Major had been expecting an invitation to come inside. I’d seen that on his face, and when I told him good night and left him on the doorstep, he was shocked. I wasn’t trying to punish him or play hard to get. I simply didn’t want more tonight. The food had been delicious, and the evening had been perfectly planned.

Still, I wasn’t ready to move to that next step. I wanted our kisses to mean more. For my toes to curl and my heart to race. I wanted to fear what came next but want it all the same.

I wanted what I’d tasted with Gannon. He’d ruined me. He’d shown me something that was unattainable. Was expecting it from someone else even fair? He’d been a fraud. He was going to be a father and had done to some other girl exactly what he’d done to me, but he was leaving her pregnant and alone.

Gannon was not part of a fairy tale. But I was afraid he’d set a bar so high no one would ever touch it again. I had to let his memory go and accept reality. The one where a guy took me to a private garden I loved and served me all my favorite foods. That was my reality, and although his kisses didn’t make me dizzy with need, they were real. That was my last thought as I drifted off to sleep.

The darkness covered me, and although I couldn’t see him there, I felt him, smelled him. My body reacted to him. I should be terrified or at least concerned, but I felt no fear. My heart leaped at the thought of seeing him, of feeling him close to me. An ache I recognized began to build, and I reached for him in the thickness of the night.

“Shhh,” a deep voice replied, and I stilled. I’d do whatever he told me to do. Just so he wouldn’t leave me. Knowing all I did about him, I still wanted him in my dreams. It was safe to have him here. To hold him close to me. To inhale his scent, which I craved so deeply it was a part of me.

“Please,” I whimpered when he didn’t move in closer.

“You miss me?” he asked, in a whisper that was meant to strike fear yet only brought anticipation for what was to come.

“Yes,” I replied honestly. There was no reason to lie in a dream. I could be honest with him here. I could be honest with me. No judgment or reality to cloud my choices.

“You kissed him,” he said, in an almost condemning tone. As if he was displeased.

I wanted to remind him that he had no right to stop me. He’d let me go so easily. But I didn’t. I was afraid he’d vanish. “He was thoughtful. He made me feel special. I don’t get that. Ever.” The condemnation in my own tone was just as thick.

One long finger ran slowly from my temple to my chin, and then the fingertip trailed a path down my neck. I arched for him, hungry for any touch he’d give me. No amount of romance compared to the way this man made my body hum. I gravitated toward him with each small touch.

His hand slid over my throat, and he squeezed with a gentle pressure. “He put his lips on what is mine.”

His? I was his? I should be screaming at him that I was no one’s. No man owned me. Yet my body tingled with pleasure, and I shivered. He didn’t tighten his grip or hinder my breathing, but his hand stayed on my throat in an act of control—or was it possession? I liked the idea of both.

Gannon exuded power. It made me want to lean into him and let him take over. Not once in my life had I been able to trust someone to protect me, to please me, to want me. I did with him. Even if he was a fantasy brought on by my desires.

His other hand ran down my chest to the space between my breasts, then over my navel, before reaching my lace panties. I held my breath as my chest began to rise and fall rapidly in anticipation of his hand touching me . . . there.

“You want me. I can smell you,” he whispered, lowering his head to my ear and applying more pressure to my neck, this time making me light-headed before easing up. “Tell me what you want me to touch.”

I reached to move his hand down lower.

“No!” He snarled, taking my wrist and slamming my hand back over my head against the pillow. “Tell. Me,” he demanded. “Where do you want my hand?”

He wanted me to talk dirty. He wouldn’t touch me until I played his game. I’d play whatever game he wanted me to if I could get his hand between my legs. “I want you to touch my pussy,” I replied, feeling my skin grow hot from embarrassment.

He let out a low, deep chuckle and pressed a kiss to my temple. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he told me, then reached down with both hands and jerked my panties down to my ankles. “Open your knees,” he growled.

Before I could get them completely open, his mouth was on me. The roughness of his beard only heightened the need. “Ahhh!” I cried out, as his tongue slid into me, over and over, before circling my clit and diving in once more. The groan from his chest vibrated against me. I buried my hands in his hair and held on to him as my orgasm built to such an extreme that I thought I might stop breathing. My heart might not be strong enough, but I didn’t care. As long as I lost myself with this man’s touch, I’d be happy.

He pulled back, and I whimpered. “You want more?” His tone was teasing yet almost brutal.

“Yes.” I panted, ready to say or do whatever he demanded.

“Is this pussy mine?” he asked.

“Yes,” I agreed without pause.

“Say it.”

Again, he wanted me to play his game. I wanted the beauty only he could bring me. I’d play this game. “My pussy is yours.”

His mouth was instantly back on me, and he licked and tasted me until I was screaming his name, God’s name, and other things I don’t even remember, before the darkness engulfed me once more and I was alone.