Ella’s mouth touched his and for a second Rafe remained absolutely motionless, reveling in the moment. Her lips were as soft as he’d thought they’d be, and there was a hesitancy to her and to the kiss that he found delicious.

She’d been so full of anger sitting there in the chair, her gray eyes electric with it, reminding him of the passion he’d seen in her on the stage earlier, and he’d loved that. It turned him on the way she refused to give in to him, refused to back down, even though she was scared.

He hadn’t meant to start straight in with talking about kisses, but she’d lied so delightfully about how the kiss he’d given her the week before hadn’t made her angry, that he hadn’t been able to help himself. He wasn’t going to stand for denial or let her pretend it hadn’t affected her—not when he knew it had.

He shouldn’t have let her bargain with him either, but he simply hadn’t been able to resist her. She was sharp, refusing to be intimidated by him even when he pushed, which only made him want to push harder, see how far she’d let him go. And, Christ, he wanted to go far . . .

She smelled of costume makeup and hairspray, and beneath that, clean sweat. And underlying it all was the sweet scent of roses, now made even more pronounced by the flowers he’d bought and had flamboyantly delivered to the dressing room. The combination of scents made him want to growl in hunger, shove her down onto the chair, and do terrible and wonderful things to her, but he knew he had to be patient. He knew.

He waited to see if she would deepen the kiss, but she didn’t, releasing him and sinking back down onto the soles of her feet. Her face had gone pink, the hood of her cloak falling back, exposing the tightly pinned wealth of her golden hair.

“There,” she said in a husky voice. “That enough of a preview for you?”

There was something in her eyes that told him she knew what she’d just given him wasn’t satisfying in the slightest, and that he was pissed about it. And a part of him was impressed at how she was managing to play him.

Seemed the little virgin didn’t have only claws. She had teeth as well.

Didn’t make him any less pissed though. He could of course demand more a “preview,” hell, he could even take the kiss he wanted without any of this fucking bargaining bullshit. But that wasn’t what he’d wanted and never had been.

She had to give him all of it willingly.

Fuck, he was an idiot. Because now if he wanted that kiss, he was going to have to agree to pay for her Paris trip, which would give up the leverage he had and leave him with nothing he could use to bind her closer to him. Especially when he was certain she wouldn’t ask him for anything again.

Then again, there was her ballet company he was patron of. He could use that as a way to make her do what he wanted.

You could actually court her like a normal person. Ever think of that?

No. Without anything to hold over her head, she wouldn’t want him anywhere near her. She’d keep him at the distance she’d always had, and he couldn’t bear that. Not now that he’d touched her skin and tasted it, felt the way she’d melted against him. He wasn’t giving that up, no way in hell.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, looking down into her delicate face. “It wasn’t much of a preview, I have to say.”

“It’s all you’re getting.” She raised one pale brow. “So, what’s it to be? A kiss in return for Paris? Or nothing? Because if you don’t agree, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

Not so much of a bunny girl now, was she? No, she had the upper hand, using what he wanted against him, and Christ . . . all he could do was admire her for it.

“I could take it anyway,” he warned. “I don’t have to wait until you give it to me.”

“Yes, you do, and you know it.” Her gray gaze was disturbingly sharp as she studied him. “Because taking it is not what you want, is it?”

No, of course it wasn’t. Little minx.

Adrenaline flooded through him, increasing his heart rate and making his cock get hard. This was exciting, he couldn’t deny it. She was giving him the fight he’d wanted right from the moment she’d gotten into his limo.

“No,” he agreed not taking his eyes off her. “That’s not what I want.”

She stood there in her white tutu, so pale and golden, with the red cloak over her shoulders bringing out the color in her lips and cheeks, and as he watched, a hint of satisfaction curved her mouth.

As if she’d won.

It made him want to smile too. She thought this was a victory, but she hadn’t given him her kiss yet. And he had a feeling that would change everything.

He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Do I have your word then?” She lifted her chin, full of defiance and the sense of her own power. It was glorious. “That if I give you this kiss, you’ll pay all my expenses for the summer intensive?”

He could lie. He could go back on his word. He was, after all, not a good man and hell, he’d done it before in business and no doubt he’d do it again.

But this . . . this was different. This concerned Ella. And he knew he simply couldn’t give her his word only to break it. He didn’t know how he knew that, he just did.

So he said, “Yes, I’ll pay them. You have my word.”

She blinked, as if she hadn’t been expecting him to give in, which satisfied him a bit more than it should have. “Oh, okay. Good.” Her voice sounded calm, but a hint of uncertainty rippled over her features. “You want this kiss now then?”

Oh no, don’t say she was going to fall at the last hurdle. That would be terribly disappointing after all the concessions she’d won from him.

“Yes, now.” He held her gaze, challenging her. “And you’d better make it worth my while.”

Like he’d hoped, the words banished her uncertainty. She lifted her chin and rose up onto the tips of her red satin ballet shoes, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest for balance, lifting her mouth in preparation once more.

But this wasn’t going to happen the way she thought it would, not today.

If she wanted the fight, he’d bring it.

Before she could move, he took her narrow, delicate hands in his and slowly brought them down to her sides. Then he eased them behind her and crossed her wrists, pinning them in the small of her back with one hand, while he cupped her jaw with the other

Her eyes widened, her muscles tensing. “What are you doing?”

He said nothing, glancing instead in the mirror behind her. He liked the picture they made, with him looming over her while she was held on her toes in front of him, her wrists secured behind her. Unable to move.

No one would mistake that he was the one in control of this now, not her.

His cock got even harder at the sight, fantasies unreeling in his head, of him spinning her around and pushing her down over the vanity, shoving into her from behind, making her watch as he fucked her hard. Making her watch herself come so that she was in no doubt as to how much she liked it when he touched her.

Patience. This is a kiss, nothing more.

A kiss. For Paris.

In the mirror he could see himself smile, and it was savage. If he was only going to settle for a kiss, he was going to make sure it was one they both would never forget.

“Rafael,” she said hoarsely, her wrists straining against his hold. “You said it was—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish, covering her mouth with his, gripping her jaw in his hand so she couldn’t pull away. And the taste of her exploded in his head like a bomb going off.

Strawberries and champagne. Long, hot summer days. Sweetness and heat, everything delicious. So fucking delicious he almost couldn’t stand it.

He’d meant to show her that he was the one in control of this, not her, and yet he found his thinking processes were starting to disintegrate, hunger flaring like a torch inside him and burning everything else away.

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and he felt her lean into him, her head tipping back, letting him kiss her deeper. And he took full advantage, sliding his tongue into her mouth and taking everything. Everything she wanted to give him and more.

His fingers around her wrists tightened and he pressed her forward, arching her lithe body into his, feeling her tremble as he did so. Christ, he loved that, loved how all the tension had begun to melt out of her. Out of her arms and out of her jaw, as if she’d already surrendered herself to him.

He kissed her deeper, harder, relishing the slick glide of his tongue against hers and the hot taste of her. She’d made another sound, like a whimper, and he couldn’t resist taking his hand from her jaw and sliding his fingers down her neck to her throat. Her costume left her shoulders bare and he took full advantage of that too, stroking across the delicate dips and hollows of her collarbones, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

She shivered in his grip again, pulling against his imprisoning hands, but he didn’t let her go. Instead he kissed her even harder, ravaging her mouth, devouring her, because he was giving up his leverage for this, which meant he was going to take anything and everything.

He shifted his hold on her and flexed his hips, crushing the tulle of her tutu between them and pushing the hard ridge of his cock against the soft heat between her thighs.

She gasped, shuddering in response, shifting on the tips of her toes as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to get closer or move away, and he felt his hold on reality begin to fade, hunger taking over.

Now, he wanted her now. Fuck waiting. Fuck patience.

He curled his fingers into the neckline of her bodice, pulling it down and off one shoulder before sliding his hand inside, cupping the softness of one small, round breast.

She jerked in his grip, making another sound, and then her back arched even more as she pressed herself into his hand.

Christ, yes. If he didn’t break the kiss, then she couldn’t claim he’d overstepped the mark, which meant that if he kept kissing her, he could keep touching her. Maybe he could even lift her onto the vanity, spread her legs and get inside her.

A kiss, you fucking idiot. Don’t take everything all at once.

But it was so very difficult to remember that when her silky, soft skin filled his palm and she gasped and trembled whenever he rubbed a thumb over the hard point of her nipple. Teasing her, pinching her.

She swayed on the points of her shoes, her slight weight coming to rest against him, her mouth open and hot under his. He could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of feminine arousal, making him want to snarl against her skin, bite her.

You wanted her to give it to you.

Yes, he did.

Gripping her hard, he lifted his mouth from hers a couple of millimeters. “More,” he growled in a voice that didn’t sound like his. “Give me more.”

She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged bursts. Her body was arched up into his, the heat of her pressed against him, tantalizing him, taunting him. The softness of her breast filled his palm and he couldn’t think, couldn’t get enough air. He needed her. He had to have her.

Without consciously having made a decision, he crushed her mouth under his again, desperation winding tight inside him. Then he shoved the chair out of his way with one foot before walking her backward until her spine was pressed up against the vanity, bending her back, devouring her utterly.

She made a frantic sound, her hands straining against his grip, then suddenly her teeth closed on his bottom lip. Hard.

The hurt was slight, but years of conditioning to pain cleared his head enough that he jerked back, staring down at her in shock.

Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her gray eyes dark, her chest heaving. The flush had crept down her neck and over her shoulders too, in stark contrast to the white of her costume. She didn’t look distressed only . . . pissed. “I said a kiss, Rafael,” she said, the words thick and hoarse. “One kiss.”

She was going to deny him, wasn’t she? She wasn’t going to give him what he wanted after all.

Christ, he couldn’t bear it. How could he? He’d waited so long and she definitely wasn’t scared now, he could see it in her eyes. She looked defiant.

So sexy. So fucking sexy. And he was so sick of waiting.

“Paris is expensive.” His voice was as cracked and broken as the pavements outside the theater. “I want more than a kiss.” And because he was a predator through and through, he pinched her nipple, watching the expression of agonized desire that crossed her face in response.

But she was so strong. She was stronger than he was.

She shook her head. “I’m not having s-sex with you in here.”

“What about elsewhere?”

“Rafael . . .”

He wanted to laugh, play with her, tell her that he didn’t want sex either and he wasn’t talking about that, but somehow he couldn’t find his usual mockery. It was gone. All he had left was honesty.

If you beg her, you will have lost every advantage you had.

Oh Jesus. Was he really at that point? Had he really fallen so far?

“Always keep yourself hidden,” his grandfather used to tell him. “Never let them see who you really are.” And he’d followed the advice to the letter. But, fuck, he was perilously close to revealing himself now.

He needed pain, that’s what he had to have to stay in control. But he couldn’t do that, not here, not with her. Perhaps there was something else he could do? Something that involved focusing his attention on her and not about the intense desire that had him in its grip. Something meticulous, that needed restraint and care.

“Let me undress you,” he said raggedly, staring down into her eyes, the gray as dark as thunderstorms. “I promise I won’t do anything but touch you.” All the little fastenings on her costume . . . He’d have to be careful not to tear the fabric. Very, very careful.

She blinked, her breathing still fast and hard. “U-Undress me? Why?”

“Because Paris is fucking expensive and I want something else.” It came out as a growl, but he was in no position to make it sound any less demanding. “I need to touch you, Ella. Just . . . let me.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “please.” That would be tantamount to begging, and he couldn’t do that.

She squirmed in his hold, the movements she made brushing against his aching groin, and he nearly bent his head and closed his teeth around her neck. “Ella.” He couldn’t hide the note of desperation. “Stop.”

And she clearly heard it because she went still, staring at up at him, a crease between her brows. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him because it felt too sharp, as if she was seeing something he didn’t want her to. But he didn’t let her go and he didn’t move away. He wasn’t quite strong enough for that.

There was a long moment of silence, the look in her eyes almost unbearable. Then, unexpectedly, she said, “Okay. I’ll let you undress me.”

* * *

Ella couldn’t stop shaking. Her lips felt swollen and bruised, her skin too hot and far, far too tight. Her legs were trembling with the strain of keeping herself up on her toes, with the need to press herself against the hard length of his body. She could feel all the densely packed muscle and tightly leashed power beneath the civilized veneer of his suit and there was a part of her that wanted to get rid of that veneer. That wanted to strip it away entirely and lay bare the hungry wolf beneath it.

But she wasn’t ready for that and she knew it. This was all too new, this feeling inside her too raw. She’d thought a kiss would be fine, that she could deal with it, but the moment he’d pinned her wrists behind her back and taken her mouth like he owned it, she understood that there would be nothing “fine” about a kiss.

It had ravaged her, destroyed her. Made her realize how unprepared she was for a man like him and for all the feelings that had overwhelmed her the second he touched her. Everything felt over-sensitized, every single nerve ending, and she had no idea where she’d gotten the courage to bite him the way she had, only that it had to stop, to give her time to breathe.

The lines of his face were drawn tight, the blue of his eyes deep and dark. He didn’t look like the mocking, taunting man who’d come into her dressing room and started trying to bargain with her. He looked like a man on the edge of a cliff and who was desperate not to fall off.

And you were the one who led him there.

The thought crossed her mind, bright and fleeting, but only for a moment because then the punishing grip on her wrists released and his hands were on her hips, lifting her as effortlessly as one of her male dance partners and depositing her on the makeup chair he’d kicked aside earlier.

She still didn’t quite understand why she’d agreed to let him undress her, because she’d told him a kiss was all she’d been prepared to give. But the way he’d looked at her, like he was starving, and the note of harsh desperation in his voice as he’d demanded more had rocked her. Had made her feel as if the balance of power between them had somehow changed, and not in his favor.

It was probably a mistake. No, she knew it was a mistake. But how bad could it be? She’d gotten used to stripping in a room full of people as a dancer, to seeing her body as a well-oiled machine, a collection of muscle and bone that, when controlled correctly, allowed her the freedom to express herself. There was nothing sexual in it, not even when she was pretending to be in love while she was in character.

This was different though. She would be naked in front of a man who wanted to look at her, possibly touch her. Even then though, it wouldn’t have been a problem. Not when the real issue was that she had no idea how she was going to react to him when he did either of those things.

Do you really not know?

Ella leaned back in the chair and put her hands on the arms, trying not to think about that.

You know exactly how you’re going to react. And that’s the scary part, isn’t it? That he’ll know how badly you want him to touch you.

She swallowed, shoving the thought away. Her calf muscles ached and, even though she was sitting down, she was shaking like a leaf.

Rafael dropped to his knees in front of her and one large, warm hand closed around her foot. She tensed as he gently guided it to rest on his hard thigh, then he leaned forward and began to undo the ties of her ballet shoes.

She stiffened, the sensation of his fingers brushing against her stockinged calves almost too much for her. He didn’t look at her, keeping his attention on what he was doing, his movements measured and calm, which somehow made it worse.

Trying to slow her breathing, she watched him pull at the silk ribbons and slowly unwind them from around her calves. Oh God, if he took her shoes off, he’d see her messy dancer feet—all blistered toes and blackened nails from hours of staying en pointe.

She shifted restlessly in the chair, wanting to pull away, but his strong fingers circled her ankle, preventing her. Then he slowly drew off her ballet shoe, letting it fall to the floor before moving to repeat the process with her other foot.

“Why do you want to do this?” she asked. Then, hearing the unsteadiness in her voice, she wished she hadn’t.

“Don’t talk.” The words were soft but an order nonetheless. “Stay quiet.”

She wanted to ask him why, then decided that maybe being quiet wasn’t such a bad idea after all, especially when she didn’t think she’d be able to trust herself not to sound like a nervous wreck.

He drew her second shoe off and, before she had a chance even to draw a breath, he slid his hands up the backs of her calves and behind her knees, up her thighs, and beneath her tutu to the waistband of her tights.

All the breath escaped her and she shivered helplessly as his fingers curled into the nylon then began slowly tugging it down. Automatically she lifted her butt so he could pull her tights down around her thighs and down further still. His fingers brushed over her bare skin, and she had to bite her lip hard to stop the gasp of response that escaped her.

He knew though—she could see in the way his jaw hardened, in the muscle that jumped in the side of it.

She swallowed as he drew her tights off her and then inhaled sharply as he took one bare foot in his hand, his palm hot against her instep, his fingers pressing lightly across the bridge of her foot. Then he spread his fingers out, stroking her foot, massaging it gently and she couldn’t quite stifle the soft groan of relief that escaped her. Her muscles were so tight and his touch felt . . . Oh God. So good.

He moved higher, his wonderful, clever fingers finding the tight, hard knots in her calves and pressing down firmly, encouraging her exhausted, aching muscles to relax. She found herself relaxing too, forgetting her fear and her uncertainty. Forgetting everything but sheer physical relief as he coaxed the tension out of her legs.

“You work very hard,” he murmured. “Do you ever let yourself rest?”

Somehow her lashes had fallen closed, and she kept them like that, too tired to open them again. “Dance is my life. I can’t afford to rest.”

“That’s some dedication.”

“I love it. It’s that simple.”

“What do you love about it?”

It was such an innocuous question and she couldn’t help but answer. “Losing myself in the music. It’s a challenge too, plus it makes me feel . . . free, I guess.”

He said nothing to that, but she felt him draw her other foot onto his thigh too, massaging that as well, before his fingers slid up to her other calf. The pleasure of it was exquisite, and she sighed, a heavy and boneless feeling stealing through her.

“You should have told me your feet were hurting.” He had his hands behind both her knees, sliding up higher to her thighs, stroking gently.

Maybe she should have found the direction his fingers were moving in a problem, but she didn’t. Her feet were warm where he’d put them on his thighs, and she could feel the heat of his body pressing against her shins. How strange that she should notice the cold only now, when he was keeping parts of her warm.

“They’re always hurting.” Her voice sounded thick. “It’s no big deal.”

His fingers stroked lightly over her thighs, moving in circles. “Do you have a physiotherapist here? A masseuse?”

She let a laugh escape her. “Are you kidding? This is a tiny company. We can’t afford it. Besides, I can look after myself.”

He didn’t reply, his fingers moving lightly, and the tension in her cramping muscles began to be replaced by a different kind of tension, a shivering, delicious ache.

She’d felt it when he’d kissed her too and when he’d pressed the hard ridge beneath the zipper of his pants between her legs, sending sharp, electric jolts of sensation straight through her. Though this felt less sharp, more gentle and lazy.

He stroked higher, over the tops of her thighs, then his fingers grazing in between, tracing lightly over her sensitive skin—making goose bumps rise everywhere and causing her breath to catch.

She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to see what he was doing, because somehow she knew that if she did, she’d have to stop him. That she wouldn’t be able to let herself consciously give in. But having her eyes closed and pretending that this was all part of him undressing her . . . yes, she could do that.

Coward. You should tell him what you want.

But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that just yet, not when all of this was so new and so unfamiliar. So she remained still in the chair as he stroked her thighs, as she felt him move, the heat of his body pressing against her shins. And then there was warm breath on her skin, the brush of something soft on her knees. His mouth?

“Poor Little Red.” Another whisper of warmth chasing over her bared flesh. “Looking after yourself all the time must be hard. Perhaps there are days when you’d like it if someone else took care of you?”

Her throat constricted oddly, because yes, there were days when she wished that. Because as much as she loved her grandmother, Aurora couldn’t go out to dinner or to the movies. Or take her to the Met or go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center. Couldn’t accompany her to the theater the few times she’d wanted to see some famous ballet companies perform, not the way her parents once had.

Oh, Aurora provided company and reassurance where she could, but she couldn’t take away the fear that sometimes overwhelmed Ella. She couldn’t take Ella in her arms and tell her that she’d take care of everything, that she could rest.

No, she had no one to do that. No one at all.

But she couldn’t say that aloud, because she knew that would make everything even harder than it was already. Easier to deny it, to pretend she didn’t need it.

“No,” she said. “I never think that.”

His fingers stroked down the sides of her thighs and she could feel his soft laugh move over her skin. “Of course you don’t.” Another brush of his mouth just above her left knee, then again above the right. “And yet here you are, letting me take care of you.”

“Stop talking,” she said a little desperately. “You’re breaking the mood.”

He laughed again, but didn’t say anything, his fingers sliding down the insides of her knees and gently easing them apart. Then he was back to stroking her lightly, gently, and his mouth was grazing the soft, sensitive skin on her inner thighs and moving higher.

She should tell him to stop, but that delicious, nagging ache was getting worse and she simply couldn’t find the energy to push him away. She barely had enough energy to move. His knowing, wicked fingers had somehow made her heavy and sleepy as a cat in a pool of sunlight, and she didn’t think she could make him stop touching her even if she’d wanted to.

But you don’t want him to.

Ella tipped her head back, keeping her eyes tightly closed as his mouth brushed the tops of her thighs, the breath catching in her throat. No, she didn’t want him to stop. The things he was doing to her made her feel scared and excited and hungry all at once, and she wanted to see where those feelings would lead.

His hands nudged her knees even wider, the warmth of his body pressing harder along her legs as he leaned forward. Then his fingers grazed across the front of her panties, a sharp electric pleasure making her gasp.

Oh, this wasn’t what she’d intended when she’d agreed to him undressing her, not at all, and she should definitely be pushing him away. Yet her hands remained where they were on the arms of the chair, gripping tightly to it as his fingers brushed over her again, tracing her sex through the thin cotton.

God, it felt good. So good. It made her want to arch her back, lift her hips, and get him to keep touching her . . . there. Yes, holy shit, right there.

His finger pressed down gently then began a slow up-and-down stroke, and she shifted in her seat, angling her hips to encourage him to touch her where she wanted him to.

“So impatient.” His breath whispered across her achingly sensitive flesh, not warm now but cool, making her realize that the fabric of her panties must be wet. “Be still, Little Red. I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Dimly, she wondered if she should feel embarrassed, but then that faded as he increased the pressure of his finger, circling her clit before giving a long, lazy stroke down the length of her sex then back up again.

A helpless sigh escaped her, everything beginning to fade away. All her fears and anxieties, all her anger, all her loneliness. She’d never thought she would ever let him touch her like this and yet that’s exactly what she was doing. And not only that, she wanted more.

As if he’d read her mind, he hooked one finger in the fabric of her panties and pulled the crotch aside, exposing her wet flesh, tearing an instinctive sound of protest from her.

“Hush,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over her thighs again. “Hush now.” Then she felt him lean forward even more, his hands settling on her hips and holding her steady as his mouth moved between her legs.

She gasped, stiffening as a wave of heat rolled over her. What on earth? She’d gone from a simple kiss to sitting in the chair with her thighs spread, and his mouth was . . . was . . . God . . .

What the hell are you doing?

The thought vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, because he’d found her clit with the tip of his tongue and was slowly circling around it, making her shift and writhe, holding onto the arms of the chair. The pleasure was indescribable. She wanted suddenly to spread her legs even wider, but the chair arms prevented her, and somehow the fact that she couldn’t made the pleasure even more acute, even more agonizing.

“Rafael,” she murmured thickly. “Oh . . . please . . . Rafael . . .”

His fingers eased from her hips and down over the curve of her butt, urging her forward on the chair, and she went with it, trembling as, no longer constrained by the chair arms, he was able to shove his shoulders between her thighs, opening them wider.

Lights flared behind her closed lids as she felt his tongue begin to explore her, slowly and patiently licking every fold, taking his time. She began to shiver, feeling warm, thick silk beneath her fingers and she realized she’d let go of the chair and had buried her hands in his hair, and was currently holding on for dear life.

Her breathing was loud, which would have bothered her if she’d been coherent, but she wasn’t. Because then he slipped his hands beneath her thighs, lifting one leg up and over his shoulder before doing the same with the other, making her have to lean back further and angle her hips. And then his tongue was pushing inside her, going deep, and she moaned, her fingers gripping onto him.

The world narrowed completely to the nagging ache between her legs. An ache that gathered tighter and tighter with every lash of his tongue, and soon she’d lost herself to the sensation utterly, squirming and shifting in his grip, searching for the release that she somehow knew he was withholding from her.

He was so very deliberate. So very controlled. Sliding his tongue inside her before coming back to circle her clit, over and over, every movement designed to push her close to the edge and yet not enough to make her go over.

It was maddening.

“Please . . . oh please . . .” she sobbed, twisting yet again as his tongue made another maddening pass. “I need . . . please . . . I can’t . . .”

He ignored her, pushing her pleasure to almost unbearable levels. And just when she didn’t think she could stand it anymore, he carefully closed his lips around her clit and sucked.

Stars exploded behind her closed lids, pleasure like the world ending overwhelming her, making her open her mouth to scream. But his hand was there, covering it, muffling the desperate sounds of her release, as the world did, indeed, end.

And a new one began.