My breathing is fast, shallow. I squirm, silently begging him to slide his slick, oiled hand between my legs. But he is deliberate in his torment and does not take the hint. Instead, he bends low, brushing his lips against my ear and softly telling me to turn over.

I do, then force myself not to arch up in pleasure and longing as he gently but firmly rubs the oil over my breasts, then down my abdomen to stroke lazily over my pubis.

“I like that you’re waxed,” he says. “I like seeing your skin. Seeing you flush. Seeing how aroused and swollen you are. I bet you feel slick on my tongue. And now,” he adds as he slides his oil-slick hand between my legs, “I bet you taste like coconut.”

“Why don’t you find out?” I ask, my words little more than breaths.

“Maybe I will,” he says, then moves to the end of the chaise, roughly thrusts my legs apart, and buries his mouth between my legs, his tongue thrusting deep inside me.

The shift from slow and lazy to hard and wild is so unexpected that I arch up in surprise, lost in the swell of pleasure that is growing deeper and wilder within me.

“Yes,” I murmur, squirming against him, wanting him deeper in me, sucking me off, taking me all the way. “Yes, Hunter, oh, damn, yes.”

But then, just as I am about to explode, he draws away, leaving a soft trail of kisses descending down my inner thigh.

“No,” I protest. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to stop, kitten. I intend to have you every way I can, and then some. Sit up now,” he orders, and when I comply, he peels off his clothes.

I watch, mesmerized as he steps out of the briefs that are straining to hold in his erection. He is long and thick and perfect, and I lick my lips out of reflex. He notices and raises a brow. “Interesting,” he says. “Do you want to suck my cock.”

My own sex clenches with desire at those bold, simple words. “Yes,” I say, imagining the feel of him, the taste of him. Imagining even more the way his body would tighten and tremble, done in by my power to take him to the edge.

“Good,” he says. “But I have other plans at the moment.” He sits on the edge of the chaise. “Come here. Now turn around,” he says when I arrive facing him. I turn, and in my peripheral vision, I see him reach down and grab a condom packet. He rolls it on, then takes my hips and eases me backward.

“Knees on the chaise,” he says. “Kneel over me.”

I glance backward, then do as he says. It’s awkward getting on the chaise, then straddling him. But his hands are firm at my hips, and once I’m over him, I feel the head of his cock thrusting against me, and I wriggle, wanting him inside me.

“Go ahead,” Ryan says. “Take me. Take all of me.”

I reach between us and guide his cock into me, then I lower myself. He feels incredible, and I rise and fall, levering with my knees, up and down on his shaft. He is thick inside me, and the pleasure of this position is only enhanced when he lets go of one hip and slides his hand around to play with my clit.

Tremors run though my body, and I rock faster and faster. My hands go to my breasts, and then, when he takes his hand away from my clit, I cry out in protest, because I so desperately want to come with him.

“It’s okay. Touch yourself,” he says, and as he speaks, I feel his finger stroke me from behind, teasing my ass even as my finger plays with my clit and his cock fills me.

I am overwhelmed. I am nothing but pleasure and sensation and raw, wild need.

“Hunter,” I cry, as I piston faster against him, as the pressure builds inside me, as I feel him tremble deep, deep within. “Hunter.” I scream his name, and as I do, the world explodes around us and he empties himself inside me.

I collapse back against him, and he pulls me tight, his hands cupping my breasts, stroking and soothing. “That’s it, kitten. God, yes, that was perfect.”

We sit that way for a moment, and then he slowly lowers us both, our bodies still connected, to the chaise. I am breathing hard, feeling decadent and satisfied and wanton. He is gently kissing my back, my shoulders, and I think that for this moment, I have found heaven.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, just as I am about to drift off to sleep. Instantly, I am awake again.

“No?”

“Oh, no,” he says. “I have plans for you. For that cunt. For that mouth.” He pulls out, semi-soft now, and rolls over to face me. “But only if you want more. I could have you all day and all night, so if you want to stop, you need to be the one to tell me.”

“No,” I whisper. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t ever stop.”

“You’re staying in the guest suite?”

I nod.

“Go there. Wait for me.”

I do, padding barefoot and naked to the room that is my home whenever I stay in this house. I have never been uncomfortable in this room, but I am now. I don’t know where to sit or what to do. I don’t know how he wants me. I only know that I want to please him because I do not want this to end.

I feel wilder than I have ever felt with any man, and I want to go further with him than I have with any man. That makes me vulnerable, and that’s not something that I’m used to.

With Hunter, though, I like it.

Finally, I lay on the bed. I want him to see how much I need him. How turned on I am. I spread my legs and slide my hand over my sex. Then I close my eyes and imagine it is him.

“Now that is a pretty picture,” he says when he enters the room only minutes later. He is still naked, but now he has a length of cord coiled around his shoulder. In his hand, he holds a single glass of wine.

I try not to look at the cord—try not to think about how he said he would tie me up. Not because it scares me but because it excites me.

He takes a sip, then offers the glass to me. I drink, too, the act of sharing the wine wonderfully intimate.

I draw a breath, and my eyes slide toward the cord. Despite everything I’ve done—and I’ve done a lot—I’ve never actually had a guy tie me down before. Nikki would say it’s because I’m usually the one going after them—getting my kicks and blowing off steam—and that means that I need to be in control. Honestly, she’d probably be right.

With Ryan, though … well, with Ryan, I like the idea of him taking charge. I like it a lot.

I lick my lips, and hope I don’t look too eager. “So,” I say.

His smile is slow and lazy and wonderfully sexy. “So,” he repeats.

“Are you going to tie me to the bed now?”

“Not exactly,” he says with a kind of sensual mischief that creates a tug deep down in my belly. He nods to the bed. “Kneel for me.”

I glance at the rope, then at the bed. Then I do as he asks. “Is this—I mean, are you—”

“Am I into BDSM? Am I a master? Do I want you to be my sub?”

I blink. Well. Now that he put it that way… “Um, yeah. I mean, are you? Do you?”

His smile is a little bit amused, a little bit smug. “I like being in control, kitten. I like giving pleasure, and I like receiving it. I like taking a woman as far as she can go. As far as I’m concerned, anything goes between two consenting adults. I don’t give a fuck about labels. But yes, Jamie, I want to tie you up. I want to see you bound. I want to make you mine. So tell me now—do you want that, too?”