I want to say it. I want him to know it. I gulp back the words I want—need—to say, but he waits for them. Like he’s waited for them in the past.

I’m ready. I’m so ready and frightened, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s the one, the only one, for me. My hands on his delicious, warm skin say it first. My lips brush his muscles, saying it next.

“Kenna . . .”

He groans. He seems to know. “Say it, Pandora. Say it like you mean it.”

My chest rises and falls as he brushes his thumbs over the crests of my breasts so my nipples poke him. My panting breaths come faster and faster. “If I say it, promise to say it back immediately,” I plead.

“I make no guarantees,” he teases as he pinches and tweaks my nipples, and the movements cause my pussy to contract with wanton little ripples.

“Kenna,” I groan, gripping the back of his head, pulling him to me. “I love you.”

I kiss him, pulling his lips to mine, and suddenly I don’t need him to say it.

I need for me to say it . . . and say it . . . and say it. Say it until he asks me to shut up.

I need to say it for all the times I didn’t.

“I love you.” I slide my hands around his shoulders, up to his head, angling my mouth to take his lips again. A shudder rocks his lean, powerful body. “I love you,” I whisper, both seductively and tenderly, fingers stroking down his back, gripping his ass, then one hand comes around to stroke his erection.

He groans. God, I love when he groans. The huskiness in his voice. “Yeah, Pink, show me. Show me you want me. Tell me you want me. How you love wanting me.”

“I love what you do to me, how I want you,” I murmur, rasping my lips against the stubble of his jaw before I nibble his lips again.

I feel him stiffen when I stroke my fist up his length. “Argh, baby,” he growls, sounding pained and yet instinctively rocking himself deeper into my hand. “You’re a fucking little tease, aren’t you?” He rams a hand between my legs and slides the middle finger between my pussy lips. “A sweet, hot, horny little tease who just wants to be fingered like this.”

He eases his finger inside me, and whatever I was going to reply comes out as a moan. I part my thighs wider. “Oh, yes, Mackenna, please me. Please me like only you can.”

His lips curl against my temple, and he presses into me again. “Talk dirty to me,” he whispers. “Tell me what you’re thinking. What you want.”

“I’m thinking your cock is much thicker. And longer. And . . . better . . . than your finger. Though your finger is nice . . .”

“Nice?” He rubs it deeper inside me.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, like that . . . please.”

His lips curl higher against my temple. He inserts a second finger inside me, and it feels just right—just right—as he nibbles my lower lip. “Do you like it when I do that?”

“I do,” I gasp.

He groans. “Pandora?”

“Yeah?”

“I fucking love you, Pink.” He watches my reaction with a sexy smile, then he brings that sexy mouth to mine. A mere brush sets me off. And then he covers my mouth with his as I feel it. Fireworks. Exploding in my body as his finger eases into me again and his tongue penetrates my mouth. Yes, please. So hungry.

He knows I’m coming, because he parts my lips with gentle pressure and sinuously slips his tongue inside, still rubbing his finger inside me.

I twist my head and whimper. “Ahh, Kenna . . . Kenna!”

His mouth smothers my sounds and he slides two fingers, three, into me, until I feel impaled, possessed, pinned, taken. His mouth is just as fierce over mine. I feel like he is gorging on my soul, and I want him to gorge it even more.

When the contractions cease, I lie panting on the bed. The moonlight illuminates me head to toe, nothing covering me anymore. I say nothing as I look at him, all glorious and manly; I only chew on my lower lip, anxious to be kissed again as his eyes rove up and down my body.

“What are you waiting for?” I gasp.

“What’s the rush?” He smirks. “We have all night.” His hand starts at my ankle, and then he drags it with painstaking slowness and expert precision up the side of my body, up my hips, curving up my waist, my rib cage, to cover one puckered breast.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I cry out.

He ignores my cry, still looking at me with a glint that tells me he likes driving me out of my mind. He lowers his face and kisses my nipple. Draws it into his mouth. I cry out softly and arch upward, crippled with pleasure.

“Oh, God, please . . . again.” I hook my legs at the small of his back, twine my arms around his neck, and catch my breath.

He pulls back, then pushes inside. I’m trembling the second he’s seated inside me, and he grabs my hair in his fist and starts pumping like mad.

“You’re so tight.”

“Ooooh!”

Cursing, he holds me down and starts thrusting, and I gasp at the intensity of our lovemaking, our breaths, our gasps, his growls, “Say it, gorgeous girl. Say it to me again.” My sex feels greedy and sensitive as he drags in and out, my muscles clenching around him once again. Another orgasm is building. I bite my lip and toss my head, and when he pinches my nipples, I explode, feeling him tense and come so powerfully. I have never, ever seen him come like this before.

“I love you,” I breathe, panting.

He groans out, “Love you too.”