A pair of eyes held Lennon’s as he stood near the exit of the first stage of Georgia’s mystery plan for the day: the grocery store.

And they weren’t Georgia’s.

As she paid for the groceries they’d picked out together—something that annoyed the crap out of him but couldn’t be helped, given that he hadn’t thought to grab his wallet from the counter—a little girl eyed him from the other side of a display barrel crammed full of papaya. Her eyes squinted as she studied him. He knew what she was trying to figure out. Where was his arm? It was a question he asked himself daily when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

And he also questioned why he was looking straight at her. Eye contact hadn’t been his thing. It was all Georgia’s fault he was changing. Maybe it was because there was an honesty in her gaze, as if he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out rather than pity.

A woman he assumed was the young girl’s mom grabbed her by the arm and hurried out of the store, but until the door closed, her eyes never left his.

You have to work at this harder than you ever played those drums of yours. You have to fight for this as much you fought for that.

He replayed Georgia’s words. Because somehow what she’d said had gotten deep into his chest cavity, where the words bounced around like brilliantly colored words on fucking Sesame Street.

He remembered those early days when he’d realized learning the drums had two uses. First, they would give him somewhere to redirect his anger. Second, they would give him a family. But he knew the rest of the boys in Preload would walk away without looking back if he wasn’t talented enough quickly enough.

So, he’d fought. He’d fought his demons, those that told him he’d never be good enough.

“Okay,” Georgia said putting the handles of two bags into his hand. “Those too heavy for you?”

As much as he wanted them to be okay, Lennon had to bite back a wince. They weren’t heavy. Well, not overly. But it was enough to have his arm tense to take the weight, which pulled on his shoulder, which pulled across his chest and tugged uncomfortably down his stump. Motherfucker. Frustration raced through him. As a drummer, he should have thought about the interconnectivity of his upper body.

“Totally fine,” he said. The lie tripped easily off his tongue. He’d been telling people he was fine for years. Nobody ever doubted him.

But Georgia didn’t move. She eyed him cautiously, took in his body posture, looked down his arm to the bags, and took one of them from him. “Don’t lie to me, Lennon,” she warned, squinting at him as if it helped her see straight through him. She took in a breath, straightened her own shoulders, and set off to the exit.

Nobody ever saw through him.

Ever.

Yet she had. And the world hadn’t come crashing in around his head.

“Are you coming?” she asked. “Because we really need to get on with this day of doing nothing.”

Lennon barked out a laugh that made some of the other shoppers turn and stare. “How can a day of doing nothing need getting on with? The whole point of it is to do nothing. Therefore, you can’t just get on with it.”

Georgia rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. But these cookies aren’t going to bake themselves.”

He leaned forward, unable to resist her pout, and brushed his lips across hers. “We’re baking cookies?”

She shrugged. “It felt like a do-nothing kind of thing to do.”

“Do you know how to make cookies?”

“Nope. But Martha Stewart does, and we’re going to follow her instructions like our lives depend on it.”

Using his elbow, he opened the grocery store door for her. It pissed him off that he had the bag in his hand and couldn’t hold her hand, or more bags, as they walked the block back to their building. In fact, he had a list of things pissing him off. Opening cans, for one. Having to sit down in the shower so he could wash his armpit with his knee being another. He wondered if waterproof prosthetics were a thing.

The lobby of their building was elegant, brightly colored abstract oil paintings adorned the ivory-colored walls, but his eyes remained focused on Georgia as she greeted the doorman and petted a dog that quite frankly looked like a toupee on legs, then asked the concierge whether somebody named Mr. Beving was feeling better. She had an easy way about her. She genuinely liked people, and from what he could tell, they liked her.

Once inside the building, Georgia used a key card in the elevator that took them to her floor. The doors opened to what he realized was her private entrance. A large gold star that looked remarkably like a compass was inlaid in the white marble floor. “Holy shit, Gia. Is all this yours?” he said, turning in a circle at the opulence of the wood-paneled hallway.

Georgia grinned. “It was my grandparents’. My grandfather left it to me. The building is called the Anastacia Building after my great-a-few-times grandmother. My family built this.” She tapped the star on the floor with her foot. “The Starrs were one of the first major property developers in New York in the mid-eighteen hundreds.”

A large chest with more than a dozen drawers that looked older than Methuselah stood against the wall. On it was a large contemporary glass sculpture, all reds and oranges as if it were on fire. Lennon walked up to it, his fingers itching to touch it. He swore it would be hot.

“Brilliant, isn’t it? It’s by an Irish artist, Maggie Concannon. My grandfather loved her work and collected several pieces. I swear I see something different every time I look at it.” There was something wistful about the way Georgia spoke, like she didn’t spend enough time simply standing here studying it.

“Yeah. It’s stunning,” he said, wondering where he could find more of the artist’s work for Georgia. As a thank you, he reminded himself. For looking out for him.

She let them into the apartment. A large internal staircase ran to the left, but to the right was a huge living room with floor-to-ceiling windows. A baby grand stood just inside the entrance, and two large sofas, each big enough for two people to comfortably sleep on, flanked a large fireplace. The entire wall facing out over the park was glass—windows and doors that led onto a balcony.

Everything was neutral except for the occasional splash of pale pink. A throw blanket here, a silk cushion there, an orchid on a side table.

“Home sweet home,” she said as she placed the bags on a cream-colored suede bench that sat in front of a silver mirror. “Give me your coat.”

Lennon shrugged out of the jacket, freeing his arm first, then his stump. He’d learned with hoodies that if he did it the other way around, the garment inevitably ended up on the floor. Then, partly because he was a gentleman, and partly because he wanted another chance to touch her again, he assisted her with removing her own.

His heart stuttered as he caught sight of the two of them in the mirror. Her dark hair against his blond, her curve against his muscle. Even as opposite as they were, they matched, and it squeezed his chest. Everything about her, including her home, was perfect.

He watched her as she hung their jackets in the closet. Even if she could see past his damaged exterior, past his—fuck, the word “disability” sat heavy on his tongue—she hadn’t come anywhere close to knowing who he really was.

Nobody had ever wanted him for who he was. Why would she when she had so many better options?

She turned in his arms and rose up onto her toes. “I like having you in my place,” she said quietly.

It was impossible to resist her sweet lips or perfect smile. He placed his hand on her cheek as he leaned in and kissed her. The moment their lips met, his heart raced. In the lyrics of The Killers, “it was only a kiss”—but hell, he couldn’t explain how it felt like a fucking tsunami. Her hands slipped around his waist and slipped into his back pocket as he tugged her closer.

“I like being in your place,” he murmured. He slipped his hand to her sweater so he could brush his fingers along the soft skin above the waistband of her jeans.

“I thought we had cookies to make,” she said.

Lennon stole another kiss. “I kinda liked what we were doing,” he said honestly.

Georgia smiled, which lit up her entire face. “Me too. But I really want those chocolate chip cookies.”

* * *

Being so close to a man who she really wanted to take her up against the kitchen counter was difficult, in a cross - your - legs - and - ignore - the - ache kind of way. Yes, it was shallow that she found him so physically attractive. But she was also attracted to his sense of humor, his one-liners, and the way he’d look at her out of the corner of his eye, a slight curl to his lip that made her shiver.

Plus, somewhere along the way, he’d made her forget about the folders in her briefcase and the e-mails on her computer.

“So, what are we going to watch?” Lennon asked as she rolled a ball of cookie dough in her hands. The instructions hadn’t asked for it, but it seemed neater, more organized to do it that way. He took it from her and placed it on the baking sheet while she rolled another.

“I have a couple of documentaries I’ve been meaning to get around to. One on how controversial the market for healthy eating is, and another on how devastating the latest opioid crisis is.”

Lennon laughed. “No. No documentaries. Nothing that makes your brain work. We need straight-up escapism on this little break of ours.”

“Oh my God, please don’t tell me you want to watch one of those awful bingey series on HBO or Netflix.”

Lennon stuck his finger into the bowl, scooped up some of the dough, and popped it into his mouth. “That sounds pretty judgmental of you there, Doc.”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “There is a reason people don’t have time for their lives. You know, I read somewhere that people don’t realize how those TV hours add up. Like if you’d watched every episode of Law and Order, Supernatural, and Grey’s Anatomy, it’s over a thousand hours of TV.”

He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her to him. “And what is wrong with that?”

“Well, if you believe Malcolm Gladwell’s theory that it takes ten thousand hours to become an expert at something, wouldn’t you rather be ten percent along the way to being an expert pianist, or surgeon, or economist than an expert in monster hunting or the characters of a fake hospital?”

Lennon kissed her gently. “Every hour of your life doesn’t have to be work or self-improvement, Gia. What would it matter if you spent those hours happy, cat or dog by your feet, curled up on the sofa next to someone who meant everything?”

She wanted to argue that people could be using all those hours to volunteer at hospitals that badly needed them, but the image he’d painted had felt so peaceful and it irritated her that it did. “I hate cats,” she said, pulling away to roll a final ball of dough. “And fine, we’ll watch one of your shows.”

“Thank you, and done,” Lennon said as he placed the final cookie on the baking sheet. “How long until they’re ready?”

She threw him an oven mitt, which he caught. “Eight to ten minutes according to this recipe, which makes me nervous.” She pulled the oven door open, and Lennon slid the large tray inside. She closed the door and moved to her phone to set a timer.

Lennon carefully pulled her hair over her shoulder, then slid his arm around her waist. His lips grazed her neck. “Why does it make you nervous?”

Georgia tilted her head to the left to give him more room to work his magic. “There’s a twenty-five percent difference between eight and ten. That’s a lot of variation.”

“You’re thinking about it all wrong.” Lennon kissed his way down along her shoulder.

“I am?” she replied, embarrassed by how breathy her voice sounded.

“In fact, I’m hoping it goes the full ten so I can do some more of this.”

He tugged her to him, her back flush with his chest and the growing erection in his jeans. Gently, his hand crept under her sweater, skimming along her stomach and up to her bra. He squeezed her and rubbed his thumb over her nipple, causing her knees to shake and her breath to catch as he kissed the side of her neck.

It felt like only two minutes had passed when the buzzer sounded, and unfortunately for both of them, the cookies were ready at eight minutes. It had been a long time since she’d simply made out or maybe allowed someone to advance a base or two.

Lennon groaned as he let her go, and she grinned as she pulled the cookies out of the oven and plated them.

“Red wine doesn’t exactly go with chocolate chip cookies,” Georgia said a few minutes later as she placed the plate and two empty wine glasses on the coffee table in between the sofas.

Lennon frowned at her as he placed the wine bottle down on the side table, but the light in his eyes said it was in jest. “Says who? Show me the rule book.” He tugged on her arm and pulled her to him, then wrapped his arm around her. She wondered if he realized he’d begun to hold her with his other arm too, if he realized how even more fulfilling his hugs were and how wonderful it was to feel closed in his embrace.

“You’re right. There isn’t one,” she said, running her fingers through his long stubble, which was a day away from becoming a beard.

“So, can we start doing nothing now that the baking is finished?” He leaned forward and nibbled the lobe of her ear. It was the kind of move he’d been making all day, and it had left her feeling . . . horny. Such a juvenile word. Something a fourteen-year-old boy felt when he watched the cheerleaders practice in their short skirts. Not that there was anything remotely juvenile about how aroused she felt. She gave a brief thought to how long it had been since his surgery. She didn’t want to hurt him after all, but she was more than willing to see where he wanted to take things.

“Nothing sounds good to me,” she said as she tilted her head to the left to give him better access. He trailed his tongue up the side of her neck, then stepped away, a grin on her face.

His hand slid underneath her sweater and pushed the hem up. “I want this off though,” he said. “You look cute as fuck in it, but hugging you in it is like hugging a baby alpaca.”

Georgia stifled a giggle. She’d dated, been in relationships even, but because of her career choices, nothing had ever really stuck. Not one of the men she’d known could hold a candle to her rough-around-the-edges rock star. “What if I get cold?” she asked before she helped him tug it over her head.

Lennon looked down at her pale gray cami and the straps of her pretty white lace bra. “If you’re not hot, Gia, I’m doing something wrong.” He ran his finger underneath the strap, and she shivered as he slid his hand down her arm. “Come lie down with me.” Lennon grabbed the TV remote control and lay down on the sofa first, then gestured for her to join him.

She’d never been more relieved about her decision to buy extra-wide sofas. Her mother had called them gauche, but for that matter her mother hated most of the renovations Georgia had undertaken. Removing walls to open the space was gauche, and her contemporary decorating style was “naff”, a word she’d picked up from an English passenger who’d sat next to her on a first-class Virgin flight from New York to London that apparently meant “unpalatable” or “lame.” But as she lowered herself down now and felt Lennon’s arm wrap over her, she really didn’t give a shit. To her, it was the best place to be in the world.

Lennon hissed, then fidgeted. He turned onto his back then returned to his side before repeating the process. “Fuck!”

Quickly, Georgia sat upright. “What can we do to make you comfortable?’ It was pointless pretending she didn’t know what was going on when it was clear from the strain etched in lines across his brow that the two of them lying side by side was painful.

“Fuck if I know. This is totally not how I imagined this afternoon going.” He rubbed his hand across his stubble, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She thought about it for a moment. “Wait here,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Like I was planning on going anywhere,” she heard him shout as she hurried down the hallway to her bedroom. It made her smile. He was mercurial and curmudgeonly, and she actually liked being around him. She enjoyed his company deep down in her bones.

She gathered the pillows from her bed and carried them to the living room.

“We’ll get you comfortable,” she said. “Then we’ll get me comfortable with you. And if we can’t, there is a perfectly good sofa over there that I can lie on.”

“That wasn’t the point of do-nothing day,” Lennon huffed as he sat up.

“Ironically, doing nothing would also imply doing nothing of a remotely . . . sexual nature.” Georgia carefully packed the pillows behind him to give him lots of support.

“Not in my world it doesn’t.” When Lennon leaned back, he threaded his hand through the hair at the back of her neck, his thumb tracing lines along her cheekbone. “This might have been the best idea you’ve had today,” he said before touching his lips to hers. “So, where are you going to go?”

She grinned at him. “Open your legs.”

Lennon smiled back. “Is this going to get kinky?”

“We’ll see,” she replied as she went to the foot of the couch and crawled toward him.

“Is it crass of me to say your tits look fucking amazing in that tank?” His eyes were hooded as he studied her.

“Not crass at all. Comments about the comeliness of my boobs is always appreciated.” Lennon raised one knee and Georgia settled between his legs, her head on his chest. She’d figured that resting a little distance away from his shoulder would be more comfortable for him.

The moment she was settled, Lennon began to run his fingers through her hair, the gentle touch soothing. “It’s not quite playing with those comely tits of yours, but this is nice,” he said. “Real nice,” he added quietly on a sigh.

“Yeah,” she said, shivers running down her spine every time his strong fingers touched her scalp. “So, what are we watching?”

“Figured we’d start season one, episode one, of Sons of Anarchy,” he replied.

As the opening credits began to play, Lennon’s hand began to wander further afield. Along the side of her face, down her jaw. He brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck to his soft touch.

Georgia breathed deeply, savoring the way she was encased between his firm thighs, the way her chest pressed against his, which was slowly rising and falling. Suddenly very aware of the effect he was having on her, she moved slightly, pressing her knees together.

His hand slid from her neck to her shoulder, drawing circles on the back of her arm before he returned the stroke gently behind her ear. The titles to the show played softly in the background, but all Georgia could hear were the birds on the balcony outside the condo and the beating of Lennon’s heart, loud and strong in his chest.

The man was vital. Alive. And every day she found something new about him that she liked. This restful, peaceful, sexily lazy man was driving her crazy.

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “You know,” he said quietly, his breath warm on her skin, “moments like this I can almost imagine that it’s all going to be okay.”

His words stirred her, especially when she thought about what he’d said to her in the bus about letting him go.

She turned her face to meet his gaze. His eyes focused on her, not on the roar of the motorbike that blared from the television. His stare was heated as he slipped one of her fingers into his mouth and teased it gently, swirling his tongue around it, savoring her like she was as delicious and sweet as the cookies they’d just baked.

Goddamn, the guy was getting hard beneath her.

Turning between his legs, she made her way to her knees and moved her hands to either side of his chest. He wanted her, and she was determined to find a way for the two of them to be together, to progress their relationship in the way they both desperately needed.

His hand threaded through her hair again, gripping a handful and pulling her down to meet his lips. The move caused her stomach to tighten in anticipation. Displays of dominance had never really been her thing, but nothing had ever felt as satisfying as this moment right here and now. She smiled at the thought that the two things were connected.

“Got a thought you want to share?” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips.

For a moment, she closed the gap between them, savoring the way the two of them came together every time. If the simple meeting of lips could make her feel like this, how in heaven’s name would they survive what happened next?

“I was just thinking,” she said as she trailed kisses along his jaw, “that it shouldn’t turn me on when you grip my hair and pull me to you like this, but it does. And that this probably explains my underwhelming previous sexual experiences, as I’ve always dated nice guys.”

She shifted her grip to the neck of his T-shirt, tugging it out of the way so she could taste his skin, lick her way along the taut muscles in his neck, along the line of his clavicle. “Oh, and that I’m contemplating giving you a blow job. You know. If you feel up to it.”

“You want to know what I was thinking?” he asked gruffly. She could feel his stomach muscles tighten beneath her chest, could feel the way his dick was now pressing into her stomach, hard and long.

Georgia stopped her progress, taking her weight on both arms so she could look down at him. “What’s that?” she asked, surprised at just how breathy her voice sounded.

“How good it’s going to feel tugging on that hair of yours when you are sucking my cock.”

Holy shit. The idea had heat gathering between her thighs as she felt the wetness start to pool in her underwear. As if on reflex, she licked her lips, and Lennon followed the slow progress of her tongue. Words failed her, her mouth suddenly drier than Phoenix in August.

“Good to know you’re down with that plan,” Lennon said with a wink as he crushed his lips to hers.

* * *

Fuck. He wanted her. No, needed her. Needed her on him, needed to be in her. Something. Anything that would bring them closer.

He’d watched her as they’d made cookies. Who knew it could be sexy as fuck to watch her slender fingers measure out cups of flour with a precision that was wholly unnecessary? His cock had twitched at the sight of her firm ass every time she’d bent down to get something out of the cupboards or drawers. When they’d worked side by side, scooping out the cookie batter before rolling it into balls and placing them on the baking sheet, her breasts had occasionally rubbed against his arm, making it impossible to focus on her one-rounded-tablespoon requirements as he considered hoisting her onto the counter to fuck her senseless.

Or make love to her.

Which seemed so incredibly . . . necessary.

And wanted.

And now she was here. Enclosed in his grasp. Pressing up against his cock in a way that might have him coming in his jeans. Her lips were on his in a kiss that took them beyond the early flirtatious kisses into a most definite need for ownership.

Which was so fucking primal it was stupid.

But he did want her. All of her. All to himself.

As he pressed his tongue into her mouth, as he savored the sweet fucking taste of her, he wanted her to be his. To pretend that she was his everything, and that he was hers.

That the two of them were a possibility that had hope.

“Lennon,” Georgia half-whispered, half-moaned against his mouth.

The soft words drew him out of his own head.

He couldn’t disappear inside himself like he always did.

While normally doing so protected him, he knew that the reverse—opening up to her, giving her everything—was the only way to save himself.

Reluctantly he let go of her hair, desperate to slide off the tight tank that had teased him mercilessly. He shook off the thought that having two hands would have made the task a whole lot easier. “Help me,” he said.

Georgia moved to her knees and whipped the top off, throwing it onto the sofa across from them. Without him having to ask, she unfastened the sexy-as-fuck white lace bra and slipped the straps over her shoulders and tossed it to join the tank.

Jesus Christ. Her tits were perfect. Soft and round, not high and fake. Her deep pink nipples matched the lip that was currently clamped between her teeth and were taut and firm. He slid his hand along her ribs and cupped her right breast, allowing his thumb to brush lazily around the tip.

“You’re beautiful, Gia,” he said. Yeah, reverence filled his tone. But she deserved to know just how he saw her. He knew he’d been gruff and unpredictable and wished he was better able to manage his moods, but when it came to her, she was like the break of sun on a rain-filled day.

She cupped her other breast with her hand, and he watched as she tugged gently on her own nipple. There was a beauty to the contrast between their hands as they both played with her breasts.

“I want to take your top off,” she said, gasping as he tugged a little harder. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”

He lifted a little off the pillows, and the two of them made light work of his black Henley. It joined her growing pile of clothes.

They both groaned as she lay down against him.

You can’t hold her.

You can’t hug her.

You can’t play with both breasts at the same time.

Your bandage looks fucking ugly.

You are less.

“Stop,” Georgia said softly. “I see you when you go inside yourself, Lennon. I feel it as truly as if you physically stepped away from me.” She began to kiss her way down his torso, licking and biting his nipple as she moved. “Stay in this moment with me, Lennon,” she encouraged, her words heartfelt, soft. “Don’t go somewhere I can’t join you.”

The jolt her quiet words gave him was akin to how he’d imagined the surge of electricity from the paddles of the defibrillator he’d required during surgery had felt. She needed something from him. Something he could give her.

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I can’t explain why I go places. But I’m very much here, with you.” The words weren’t the hottest he’d ever uttered to a woman, but fuck, they took him to a place of connection he’d never really allowed himself to go. It fucking terrified him. She had the power to undo him and didn’t even know it.

Her eyes met his, the stare potent. They undressed him as they always did, and not in the physical sense. She saw straight through him. No, straight into him. Nervously, he met her there.

Georgia nodded once. “Good,” she said as her hands made their way to the button of his jeans and popped it open.

Fuck, those fingers of hers so close to his cock threatened to be his undoing. But he wanted to feel her too. He reached for her jeans and matched her achingly slow movements, lowering the zipper. He gasped as her fingers wrapped themselves around his cock. She moaned as his fingers slipped past the waistband of her underwear and reached her drenched folds.

“Fuck, Gia,” he said. He didn’t know what to focus on. The way she ground against him, his finger slipping inside her wetness as she clenched him tight. Or the way he knew he was leaking pre-cum like a fucking teenage wet dream as she worked him up and down with her hand.

“Lennon,” she gasped, reaching for his wrist and wrapping her hand tightly around it. She held him exactly where she wanted him as she took what she needed.

It was fucking hot, and in appreciation he slid another finger inside her. But it was the way those dark eyes were fixed on his, the way her cheeks were stained pink, that squeezed his heart.

His breath caught in his chest as he watched her move. It was slow and steady with a heady undertone of desperation to let go.

“Do it, Gia. Take whatever you need from me to get off,” he encouraged, feeling his balls tighten as she squeezed her hand around his dick in a rhythm that matched her own.

“Lennon,” she gasped, her eyes going wide as she tightened around him, her moves frantic as she wrung out the rest of her orgasm.

He couldn’t say why the sight of her coming on his fingers reached so far down inside him that he’d never be the same again, but he felt it as surely as he felt her wet warmth around him.

She flopped down onto his chest without giving him a chance to move his arm. It was intimate to be still with her that way, his fingers still inside her. But he wanted to wrap his arm around her, hold her until her breathing returned to normal. Gently, he slid his fingers out of her and brought them to his lips. She tasted sweet, and he couldn’t wait for the moment when she let him go down on her to see just how much more pleasure he could wring from her with his mouth.

As the lift and fall of her shoulders slowed, he ran his hand up and down the gentle curve of her spine. For the first time in his life, he was content to lie there in the quiet rather than chase his own end.

But then her mouth began to move against his skin, small kisses at first until her tongue began to trace circles around his nipple. He resisted the urge to wind her hair around his fingers and gently ease her down his body. Instead he placed his hand behind his head and watched her confident movements. She gently used her teeth against his skin in a move that made him flinch yet made him want her to do it all over again. Her hand slid along the ridges of his ribs and along his abs, the actions gentle, reverent even. For the first time in his life, he felt somebody appreciate him and his body for what they were.

Tentatively, her fingers lowered his jeans over his hips, and he clenched his stomach at the way they tickled against his sensitive skin. As he did, Georgia looked up at him and grinned. The little minx knew what she was doing and was determined to drive him crazy.

“Georgia,” he warned, but she returned her focus to her actions.

When her fingers gripped his cock, he groaned. Goddamn it felt good. He’d never made eye contact during sex—couldn’t—but he wanted her to look at him, wanted to see that look in her eyes that would tell him she felt what was happening between them.

And she did, a mere moment before she opened that fucking perfect mouth of hers so she could run the tip of her tongue around his leaking, desperate cock. Watching her taste him, savor him, with a look that promised him so much more had him harder than he felt was possible.

Every time his abs tightened, it pulled across his shoulders and tugged at his arm, but he wouldn’t change a single fucking thing. He gripped his own hair as he battled the need to hold her exactly where she was and thrust into that soft, warm welcome.

Instead he watched as she licked across his slit, watched as she tasted what he so wanted to give her. Watched as she opened her mouth wide to embrace him, sucking him deep.

“Fuck, Gia,” he groaned, unable to stop the lifting of his hips. He wanted more, needed more. But for once in his life, he wanted to take things slow. He wanted to get to know everything about the woman who looked up at him as she let his cock slide out of her mouth, only to lower her eyes and take him again.

Lips tightened around him as she sucked, the sensation driving him crazy

Unable to stop himself, he placed his hand against her cheek. Georgia let him slide out of her mouth but added her hand, moving up and down slowly as she turned and kissed his palm.

“You taste so good,” she whispered quietly, and he stared at her, unable to put words to feelings. They were stuck. Again. He was going to say something stupid. His chest tightened as a wave of panic washed over him. It was too close, too intimate, so in the moment with her that he felt terror. A cold sweat broke out over his skin.

“It’s okay,” she added. “Let me make this good for you.”

That should be his line. He should be taking care of her. He was the guy, the rock star. He wanted to be her fucking hero, and here he was falling apart because she’d taken his dick in her mouth.

His throat tightened.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t be here.

He needed anonymous.

He needed unconnected.

He needed . . .

“Fuck,” he groaned, as she lowered her mouth over him again. This time tighter, harder, faster.

Her cheeks hollowed as his heartbeat triple time. Her tongue ran up his length as his hand tightened on the back of her neck. Her hair tickled his thighs as his balls tightened.

“Gia,” he urged, “unless you want me to come in that sweet mouth of yours, I’m gonna need you to move.” He slid his hand over hers to encourage her to squeeze him tightly.

She popped him out of her mouth and brought her eyes to his as she continued to slide her hand up and down his length.

And as he came, his hot semen splashing his stomach and chest, he stared into the eyes of the first woman he’d ever fallen for.