Because they haven’t. Not like this. Not like he’s drowning and I’m his first breath of air. Not like the thought of not touching me is pure torture.

He grunts as I shimmy in his lap. I can feel his excitement pressed to my right hip.

And I want to feel it. Right now.

As if he’s reading my mind, Rhys grips my hips and lifts me, helping me straddle him, and I press my center against him, making us both catch our breath.

“Jesus, you’re the sweetest fucking thing,” he growls against my lips. His hands are roaming up and down my back. I grip his face in my hands and kiss him. Deeply. Our tongues are stroking, lapping.

God, he tastes good.

He grips my ass in his hands and tugs me down more tightly against him, and I can’t help but circle my hips, enjoying the way the ridge in his jeans rubs against my center.

Holy crap, can I come like this?

Surely not.

“Surely not what?” Rhys whispers against my lips.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said ‘surely not.’ Surely not what?”

I bite his lower lip as his hand takes a journey from my ass, up my side, to cup my breast. His thumb rubs over my tightened nipple, over and over again, making me squirm.

Everything this man does makes me squirm, and he’s technically still at second base!

“You’ve kind of got me all worked up,” I whisper.

“Back at you, baby.”

He presses a button at the side of the seat, tilting his seat back just a few inches, then grips my sides and lifts me so he can nuzzle between my breasts, and down to my belly.

Which sets me on edge.

Please, God, don’t lift my shirt and look at my disgusting stretch marks!

The scruff on his cheeks feels soft, yet prickly, on my skin.

“Why did you stiffen up?”

I shake my head and plunge my fingers in his hair, holding him close to me, loving the kisses he’s pressing to my chest, and the way he brushes his nose over my nipple.

Holy fuck, I’m turned on.

The next thing I know, Rhys is lifting me back over the console into my seat and righting his own. He’s breathing hard.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Why did you stop?”

He turns to me now and kisses me, then pulls the seat belt over me and clicks it into place. “Because second base is as far as we can go here, and if I kept kissing you the way I was, you’d be naked and I’d be inside you right now.”

I feel my eyes go wide and my pulse speed up even more, if that’s even possible.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He kisses me once more, then starts the car. I can’t help but cover my lips with my fingertips and giggle. “What’s funny?”

“This.”

His eyes narrow. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was looking for.”

“I can’t believe I’m making out like a teenager here.”

He smiles and brushes his knuckles down my cheek. I love how much he touches me. His touch is simply sinful.

Without another word, he pulls back out onto the highway and we drive the hour or so back to the inn in companionable silence. I’m tempted to lean over and give him a satisfying memory for later, but decide against it.

Hopefully, I can do that another time.

I’d love to taste him. To hear him, watch him, as I suck on him and work him over with my hands. I wonder how he likes it?

“What are you thinking over there?” he asks as he takes my hand and kisses my fingers.

“You don’t want to know,” I reply and turn my face to watch the darkness pass by.

“Oh, I definitely want to know.”

“I—” I bite my lip, and feel my cheeks heat.

“You… Hey, look at me.” I turn my face to see him smiling at me, in that special way he does, that I’ve learned is just for me. “What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

“I was thinking about, um, going down on you.” The last few words are said on a whisper, and I cover my eyes with my hand, completely mortified. Suddenly, the car stops.

Just stops.

He pulls my hand away from my face and grips my shoulders, turning me to face him.

“What did you just say?” His face registers shock, curiosity. Lust.

So much lust.

So I smile and reply, “I was thinking about going down on you. How you might like it.”

He pulls me to him for a long, deep, wet kiss, and then, against my still-damp lips, whispers, “Any way you give it to me is how I like it, baby. Now, no more sexy talk about your lips wrapped around my cock, okay? I don’t want to wreck this car.”

I grin against his mouth. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

***

The house is dark when we drive up, aside from the porch lights and the light I always leave on in the foyer. The oak trees look like huge grey ghosts in the yard, framing the white plantation house perfectly.

It’s a bit spooky at night, and I grew up here. I’ve felt things here. I’ve felt the sorrow of the slaves as I clean and stage the slave quarters so the guests can learn about that dark part of our history. I’ve felt joy in the rose gardens.

Doors have slammed when no one was there to slam them.

But this house is centuries old, and the Boudreaux family is known for being a passionate one. It’s no wonder that someone is still hanging out, just to keep an eye on things.

I often wonder if my father is one of those someones. I hope so.

Rhys stops the car and before he can even cut the engine, I climb out and onto the porch. Rhys follows me inside, his hands in his pockets, quiet as he watches me check the locks and the alarm system, then walks me quietly to my room.