She can’t possibly understand everything I mean by the stating of her name. In that post-orgasmic state, while the whooshing is still in my ears and my legs are still numb, I hope that one day she will understand. That she’ll know how much she means to me, how much she’s changing me. How much more I’m willing to change for her.

We’re both still panting when she says, “Can we do that again?”

Does she even have to ask? Of course we can do it again. I make a show of telling her, though, looking at my watch before I respond. “You have to be at work at one? I think we can manage to do that again twice.”

I take her mouth again, not trying to start things up, but rather to cool me down. Her lips are swollen, and my kiss is tender. When my heart rate resumes a normal speed, I break away.

After leading her to the couch, I start toward the kitchen. “Water or iced tea?” I call over my shoulder.

“Water, please.”

I grab a bottle and take a long swallow before returning to her. She’s curled up in the corner of the sofa, hugging her knees. I hate that she still hides her nakedness from me, but it’s adorable at the same time. As if she can actually hide anything from me.

I hand her the bottle. She nods a thank you as she takes it, her forehead wrinkled as if she’s thinking. She has a sip then asks. “Could you really do that? Go again twice?”

“What do you think?” I could go all night with her. She’s the first woman that I can say that about. I can never get enough of Alayna.

Her brown eyes flash with sass. “I think you’d like to think you can.”

My eyes narrow. “You don’t have to challenge me to get me to prove it, precious.” I’m semi-hard already.

“Oh, really?” Her eyes dart to my c**k and it grows harder under her gaze.

I take the bottle from her hand and set it on the coffee table before I pounce on top of her. She squeals but easily obeys when I urge her to stretch out her body beneath mine.

“Be careful who you’re playing with, Alayna.” I nip at her jawline. “I assure you, I’m the one who will come out of this on top.”

I prove it by pinning her hands above her head while I kiss her senseless. Her h*ps wriggle to meet mine, but I keep my pelvis slightly off of hers, taunting her. Just as I’m about to get swept away with my teasing, I back off. There’s something I need to ask her, and I can’t wait any longer for the answer. “Why did you decide to resume this?”

It takes her a minute to understand my question. “The sex?” She blushes, moving her eyes from mine. “Well, besides the obvious reason—”

“Which is?”

“It’s fun.” Her blush deepens.

“Yes, you’re right. Quite obvious.” And quite fun. It’s her other answer I’m interested in, though. “And…?”

Now she meets my gaze, her dark browns penetrating me with their transparency, with their honesty. “And I trust you,” she says.

My throat goes dry and my heart feels like it’s dropped to my stomach. It’s not what I expected her to say in a million years, though what had I expected her to say? That she’d jumped back into bed with me because I’d bullied her? Because she couldn’t resist me? Because she was in love with me?

Most anything she could have said would have had its own repercussions to face, but any other answer would have been easier to take than this one.

It suddenly seems like there isn’t enough air, and I have to sit up. I gently maneuver her legs so I have a place to sit. And then, because I’m a masochist and I have to hear it all, I say, “Go on.”

“Well…” She curls her knees again as she thinks, but doesn’t use them to hide her br**sts like she did before. She’s more comfortable—quite ironic considering how uncomfortable I feel at the moment. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice.

“You said you were different now,” she says finally. “Different with me. And I realized that it doesn’t matter if it’s crazy or stupid to believe it. Because I believe it anyway. I believe you. I trust you. About this, I trust you.”

Again, she hits me with those piercing browns, and I feel like someone who’s standing before a judge waiting for his sentencing. It will either be freedom or execution, but the strange thing is that the verdict will be decided by me. By how I choose to respond to her frankness.

I already know what decision I’ll make, even before weighing my options.

There are so many reasons she shouldn’t trust me, of course, and not the least of which is that I’m currently lying and scamming her. This is a perfect opportunity to confess, and if I were decent at all, I would, even though it would certainly be the death of me.

But it’s not what I choose. Because in a very real way, I’ve been more honest with her than anyone in my entire life. Even with Celia, I smothered any emotion that ever began to creep into being. With Alayna, I’m letting that go, letting feelings slip into my existence. It’s changing me into someone who can be trusted. She’s changing me into someone who deserves those words—I trust you.

It moves me—her words, her presence, my transformation. It robs me of speech.

So I pull her into my lap and take up telling her in the way I know best—with my body. With our physical connection that transcends any connection I’ve had with another human being. I kiss her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw. Then, as my mouth travels along her neckline, I trail my hands down her sides, memorizing the lines of her ribs with my fingertips, gliding the slope of her h*ps with my palms.

I speak to her like this. My gestures in place of words. I’m learning for you, I say when I lick the rise of her shoulder. Your trust gives me a reason, I say as I tug her nipple to a peak. Don’t give up on me, I say as I slide my hand between her thighs to rub at her clit. I feel for you, as I lift her up and settle her on my cock.

Though I know nothing of love, I make love to her. Wholly. Completely. Undeniably.

She steadies herself with her hands on my shoulders as I buck into her and glide out. She’s warm and tight, and my crown knocks against her in a place that makes her writhe and makes my c**k grow harder. She’s on top, but I control all the movement—the tempo, the force of my thrusts, the depth of my drive. It’s a love song that I sing to her, the way I hold her and kiss her and send her to a state of ecstasy, her breathy gasps the underscore. I make sure she comes—twice, even—before I grip my fingers into her h*ps and chase my own orgasm, reaching it when I least expect it with a sudden burst of euphoria.