as she starts to reach for me, then stops, pulling back and curling her hands against her chest, her lips parted on words that don’t come.

She’s so sheltered. So new. And I realize, from those shy, hesitant reactions, so virgin.

“Sweetheart. Have you ever –”

That actually prompts a laugh, and her blush is the most enticing thing I’ve ever seen. “Am I that obvious?” She tucks a skein of her hair behind her ear. “No, I’ve never. But I want to. With you.” The look she gives me is the kind that could shatter a man. “I trust you to make me feel safe, Riker Woods.”

That’s one-part terrifying – but also exhilarating. Entirely arousing.

It’s not her youth or her purity that turns my blood hot. It’s the faith she has that I won’t hurt her or turn her first time into a bad memory. It's knowing I can rock her world, shake the dirt off it, make it shine and burn and come undone until it's as beautiful as the rest of her.

I have to fuck this girl.

It’s the choice she’s making to trust me that seals it, when I’m not even sure I trust myself.

“Liv, yeah,” I snarl her name, capture her mouth, tasting her gently and savoring how delicately she opens for me.

It's a kiss made for flirting, teasing, brushing flesh, dipping tongues, testing and exploring and slowly slipping deeper and deeper. Her moan spills in my mouth like warm molasses.

With every moment that passes, she melts beneath me, until we’re sinking into the bed together in a tangle of quickening heat.

I crave her so much, every damn swipe of my fingers on her body, but I make myself hold back, keeping my hands against her back and hip, holding her close, until the moment when I bite at her lip just to test her reaction.

Then she arches against me with a full-body moan, pressing close and trembling, her nipples peaked hard against her nightgown and pressed against my chest.

Carefully, I slip my hand up over her waist, stroking her warmth, caressing her shape, until I can curl my fingers against her round tit. Her flesh is so soft it spills over my fingers, heavy in my palm, its weight making my cock throb.

But it’s nothing compared to the sound she makes when I flick my teasing thumb against her nipple.

Liv stiffens, a soft, breathy cry escaping, her hands clutching at my forearms.

I can’t help drinking in every tiny reaction, watching her eyes go darker, softer, hazier as I circle her nub with my thumb, kneading her flesh against my palm, feeling every hitching shudder that goes through her as her cheeks flush hotter.

“Any time it’s too much, sweetheart,” I whisper, “any time you need it slower, you say.”

She licks her kiss-swollen, beautifully red mouth and nods, her chest heaving with shallow, audible breaths that turn ragged every time I flick the hardened peak of her nipple again. I can’t believe this gorgeous, fey thing wants me. Wants to be owned by someone older and broken and battered like me, scarred inside and out.

If I’m her choice, I’ll make damn sure she doesn’t regret it.

I steal another soft kiss, a promise to her. Then I slide down her body, savoring her sleekness sliding against me, and take my first taste of her.

First through the sheer fabric of her nightgown – closing my mouth over the nipple I’ve teased and tormented to sensitivity, wetting the fabric and taking deep, hot pleasure in the feeling of the hard little bud rolling against my tongue.

She sucks in a startled gasp, her fingers hot on my shoulders, gripping and kneading, but she doesn’t stop me. She only writhes as I tease and torment her, making these delicious little heated sounds in the back of her throat, like she’s trying to hold back but just can’t help herself.

I want – no, need – more of those sounds. Need to see her undone.

Can’t stop from dragging that flimsy, sheer little nightie over her head and baring her naked flesh to my lips, my touch.

She’s delicate, yet lush.

Tiny, yet made entirely of flowing curves, her thighs supple and soft, the subtle swell of her belly calling below the narrow dip of her waist, her tits full and heavy and pale, moving like liquid against my gripping palms and tipped in cherry pink as sweet as her lips.

This time, when I take one in my mouth, it’s pure skin against my tongue, rough and luscious and making my mouth water with pure greed. I'm ready to devour her.

Every time I suckle harder at her nipple, she gasps, arching, raking her nails over my shoulders and driving me to do it again and again. She makes me frenzied with the way she moves under me, her body like silk against mine.

I can’t stop tasting her, nibbling her, like I’m trying to relish her down to the very last bite, and suddenly I want to taste more than just skin. I want to taste that alluring, tart-creamy scent drenching the air, rising off her flesh.

One bite at a time, I taste my way down her body, leaving gentle marks that nonetheless vent the sense of possession inside me, animalistic and hungry.

Her panties are as sheer as everything else she wears. The teasing hint of her pussy that's visible just past the silk arouses me even more, my cock straining and wild and aching against my pajama pants.

But this isn’t about me right now. It’s about her.

About making sure she doesn’t regret this, doing everything I can to make her feel beautiful, sensual, completely overcome. I want to ruin her sweetness so hard she's too numb for a single self-conscious thought.

She makes a low, protesting sound as I hook my thumbs in her panties and draw them down her thighs. Her hands fall to cover herself, cupping over the warm, sweet place between her thighs, and I can’t help but smile as I toss her panties aside.

I kiss her quivering inner thigh, then bite down lightly.

Just enough to feel her flesh yield against my teeth. Just enough to make her jerk, one of her hands flying to her parted lips.

“You nervous?” I ask.

She swallows hard, her eyes wide, and nods. “Well, I’m naked...”

“And beautiful.” I shift, propping myself up on one elbow, then catch the waist of my pajama pants and pull them down so I can kick them off. “We're even. Now I’m naked, too.”

Liv immediately slams her eyes shut. “Riker!”

Laughing softly, I nuzzle at her stomach, just below her navel. “You’ve never seen a naked man before? I don’t believe that. Not unless you’ve never been on the internet.”

“That’s different!” she squeaks, but there’s a subtle undercurrent of laughter in her voice. “It’s not...it’s not you.”

“So I’m special somehow?”

She bites her lip. “You know you are.”

Fuck. My dick jerks, pounds pure madness, overcome with raw want.

“Then show me, sweetheart.” I push myself up over her, kneeling between her thighs. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Shyly, she peeks one eye open, then the other. It'd be funny if I weren't so ready to fuck her.

The flush in her cheeks deepens as she just looks at me, and the way her gaze drifts over me is like the touch of soft fingers against my skin, until I can feel it in sharp jolts all down my body.

Her eyes dilate, her tongue catching between her teeth, as she traces over my chest, down my stomach, my hips...my cock, resting against my stomach, harder than it's ever been in my life.

She reaches out, starting to touch my chest, then pulls back – but I catch her hand and gently press her palm flat to my chest.

“Do it,” I whisper. “It’s okay to touch me.”

Tentatively, she lays her fingers on my chest, stroking me like I’m a great animal whose pelt needs to be tamed. Then lower, and my gut tightens as she trails her fingers in slow, exploring swirls over my stomach, my hips.

Lower, lower...until her fingertips graze along the length of my cock, and I have to grit my teeth, closing my eyes and fighting to hold back the growl in my throat as my hips jerk forward.

Never has such a gentle touch felt so good, like she’s melting me everywhere she touches, and I clench my fists against my thighs and fight to hold still and let her explore.

Every time she strokes over the length of my cock, it jerks against her hand, swelling thicker, throbbing harder, until the pulse of blood throughout takes over my senses.

If she doesn’t fucking stop, I’m going to snap.

Especially when she wraps her full hand around it, enveloping me in a tight grip of body heat, and I exhale a rough gasp, dropping my hand to catch her wrist and opening my eyes.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” I rasp. “You don’t want me losing it just yet.”

She looks half guilty, half completely lost, as if she’d been so entirely absorbed in what she was doing – but she’s still got that hand covering herself. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t apologize.” I lean down over her, brushing my lips across hers. “It feels good when you touch me. I want you to like it, and I want you to enjoy being touched in return.” I ghost my hand over the back of her palm, gently nudging. “Let me. Hands off, Liv.”

She falters for just a moment, then looks away, that pretty pink blush returning as she slowly slips her hand to one side and lets me see her: all soft flesh and smooth skin, glistening damp. I run my fingertip along the very outer edge of her folds, and she rolls into my touch, her eyes sinking closed on a startled moan.

Smiling, baring my teeth, I do it again.

She barely gasps out a yes before she stops speaking entirely, whimpering as I trace my fingertips up and down, again and again, slipping ever deeper each time until wet, hot flesh wraps around my finger and sucks me into warm, gripping lips.

It’s fascinating, tempting, maddeningly arousing to learn her by touch.

How her pink pussy layers in its wetness, how she bucks and lifts her hips whenever I trace every soft slick curve, the way she throws her head back when I find her clit and gently circle it with my thumb, making her arch and shudder and moan.

I've got her on the end of a thinly-held tether.

I’m barely holding myself on my own leash.

Every cry, every tortured expression of confused, straining bliss, every scratch of her nails as she claws at the sheets just pushes this need inside me into a desperate craving. A demand.

Every inch of my body needs to know how she feels writhing and thrusting under me, convulsing and tightening, wet and slick and gripping hot against my cock. But I won't ruin this for her.

I'm not pushing her too fast, no matter how much it hurts to control myself. And when I lightly dip two fingers inside her, testing. And the moment she locks up with a frightened little whimper, I pull back.

“You okay?” I ask, reaching up to smooth her hair back from her sweat-dewed brow.

She nods a bit sheepishly. “Yeah. I just...you startled me.”

“You'll be tight your first time.” I curl my hand against her inner thigh, resting close, reassuring. “It helps to warm you up a little with my fingers.” I grin wickedly. “Or my tongue.”

Her eyes widen. “Your tongue?!”

“Let me show you.”

Her questioning sound trails into a tortured moan as I slide down her body and part her thighs, taking my first taste of her. She’s scalding hot on my tongue, yet so sweet I can hardly stand it, the lusciousness of her flesh yielding against the slow, probing licks and strokes of my tongue is more than I ever could have asked for.

But even better is her reaction – going wild against me, clutching her fingers in my hair, gasping “Riker, Riker!” as her thighs grip at my shoulders and her hips undulate and squirm and every part of her clenches and clutches and tenses real sweet.

I torment her with flicks against her clit, then lick her clean as every bit of stimulation makes her soaked, drenching her skin with more of that perfect-smelling wetness. And when I dip my tongue inside her, searching deep...

Fuck me.

She loses control, gasping out hoarse, husky, needful cries, wrapping her legs around my shoulders, painting my lips with her wetness as her body arches and thrashes in gorgeous chaos.

I stop, resting on my elbows to just watch her as she slowly comes down. Her eyes slip open, staring dazed at the ceiling. “Oh,” she whispers breathily. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t help laughing warmly. Of course.

Of course Liv would apologize for that. Turning my head, I nuzzle her inner thigh, deliberately dragging my beard against her sensitive flesh just to feel her shudder. “You've got nothing to apologize for, love.”

She bites her lip. “But I was trying not to...”

“I wanted you to come.” I press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “It helps. You’ll be more sensitive so it'll feel better. Plus, it's hot as fuck when you go off, little rocket.”

She smiles, batting her eyes a couple times. “So...it's going to hurt?”

I push myself up to hover over her, fitting our bodies together gently – letting her feel me, the weight of me, my cock resting against her thigh and her belly. Leaning down, I kiss her, tasting her uncertainty, trying to soothe it with soft touches.

“It’s natural for it to hurt the first time, but everyone’s different, and it might not hurt at all. I’ll be gentle, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” She sighs and slips her arms around me, twining her fingers against my nape and offering me the most lovely smile. “I trust you, Riker. I always do.”

Fuck. She knows how to break me with the simplest things.

Here I am, trying to rein myself in because I want to cherish her, treasure her, make this just right for her, and she’s tearing me apart with these simple words. I capture one of her little hands and press my lips to her palm, then settle her fingers against my shoulder once more.

“Hold onto me,” I breathe, “and remember you can stop me any time.”

Liv nods, watching me with those wide, trusting eyes, her fingers curling a bit tighter against my neck and back. I catch the underside of her knee, stroking down the satiny sheen of her thigh and then up again as I spread her open, lifting her up just enough to open her sweet cunt for me.

The slightest nudge of my hips and the tip of my cock presses to her entrance.

Damn. She’s so hot, so wet, so everything, I almost lose control right then.

She keens softly in the back of her throat and shifts against me, her nails biting into my skin. There’s a trembling moment when I can’t move. When I’m completely overwhelmed by her, before my body takes over and I just can’t resist.

I try to go slow. I try to be gentle, but the moment I feel her parting around me and that heat enveloping me, I come close to losing my senses.

Clenching my teeth, straining with everything in me, I ease in slowly, letting her get used to me, but she’s clenching tight and shaking underneath me and raking her nails down my back, and every point of sensation is scoring through me and branding her on me body and soul until I’ll never forget her in this moment.

Liv is more than magic. She’s fucking intoxicating, and I’m drunk on her, drugged on her, completely consumed as I sink into the depths of her body.

She’s making soft, whimpering sounds in the back of her throat, turning into a low cry as I seat myself fully inside her.

“Shh,” I soothe, cupping her cheek, kissing her trembling lips. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

She makes sounds that aren’t quite words, but then kisses me so sweetly, and slowly her body relaxes around me, accepting me, welcoming me deep into her body.

When I move, it’s like gliding through pure silk, stroking in and out of her slowly, relishing every fold and plush wave of flesh rolling and caressing around me, licking at my cock until I throb inside and out.

“Fuck, Liv,” I growl, finding my rhythm, beginning to pound her into the mattress.

Her arms fold tighter around my neck. I fuck her good and deep, loving how she whines, how her brows crinkle, how her eyes start to roll under their lids in pure rapture.

This is how I claim this sweet, young thing.

Even if it destroys me.

My balls churn, all fire and dark, possessive need. There's a crazed, magnum-hot vision where I bury myself deep and shoot off in her cunt. Where my seed sinks deep, finds its mark, and binds her to me forever.

Fuck, I can't let that happen. Even if every irrational, animal thing in my flesh wants a fuck that will end both our worlds. Even if some snarling, psycho thing inside me wants to breed her tender pussy.

When she starts to move with me...that’s when I break. When she rises up to meet me, finding a perfect tempo, until it’s not me and not her but just us, together – that’s what destroys me.

That’s what makes me lose control, until I fall into her, fall into fire, fall into the perfect wonder of pleasure and emotion and pure, maniacal need.

I fucking need her.

I need her more than I can even comprehend, and it takes me over so completely, I couldn’t stop myself from coming if I tried.

“Liv!” She's a roar in my throat as I bury myself to the hilt, her pussy tenses around me, and I'm gone. In the zone. Combusting.

She’s there with me, legs around my waist, lips feverish over mine, and I taste my name on her lips.

“Riker!”

One word turns my spine electric, bathes my brain in fire, and my whole fucking body comes unscrewed. I just bury myself in her with a growl, sinking my teeth into her bottom lip, coming so hard it's bruising.

We both go crashing over the ledge to bottomless ecstasy.

We fall to pieces together.

I don’t even remember falling asleep.

We’ve worn each other out fairly well by the time the night takes on the stillness that comes before dawn, and I suppose I must've dozed off after spending myself for the...hell, I’ve lost count how many times she’s gotten me off.

I couldn't tell you how many times I've left her dizzy with every gasping, needy, convulsion. How many times I've ransacked her sweetness, and taken her cherry for life.

We barely stopped our fuck fest to grab something to drink, and to have a quick conversation about her birth control before falling into bed again, chasing each other through climax after climax, again and again.

She's that amazing.

And as the first trilling calls of birds pull me drowsily from sleep to study Liv’s gently snoozing face, I wonder how I'll ever let her go when this assignment is done.

Is it wrong to hope she doesn’t want me to?

There’s something about this woman. Something strange and terrible and magic, and it’s woken something inside me I thought was dead, but that I know now was only sleeping.

Just waiting for me to give it enough light and warmth to wake the hell up. My own personal monster.

Because if I were a good man, I’d feel shame right now. Guilt.

I don’t, and I don’t know how I could ever call this feeling inside me bad when it feels so right, so clean, so pure.

None of which changes the fact that she’s a client, her life's in danger, and she’s quickly becoming my daughter’s best friend.

Never let it be said that I ever take the easy path.

I brush her hair back behind her ear. I don’t mean to wake her.

I just can’t resist the softness of her skin, the relaxed bliss on her face. But she stirs drowsily, I guess she wasn’t as deep asleep as I thought. With a catlike little yawn, she scrunches her eyes up, then opens them, blinking up at me slowly.

She says nothing at first. When her eyes clear, it’s with a frank and stark awareness of the position we’re in: bodies tangled so close, naked skin on skin, addictively entwined and holding each other close beneath the light layer of a summer duvet.

She ducks down a little, peeking at me with a shy yet pleased smile. An infectious one I'm a sucker for but return. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey yourself,” she whispers back.

“You okay?”

“Ah?” She blinks, looking confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know why.” I don't say it. Fuck, I don’t even know how I’m more flustered about this than her. “I was your first. That's gotta mean something. Heavy shit.”

She brightens. “Oh, that!”

I almost laugh. Next thing I know, I’m hugging a bundle of lovely young woman as she nearly throws herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my chest.

“It wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was really nice. Really, really freaking nice.” She angles her head enough for one coy blue eye to catch mine. “Nice enough that I wouldn’t mind doing it a whole lot more.”

“Brat,” I growl, jostling her gently. “Aren’t you sore yet?”

“Isn’t being sore part of the fun?”

This time, I do laugh. “Irreverent little monster. Get some sleep. We’ve got all day to sleep in if we want.”

“Mmhm.” She snuggles into me, yawning again, and we both close our eyes, but I open mine again as she asks, “Riker?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe when we’re back in San Francisco...could we go on a date?”

“A date.” I arch a brow. “A real one?”

She nods quickly. “No, pretend. Of course a real date!”

“A date,” I echo. “Me and you.”

My brain needs a few seconds to compute what the fuck is happening.

Her playfulness slips away, leaving a quiet, wistful sincerity as she looks up with solemn eyes. “I’m asking if you want me and you, period.”

That’s a hell of a question.

One I can’t just answer, rolling off my tongue like it’s nothing. This could be a temporary thing, just making the best of a bad situation. We have a little fun, then part ways when it’s over and hope Landon never finds out or he’ll kick my ass up and down the entire western seaboard.

Or, I could admit to myself the earnest, open hope in her eyes speaks to something inside me. That terrible, magic thing that’s been starved so long for something more.

“I think I do,” I answer slowly, carefully. “But I need to think about it, Liv. I don’t just make decisions for myself anymore. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do.” With a gentle smile, she pushes herself up and kisses me gently. “I promise I do.”

Somehow, that quiet acceptance makes my gut sink.

Everything I know about Liv says she’s always been raised to put others above herself, and even now she’s doing it again. And while I do need her understanding, need her to respect that it’s not so easy for me with a daughter to think of...it bothers me knowing Liv would put herself aside, anything she wants and feels, to do what she thinks is right by me and Em.

Sure, it's part of what makes her amazing. Still doesn’t mean it's right to just discard her feelings, her desires, as if they never mattered at all.

The better this gets, the more fucked up it is, too.

I feel like I’ve just complicated her life more, instead of making it better.

But I can find a way to make this work. I know I can.

To balance these lives, to give everyone the attention and care they deserve, and to treat Liv as if she’s worth being first in someone’s life, in mine, without neglecting or sacrificing my daughter.

So I offer her a smile.

“Then it's a deal. Soon as I’m sure you're safe, back in San Francisco...” I steal another kiss, savoring the liquid-soft warmth of her lips, before promising, “We’ll go on that date.”