If he were there, he’d lay her back on that bed and worship her until she screamed. He’d run his tongue over every inch of her body, part her thighs, and eat her out until she came again and again, until he’d forgotten the taste of anything but her, and would never forget the taste of her.

Roux almost told her that.

But he could sense her nervousness. Her reticence. As though she was afraid of him. And maybe she was. Maybe she was right to be. Maybe she wasn’t ready for him to tell her the truth, which was she was his and this was real and there was no way he was going to let her walk away from it when it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

When she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

When he would stop at nothing to be the best thing that ever happened to her.

He could keep from telling her that truth, though, if what she wanted now was to talk about all the ways he’d pleasure her. And that was what she wanted, the moment she’d asked him in that soft, beautiful, sexy-as-fuck voice, “What would you do if you were here?”

If he hadn’t been hard as a rock already, that would have gotten him there. But this wasn’t for him. It was for her. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his bed, shutting out the world beyond. “I’d climb right into that bed with you, baby.”

She sighed. A barely-there sound that was like sniper fire. Like that, Roux was tight as a bow. “I’d like that.”

“I’d start slow. Like a gentleman. Hold you tight. Learn the feel of you. Run my fingers over all your pretty, soft skin. Put my mouth to it, taste the heat of you.”

A pause. Then, “That’s too bad.”

His brows shot up. “It is?”

He heard her shift against the sheets a million miles away and his cock throbbed, aching for her. “I mean, with all your promises of wolves, I was hoping for more than a gentleman.”

Fuck.

“Oh, cher, you wan’ the wolf, you get the wolf.”

Another pause, then, softly, “I want the wolf.”

She was fucking perfect. He was hard as steel and she was fucking perfect.

“Take off that cat t-shirt, Abigail. And the rest.”

She laughed, low like sin. “And what about you? What are you wearing at oh-six-hundred?”

He ran a big hand down his bare chest. He had her. “Nothing.”

She didn’t wait. “Hold on.”

He could hear it, the way she got naked, the rub of skin against fabric, and he closed his eyes, jealous of her fucking sheets. When she came back, she was out of breath.

Just as he was. “You just destroyed me.”

“I did?”

He couldn’t hold back his smile. “You sound like you like that.”

“I mean—” She paused. “I do, but…”

“Imagining you taking off all your clothes, hearing the movement, knowing that you’re pink and pretty for me.” His turn to pause. “Are you naked now, love?”

“Yes.” It was a whisper. Barely sound.

He groaned at the confession. He’d give everything he had to be there with her. To be able to see her. To touch her. To kiss her. “If I were there…”

“What would you do, loup?”

And like that, he was on fire. “I’d open your thighs and get real comfortable between them, baby.” She inhaled sharply, and he kept going. “I’d want you to wrap your pretty legs around me while we kissed, while I explored you. I’d wan’ the scent of you while I ran my hands over your body, felt the weight of your pretty tits. And they are so pretty, aren’t they?”

She whimpered. “They’re…” She trailed off and he froze, knowing she would change his life with whatever she was about to say.

“What, baby? Tell me?”

“They ache.”

His cock throbbed. “Poor cher. Do they ache for me?”

“You know they do.”

“Are they heavy?”

“So heavy.”

He imagined them, beautiful and round, filling his hands to overflowing as she lay beneath him, her beautiful mahogany hair spread out around her like a halo.

He stopped himself. Blonde. Abby was blonde.

“Touch them, cher, lift them. Imagine your hands are mine. Imagine me taking care of your beautiful tits. Imagine me holding them, running my fingers over them around and around, smaller and smaller circles until I get to those pretty nipples. Are they tight, baby? Do they ache?”

“God, yes…” she whispered.

“They ache for my mouth, don’t they?”

“So much.”

He was losing his mind. This had been a terrible idea. “You wan’ me to kiss them, don’t you?” She didn’t reply, but he could hear her breath in little pants. “You want me to tongue them. To suck on them until you’re feeling my mouth somewhere else, too.”

“Roux…” she said, and he knew he had her.

“Slide your hand down there, baby. To where I want to be. To where you want me.”

“I—”

No. She couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he was so close to giving her pleasure. “I’m gon’ make it so good for you. I promise.” She hesitated. He heard it, her stillness. Her doubt. “When I get to you, I’m gon’ settle between your gorgeous thighs and kiss my way down your body, from those beautiful tits, over your impossibly soft skin until I spread you wide and get acquainted with your pretty pussy.”

She whimpered, and he bit back a growl.

“Touch yourself, baby. Tell me what you find.”

She gasped, and he thought he might come just from the sound. From her discovery. “I’m so wet.”

“Surprised?”

“So wet.” That emphasis threatened to kill him. “Roux…you make me so wet. Wetter than I’ve ever been.”

“Bon,” he said, rubbing his hand over his mouth, hating the distance and the circumstances and wanting to tear down fucking walls to get to her. He tightened his grip on the phone. His lifeline. The only way he could have her. “Touch yourself.” She gasped. “Good girl.”

“It feels…”

“Tell me.” The command was harsh, like he was in combat. No. Combat was fucking easier than this. Than not being able to touch her or kiss her or taste her or love her.

“It feels so good.” The last syllable stretched like sin into five or six, and Roux couldn’t stop himself any longer, reaching for his aching cock and fisting it, closing his eyes.

“I bet it does, baby. I want a feel.”

“You promised me a taste first.” The bold, fast words turned him inside out, even as she gasped and said, “I can’t believe I—”

“Uh-uh, baby. You don’t get to take that back. You wan’ me to lick you?” She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her breath, harsh and ragged. “Say it, love.”

“I— I can’t.”

“I’ll give you the words.” He was stroking his cock, long, rough strokes that he couldn’t stop, imagining it was her. Losing his control even as he commanded her. “Leche-moi. Lick me.”

“I—”

“Say it and I will, baby. I’ll eat that pretty chatte so good—long and slow. I’ll suck on your little clito until you scream my name and wrap your thighs around me and beg me to stop. And then when you think you can’t take anymore, I’ll lick you clean and start over. I’m gon’ eat you for days, baby.”

She said it. So soft he could barely hear it. “Leche-moi.”

He almost didn’t hear it. “Again.” He grunted out the word, stroking his cock, hot and hard and desperate for her. He bit out the command. “Again, Abby.”

She obeyed. Louder. “Lick me.”

“Mmm. Work your little clit, baby. That’s me there. That’s my tongue. My lips. That’s me circling and sucking and tapping. That’s me. That’s mine. That’s my pussy. You understand?” His fist was working hard and fast and all he wanted was her body under his. “Say it.”

“It’s yours,” she said. “God, Roux. It is. It’s yours.”

She knew it, too.

“Roux…” She was almost there. And so was he. “I’m going to…”

“Come for me.” The words were clipped and rough and full of need and want and fucking power. “Right now, cher.”

“Yes…” she panted, beyond control. “No…wait…” And then, like a fucking goddess, “Roux…come with me.”

As though he could disobey her. As though he could resist coming with her. Finally. After all the weeks in the desert when he’d refused to let himself come without her. “Fuck…Abby…”

And then she was crying out his name and he was coming like never before, in thick ropes, in time to her glorious panting cries, and he knew there was no way he was ever…ever…ever letting her go. She was perfection. Smart and funny and sweet and sexy as hell.

He waited for her to settle, for her breath to calm, before he said, “Okay, baby?”

She exhaled, long and beautiful. “So okay.”

He grinned, loving that he’d pleased her. “You gon’ sleep well tonight, gorgeous girl.”

A long silence followed. And from eight thousand miles away, on another continent, Roux knew it wasn’t a comfortable one. And then she said, softly, “No, I won’t.”

What? He sat up, hating the words. “Abby—”

“No.” She cut him off. “This doesn’t change anything. It’s still a mistake.”

“Fuck that,” he said harshly. Too harshly. But he didn’t care. “I came harder than I’ve ever come. Because of you. And so did you, cher. Because of me.”

“That’s not—”

“Bullshit. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

She didn’t rise to the words, too loud, too forceful. His Abby was calm and perfect and poised as ever, even as she cut his heart out. “No, Roux. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The words were right. They were all he wanted to hear. They made him want to roar with pleasure that he’d made her happy. But she didn’t sound happy. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I told you,” she said. “You’re perfect. It’s me who isn’t.”

“What? Why?”

“I have to go.”

Fuck. No. No. “Abby. No. Sweetheart, we can—” She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her there. He could feel her there. And suddenly, keeping her there was the most important thing. Which meant he had to tell her everything. “Abby—I love you.”

The words came out desperate. Too desperate.

But he was desperate for her. To keep her. To love her.

Always.

“Oh, God.” Was she crying? “I’m sorry, Roux.”

Worse.

She was gone.