Taking a shuddering deep breath at his accurate assessment of what I kept so hidden, I held my hand against Austin’s on my cheek. Finding courage from somewhere deep within, I confessed, “I need you…”

Austin seemed to stop moving… stop breathing… and he whispered back, “I need you too.”

Taking the tattooed fingers on his tattooed hand, I began to lower it to my chest… to my br**sts, never breaking eye contact and trying my best to push down the thumping threat of the voice’s reprise at the back of my mind. When Austin’s hand cupped my left breast, over my bra, I lowered my head and pressed my forehead to his. I skirted my shaking hand down over his drying shirt, under the hem at the bottom, until my hand was flat to the ripped, scalding skin.

“Austin, I don’t think you understand my meaning… Not only do I need you… but… I need you…”

I watched the Adam’s apple in Austin’s throat bounce with his hard swallow, and I implored my meaning to his with my overtly serious gaze.

“I need you… to be with me…” This time the intensity of his stare unnerved me.

Taking me by surprise, Austin abruptly sat up, gently took hold of my hips, and laid me down flat to the pillows below me, crawling over my prone body.

Austin’s torso lowered to meet mine, and his lips brushed down my cheek until they rested weightlessly against my mouth, but he didn’t move to kiss me. “I really f**kin’ need you too, Pix. Christ, I do.”

Relief washed through my body like a rapid white torrent, a welcomed submergence into water, as though I’d been baptized, reborn, revived from my cage of insecurity to openly embrace the boy to which I was freely sacrificing my heart.

Austin’s lips suddenly met mine, and the slow and sensual kiss that followed melted all my fears. Austin’s lips were as soft as a gossamer feather as they moved against mine, such a contrast to his hard and intimidating looks. His tongue probed the entrance of my mouth and slipped inside to meet mine. I boldly gripped the bulging muscles of his back, relishing the long groan that ripped from his throat as his hard length pressed between my legs.

The kiss grew deeper, and the longer it lasted, the more furious our movements became. Austin pinned me beneath him, his fingers clawing through my hair, and clutching the hem of his shirt, I began wrenching it up his back, the warming air in the summerhouse clinging to Austin’s moist skin.

Breaking from my mouth on a gasp, Austin panted hard and met my eyes with his dusky stare. I could see he was making sure I was okay, and seeing that I was, he sat back on his haunches and ripped his shirt over his head, his bare, colorfully tattooed torso on show for me to devour.

Lifting my hand, I ran my fingers, down the feathered wings of the dove on his throat, down his sternum, down the large Italian cross on his chest, and over the intricate scripts of calligraphic writings over his tight-packed abs and lower stomach. His olive skin was bronzed, the contours of his toned physique highlighted by the burning orange of the flames—gorgeous.

“Pix, you’re kinda killing me right now,” Austin said in a broken and graveled voice as my index finger slipped along the waistband of his jeans, his stomach tensing and contracting in response.

Austin’s eyes lazily grazed over my body, but this time I didn’t feel shame like I thought I would. Instead, I moved my hand to the button on the top of his zipper and threaded it through the hole, snapping it undone.

Austin’s head fell back on a hiss as my finger brushed against his hard tip and, falling forward, he smashed his lips against mine once more, using his thick thigh to pry my legs apart, lying in between, and commenced to rock against me… there.

“Austin…” I moaned loudly, and my back arched off the floor.

“Fuck, Pix,” Austin said through gritted teeth. “I need to be in you… need to feel you…”

Then Austin’s words really hit home, and I felt as though a huge bucket of iced water was injected into my veins.

Austin immediately noticed the change in my mood and, lifting himself on his arms, glanced down at me in trepidation.

“Pix? You okay?” He was still out of breath, a flushed erotic tinge to his beautiful Latin skin.

Skirting lower down my body and stroking the back of his hand down my face, he whispered, “Tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me, Pix. You’re f**kin’ unnerving me.”

Unable to face him, I focused on the comforting fleur-de-lys on his neck and awkwardly admitted, “I’m real concerned I’ll react badly to your touch.”