It feels like the first time.

It doesn’t belong to the stage, to Maxine, or to the media. It’s not a kiss for a phone camera. It’s not a kiss requested by my agent. No one is taking a selfie to prove this kiss exists.

This kiss is ours, and as my lips crush hers, she melts under me. We sink into this, lips, tongue, teeth. Heat, hands, arms.

I lean back into the soft couch cushions and bring her closer, kissing her the whole time. She loops her hands in my hair, sliding her fingers through the strands.

We kiss as if this is what we’ve wanted all along. A private kiss. My hands cup her cheeks, and I hold her face as my kisses do the talking.

It’s you.

You’re what I want.

Stay.

Part of me should be shocked that these thoughts trip through my brain. But then, I’m not surprised at all. My head’s always been in the game with her. My heart has tried to get in on the action from the start.

From the moment she kissed me on stage at the auction, it felt right. Now, as we kiss on my couch, tongues tangling and lips sliding, our kiss feels inevitable. I tug her closer, craving more of her taste. She presses against me, her chest to mine, her legs sliding around my thighs so she’s straddling me.

I curl my hands through her hair, loving the way the soft strands spill over my fingers. As I slide my tongue inside her lips, she whimpers. It’s so fucking arousing. I kiss her deeper. Her taste goes to my head, short-circuits my brain.

The sounds she makes are killing me—little murmurs, sighs, and needy gasps. I want to swallow them whole, give her everything she needs. Heat pulls deep in my groin.

With a rough hold on my hair, she yanks me closer and kisses me so hard the world sizzles into a white-hot blur. Then she bites down, her teeth scraping my lip, and I groan.

My Violet has a rough side. And I like her rough. She lets go of my hair, slides her hands up my chest, and curls them over my pecs through my button-down shirt. She presses hard, like a stop sign.

Her breath comes in harsh pants. “What are we doing?”

“Kissing like crazy.”

“I know,” she says on a sigh, her breath fluttering over my face. Her eyes are hazy, as if she’s drunk on this kiss. Drunk on me. But she needs something, too. Reassurance? Confirmation?

“What do you want, Vi?”

I watch her, tracking every move. She swallows, breathes out, and brings her hand to her hair. She brushes it from her cheek, looks down then back up. Her eyes pin me. “I need to know something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want me?”

“Are you kidding me?” I scoff, grinding up against her. It’s unmistakable how much I want her.

“I know. But do you want me?”

“God, yes.” I brush the backs of my fingers across her soft cheek. “You have no idea. How can you think I don’t?”

“I just need to know it’s me, and not because I’m a warm body.”

“Give me more credit than that.”

She covers her face with her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to know . . .”

I peel her hand off her face and make her look at me. “That I want you? That I want this gorgeous, funny, sharp, clever woman who keeps me on my toes and takes no shit from me?”

She smiles. “Yes.”

I press a soft kiss to her lips. “It’s you.”

She curls her hands over my shoulders, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

That feels like the heart of the matter. She’s afraid, and I hear it in her voice. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

She nods and bites her lip as if she’s holding something in. Her worry curls around my heart, charges through my body. Wanting her is simply a fact in my universe. It’s gravity. It’s the moon spinning around Earth. I’m barely thinking of our history, of all the ways our lives overlap. I’m only thinking of the next few minutes, and how good I can make her feel.

I lift her chin so she looks me in the eyes. “I won’t hurt you. I want to make you feel good.”

“You do make me feel good,” she says, clasping my cheeks in her soft hands. “That’s what’s freaking me out.”

I drop a kiss to her nose then dust my lips across hers in a promise. “Let me make you feel even better.”

She shivers as she ropes her arms around my neck. Her eyes glitter with lust. “What would you do?” Her voice is feather-soft, an invitation.

With her on my lap, looking at me as she plays with the ends of my hair, my entire body hums. I bury my face in her neck, blazing a trail of kisses that makes her squirm as I lick a path to her ear then back to her lips, whispering against them, “I want to kiss you . . . everywhere.”

That last word hums between us. It slips back and forth between our mouths. With my lips, I press everywhere into hers, and she kisses it back to me.

“Everywhere,” she repeats, her mouth sliding over mine. Her voice is raspy; the word sounds as if she’s been hypnotized by it. It sounds like a prayer.

“Will you let me?” I ask, my fingers straying down her body to the hem of her shirt.

She sits up straight. “What about you? Your vow of chastity?”

“The way I see it, if I keep it in my pants, I can still touch you without breaking the vow.”

Her eyes drift to my crotch. “I can’t touch you?”

I shake my head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Cooper.”

“Violet.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look, I want to be totally blunt—my dick isn’t coming out to play. But what part of I want to kiss you everywhere involves my dick? None of it. The things I want to do to you, I want to do with my tongue and my lips. Will you let me?”

She inhales sharply. “Will I let you? How is that even a question?”

“You still haven’t answered me,” I say, as she slips off my lap and scoots backward along the couch, moving her head toward the armrest. I slide her along the rest of the way, laying her flat across the cushions, setting a pillow under her head. I straddle her, my palms by her shoulders. I raise an eyebrow. “Do we have a yes, Violet?”

“Are you really going to do this to me? And I can’t touch you?”

“Do you want to touch me?” I ask, dragging my hard length between her legs. She’s so warm already, and I can feel the heat of her arousal through our clothes.

She answers with a lift of her hips against me. She loops her arms around my neck. “I do want to touch you.”

I bring my mouth to the hollow of her throat. I lick her there, drawing her taste into my mouth, then kiss along her neck, sucking on her jaw until her body arches into me again and again, begging me.

“Another time for me. Let me touch you,” I whisper.

“Yes. God, yes. Please.”

We stop talking about getting hurt, and who’s touching who, and what any of this means once I unbutton her jeans. I tug them down her hips, and each inch is a revelation—of flesh, of curves, of femininity.

“My God, it gets better and better.” Her purple panties are tiny, with illustrations of zebras on them. They’re unbearably sexy and ridiculously adorable at the same time. Like her. I love a good pair of black lace underwear, but I love these because she’s not trying too hard. She is sexy, and she is sweet because she wears purple panties with zebras.

“Victoria’s Secret has some damn cute panties,” she says.

I place my hands together in prayer. “Please God, I’ve been a good boy. Let me help pick next time you go shopping.”

“Let’s see how good you can be,” she says, a naughty glint in her amber eyes.

“Challenge accepted.”

I peel her jeans down the rest of the way, savoring the view of her bare legs. She kicks off the jeans, and as I drag my gaze along her long, lush frame, my hands tremble. I want to do right by her. I want to worship her and make her feel adored.

As I crawl back up her body, my hands trail along her legs, tracing a path up the soft flesh. She shudders in the wake of my touch then gasps when I drag a finger across the damp panel of her panties. My cock is thick and begging to come out. But that’s not in the cards. Tonight is for her pleasure and hers alone.

“Can I convince you to take this shirt off?” I say tugging on the end of her jersey.

She gives me a saucy look. “Doesn’t it turn you on to see me in your number?”

I rise onto my knees and drag a hand over the bulge in my jeans. “Yes. Fucking immensely. But you know what else turns me on?”

“What?”

“Tits. Specifically, your tits. And I want to taste them and suck on them before I kiss my way down your body and settle between your legs, where I plan on introducing you to my tongue. And my tongue is very much looking forward to making your pussy’s acquaintance.”

She laughs. “My God, when did you become so dirty? Wait. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know.”

I wiggle an eyebrow. “You don’t like this side of me?”

She reaches for the bottom of her shirt, tugs it off, then grabs her tight tank top and shucks that off, too. She’s down to a pink bra and purple panties, and I’m about ready to burst. I’m so turned on, wanting her so much. I ache everywhere.

“I love this side of you, actually,” she says, as she reaches her arms behind her and unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor.

The heavens part. Angels sing. Her tits are glorious. Perfect teardrops, rosy nipples tipped up, asking to be licked.

“There is a god,” I murmur as I lean in to suck on a nipple.

“Cooper,” she says, starting my name like an admonishment then turning it into a long, low moan of pleasure. “Cooper.”

“You have world-class tits,” I say when I come up for air, palming those beauties. “They’re fucking astonishing.”

“You’ve been checking them out?”

“I have been an admirer of your breasts for a long, long time. They’re my happy zone.”

She smiles and laughs. “Play with them, then.”

“If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake up.”

I’m a devoted aficionado of racks, and honestly, I could spend an entire day, hell, a week, staring at breasts. I’ve often lamented the lack of paid jobs in this area, and in my future utopian society, this sort of ogling work will indeed warrant financial compensation. For now, I’ll gladly accept a volunteer assignment gazing at these beauties.

I lavish praise on her gorgeous globes with my tongue. “So sexy,” I murmur as I lick. “So delicious.” I pinch her nipples. “So perfect.” She writhes under me, moaning and groaning and grabbing my head in the valley of her tits. She’s as turned on from this as I am.

I move down her body, drop my head between her legs and kiss her sweetness through the panel of her panties. I can taste her arousal through the cotton. I can feel it on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t think you can wait, either.”

She rocks her hips up into me. “Cooper,” she begs.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take them off.”

I close my eyes for a second, letting the sheer sexiness of those three words imprint on me. When I open my eyes, I peel her panties to her ankles, and she helps kick them off. There’s something intensely erotic about the way she moves. How she lifts her hips so I can tug her clothes down, making it easier for me to undress her. Like she trusts me. It’s such a small thing, but it says we’re in this together.

I see it in her eyes, too, as I slide my hands up her legs and gaze at her face. Her golden-brown eyes are trained on me—wide and guileless. At one point, she licks her lips, flicking the tip of her tongue over them. I reach her inner thighs, parting them, absolutely in lust with the view of her glorious pussy. One brunette landing strip and the rest is smooth. And there, right there, is where I want to be.

She glistens. My throat burns as my hands inch closer. The sight of her arousal, all silky and wet, is so ridiculously enticing.

I lower my face to her legs and kiss the inside of her thigh. She quivers. I kiss the other thigh. She shudders. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” she murmurs.

I slide my tongue close, so close, right along the edge of her pussy, teasing her. “This?”

“God, no,” she says, lifting her hips, seeking me.

“I told you I won’t hurt you.”

“I know. I didn’t mean like that.”

“I know what you mean.” I press the gentlest kiss to her clit. She draws a sharp breath. “But I want to show you I’ll do the opposite.”

“Show me.”

I skim my hands under her thighs and wrap my arms around them, my shoulders settling between. “Open your legs more for me.”

She spreads wider, and I’m in heaven at the first taste.

She’s so slick and wet, from the way we kiss, how we talk, how we touch. I explore all that sweetness with my tongue, lapping her up, flicking the tip against the delicious rise of her clit. She grabs my hair, clutching it like a lifeline, holding on so damn hard.

And then I bury my face between her legs, licking and sucking and kissing. Devouring.

She’s mostly quiet at first, and I register that she’s a soft moaner. I grin wickedly. Because now I know this private detail. Violet is a moaner, and I love that. It’s like I’ve been given the secret keys to her body. I have the code, and I’m unlocking her. She’s a rocker, too, because soon she rocks into my face, holding my hair like a pair of goddamn reins. I fucking love her abandon. I love how hot and wet she is, how good she tastes, how her noises turn to feral groans when I bring my mouth to her clit and suck hard on that gorgeous little diamond of pleasure.

Her noises turn into something else. My name. “Cooper,” she calls out, and it sounds husky, raspy.

I lick her faster, learning her cues, discovering how she likes it. I bring a finger to her center, sliding across her slickness to see if she wants to fuck my finger, too, and she goes wild as I slide into her, her legs clamping tight around my head like a vise, and I love it. She tugs my hair harder.

“Please,” she whimpers hoarsely, then it turns into a chant, like a plea. Her hands grip harder, she thrusts faster, and my world spins further away from me.

She’s so close, and I’m so turned on. A blast of pleasure ricochets down my body, an overwhelming reminder of how much I want to be buried inside her. I’m practically dry humping the couch, I want her so much. I want to fuck her and kiss and touch her and do everything to her.

But I can’t. So I kiss her pussy that way. So she knows I want it all. I devour her sweetness.

“Coming,” she cries in the faintest voice, and then I grip her ass and drink her as her taste floods my tongue, making me high—higher—on her.

When Violet comes, she detonates. She writhes and pants and screams, and it’s beautiful and primal. She can’t stop saying my name, and it sounds intoxicating on her tongue. “Cooper, oh God, Cooper, oh God, Cooper.”

Yeah, I like this chant. I like it a lot.

I slow my moves, easing her down with a final soft kiss. Then I move away from her sensitive clit and kiss her hip bone, her navel, up to her breasts. She cradles my head between them, lacing her fingers through my hair.

“Cooper, this is my happy zone,” she says softly.

“Mmmm. Me, too.” I look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes are hazy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her expression is one I want to remember forever—my woman, thoroughly satisfied. “Can I do that again?”

“You better,” she says playfully.

“How about now?”

She gives me a look like I can’t be serious. “Now?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Please,” she says her voice beautifully desperate, then she pushes me down her body. That move right there, her hands shoving me back to her sweetness, is my new favorite part of the night, as she makes it patently clear where she wants me.

I return to her, and I kiss her once more, going slower, taking my time, learning how she likes it when she’s already had it once. I work her up to a second time, kissing, licking, building, gliding, until she flies off the edge once more, thanks to my fingers and my mouth and my dirty desire to taste her pleasure all over again.

Afterward, I scoot next to her on the couch and wrap an arm around her. She sighs and snuggles against me, her naked body pressed to my clothed one. “You’re like a limp noodle,” I murmur, loving her post-orgasmic state of bliss.

“My noodleness is all your fault,” she teases.

I move her hair off her neck and press a gentle kiss to her soft skin. Another sweet sigh is my reward. The lights of the tree are flashing blue and white against the window when “Wrecking Ball” begins, and I groan.

“C’mon, karaoke king. Sing it with me,” she says.

“You know how I feel about Miley.”

“But this song. It’s so epic. Just the chorus at least?”

And seriously, with her naked in my arms, how can I not do her bidding?

A little later, she gathers her clothes as if she’s going to leave. I furrow my brow. “What’s this?”

“Don’t you want me to go?”

I sit up straight. “Um, no.”

“You don’t?”

“Seriously? Why on earth would I want you to go?”

“Because . . .” She flaps her arms, as if she’s gesturing to us and what’s happening.

“Because . . . you can’t fly home? Are you trying to fly, Violet?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I just figured . . .”

“That I’m a playboy who’ll kick you out,” I say, and grab her waist and tackle her.

She laughs.

“You forgot I can tackle,” I say, tugging her under me on the couch. “I don’t just throw. I can tackle, and pin you, and keep you.”

“Yeah?”

With her under me, I stare into her eyes. “Can you stay?”

“You really want me to stay?”

I roll my eyes. “No, I’m lying. Get out.”

She tries to swat me, but I pin her arm. “Cooper.”

“Stay. Just stay.”

“Why do you want me to?”

“I want you to sleep next to me. Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Okay, I get it, but I don’t have my sleep shirt. I don’t want to break the routine, and I don’t want to sleep in something I wore all day, especially since it’s kind of dirty after you hugged me.”

“You say all this like I don’t have a perfect solution to that problem.”

Thirty minutes later, she’s in my bed, wearing nothing but one of my jerseys. Honestly, if there’s a sexier sight than her in my bed wearing my number, I won’t believe it.