Sensing my hesitation, Noah reaches out to lace his fingers through mine. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a buzzkill there. I just meant that . . . well, I’m glad to see you happy again.”

Holding my gaze, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles with a smile, just like he did on the day I first agreed to date him. That fateful meeting wasn’t even three months ago, but it feels like a lifetime—maybe because I’ve become a different person. Whoever could have thought that our relationship would blossom like this? If someone had told me then that I’d fall ass over teakettle in love with Noah Tate, I might have slapped them. I’d have been scandalized.

In a huskier tone, Noah adds, “Speaking of having fun . . . Come here, beautiful.”

The heat in his dark eyes chases all other thoughts out of my head. “Okay, but I want to try something new tonight.”

His interest deepens. “Oh?”

I reach out to grasp his necktie. His breathing quickens as I undo the knot and slip the long ribbon of wine-red silk from his shirt collar.

“I want you to blindfold me,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn a little pink despite myself. I’ll have to get used to talking about stuff like this if I’m going to be married to a sex god.

His eyes widen, in disbelief as well as excitement. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you.”

And I want to show him that I trust him. I’m not nearly as good with words as he is, but with this act—putting my body and my pleasure squarely into his hands—I know my meaning will come through, more strongly than just telling him that I forgive him.

When Noah kisses me, hard and deep and so heartfelt, it makes my eyes sting with happy tears. It’s clear that he understands.

We’re both a little breathless by the time he pulls back. Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. Once we’re in the bedroom, he turns again to face me, still holding my hand.

“Let me undress you,” he says, his voice already a little husky.

Swallowing hard, I nod.

With a slowness that seems part reverence and part just teasing me with anticipation, he strips me out of my office clothes. First my blouse, button by button, then my skirt, unzipped and slid down my legs. He kisses me as he reaches around my back to unclasp my bra. My panties are the last to go.

Finally, I stand naked before him. Tonight, with Noah, I can take a break from being a high-powered executive. Right now I’m just Olivia—a woman ready and waiting for her husband’s touch.

He nudges me back to lie down on the bed, then sits beside me and knots his necktie around my head to cover my eyes. All I can see is a thin sliver of light at the bottom of my makeshift blindfold. I feel the bed dip as he kneels over me, bracing himself on his hands so that our only point of contact is the occasional brush of his cotton dress slacks on my legs.

For a moment, there’s only the faint hush of our breathing. Then Noah’s mouth ghosts over the shell of my ear and I sigh aloud.

He starts kissing down my body, taking his time with every sensitive area as if he’s savoring my taste. Not being able to predict his movements makes every touch a delightful surprise. Not being able to watch him work is a different kind of sweet torture—I wish I could see his full lips on my skin, his eyes lit up with fiery desire.

I make up for it with my hands. I bury my fingers in his messy hair, enjoying its texture and the way his breath hitches whenever I tug a little too hard in my excitement. I stroke his shoulders and back just to feel his skin and the firm muscles moving under it. I want to learn every inch of him. Maybe we should do this again sometime, but with him wearing the blindfold . . .

Teeth scrape gently over the spot on my neck that always turns my knees to jelly. Soft, full lips brush my collarbone, my upper chest, then the very top of my breast, inching lower, lower. My stomach flutters with eagerness. His touch is traveling down so slowly, I feel like I might explode from sheer anticipation. Jesus, is he planning on keeping up this pace all night?

Heat throbs straight to my clit when he finally seals his mouth over one nipple, licking and sucking hard, pinching and rolling my other nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Noah,” I say on a moan, pleading. My hips lift in rhythm with the writhing of his tongue. I’m so wet already; I can feel the slickness between my legs every time I squirm. And if I raise my knee, I can feel him too, a steel bar straining against the zipper of his dress slacks. I rub my knee against his hardness and smirk when I hear a groan.

“Tonight’s supposed to be about you.” He sounds a lot more turned on than annoyed.

I reach out and hear him suck in his breath when my fingers close around his erection. “But this is for me, isn’t it? So, what’s the problem?”

“Naughty girl,” he growls. “Do I have to stop and tie you up? Or can you be good?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know about good, but I’ll be patient, if that’s what you want.” For at least a little longer, anyway. I don’t know how much more of this teasing I can take.

“But I’m not going to stop touching my husband’s big, sexy cock, so don’t even ask.” I grin, unable to help myself.

He kisses the smile right off my lips. “You can touch me anywhere you want, after you come for me.”

After? I like the sound of that . . . but damn, how long will I have to wait?

Without more dialogue on the subject, he switches breasts—his fingers slipping and sliding over the nipple he was licking before, his lips and tongue and teeth almost too intense on the one that his fingers pinched into turgid stiffness. Then he resumes his journey south. My belly jumps ticklishly with every kiss.