He laid the length of his thumb along one edge of her sex and slowly drew the other down the seam, then up. As he brushed her clit, she jolted, grasping his upper arms.

He went still. “You want me to stop?”

“No. It just . . . zapped me.”

“Okay.” He curled forward to kiss her belly through her shirt, hands still frozen. “If anything’s too much, just say.”

“I will.”

He traced both thumbs along her outer folds this time, down and back up. A softer buck answered when he glanced her clit, chased by a sigh.

He smiled to himself. He knew there were men—men like his brother, he bet—who’d find all this waters testing too much work to bother with. Guys who didn’t want to pick the lock, preferring to just go charging through like a battering ram. Casey, however, enjoyed picking locks, both figuratively and literally. Loved a challenge. He loved figuring a woman out, discovering what could melt her nerves away, what could leave her begging for more.

He bet most anybody who hadn’t slept with him would assume he was the battering-ram type, which was fair—he was pretty blunt in most aspects of his life. But in his old line of work, and in bed, he was a perfectionist. An artist, as Emily had called him. He wasn’t jacked like Vince, or freakishly good-looking like Duncan, or any kind of small-town royalty like Miah. He wasn’t even a great person, he suspected, but he was a damn good lover. And he’d stay on his knees all night, taking it stroke by stroke like a painter, if that’s what it would take to figure Abilene out.

“That feels nice,” she whispered. Her eyes were shut, her lips parted.

He took the touch deeper, finding her wet. His breath hitched; his face warmed. His cock ached, dying to get inside her.

“Feels nice to me, too.” Deeper still, until his thumb was slick from her. He rubbed her clit—small circles at first, then lighter flicks. He got his other thumb wet and touched her with both, in tiny symmetrical strokes like parentheses. Her legs tensed and squeezed and a soft moan hummed in her throat.

Bingo.

He gave her exactly that, playing around until he knew how much pressure to use, exactly how slow she liked it. Slow was good—he loved when a woman needed it slow. Seemed like they came for ages when you coaxed it out, instead of a fast and frenzied rush.

Abilene was getting close—he could tell from how stiff her clit was, and how her lips had grown swollen. From the smell of her.

“Can I use my mouth?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He moved back, dropping onto his forearms. He slid one hand under her ass and eased her thigh wider with the other. He took her in with a long greedy breath, and sighed his satisfaction right there against her pussy.

There was a lot to be said for deprivation where sex was concerned, and aside from the odd glance of his nose, he ignored her clit to start. He pressed kisses along her seam, licked her lightly, then deeper. He hadn’t tasted this in far too long. So long she could have been his first, for how exotic it felt.

He gave it to her like that for long minutes, until her fingers were in his hair and her belly was quivering with little gasps. When her legs tensed, he eased them wider. He didn’t hide his own excitement—he moaned as loudly as he dared and let the odd sigh steam her skin.

“Casey.” The hands on his head were growing plaintive or bossy, fingers tugging at his hair.

“What do you need?” He knew but wanted to make her say it.

“Higher,” she murmured.

He had no doubt she was too shy to say “clit” but no matter. Maybe given time, she’d learn to get demanding. Casey liked few things more than getting ordered around in bed, especially by shy girls. He rewarded her with a long, slow lap of his tongue, all the way up and over her clitoris.

She gasped, grip tightening. He gave her another stroke, another, and crept that hand on her thigh up closer, closer. Close enough to run his thumb along her wet lips, then dip inside. Another gasp, and it was all he could do not to free a hand and touch himself. His dick was a screaming frustrated beast.

He closed his lips around her clit, working it with his tongue as he eased two fingers inside her. Was she thinking about what might come next? About his cock? Was she thinking of him at all, or of whatever mysterious fantasies hatched inside women’s heads when they were inching toward orgasm? He didn’t care, as long as he was the one getting her there. He worked his fingers in and out, reminding her of what she hadn’t felt in over a year, teasing himself with what he hadn’t done since last spring. Imagined how sweet it’d feel to sink inside her, right here, and slowly, torturously, edge himself to a body-wringing release.

Her hips told him when he’d found the right speed and pressure—they rolled subtly, seeking his tongue and the thrust, mimicking sex. He wanted to groan, to swear, to tell her how fucking hot she was; he didn’t. He kept up the pleasure until her motions grew sharp and urgent, until her hands trembled, and he let her hear his desire in the moans rising up from his throat, humming against her pussy. He wished he could see her face as he had yesterday when he’d made her come, beautiful and wild and disbelieving.

He got her voice instead, whispering his name. That sound rang through his head as he brought her to orgasm, his hips pumping in time with hers, cock dying to be where his fingers were. As her body stilled, he did the same with his mouth and hand, and sat up. He rubbed her legs, memorizing her expression. The cheek lit by the weak light was pink, and her lids were half shut. She looked dozy and dazed.

“I do good?” he asked.

A smile broke through her stupor. She nodded. “You did real good. You did perfect.”

Better than you’ve ever had it? A question whose answer was none of his business, though he hoped he could guess.

And he hoped for more than that.

He got his legs between hers, and tucked his forearms up against her ribs. Kissed her.

Excitement rolled through him, a fever sizzling in its wake. He kissed her neck, shifted so their bellies and hips pressed tight, so she could feel how bad he needed this. “Being inside you was all I could think about when I was doing that.”

“Me, too.”

Another flash of heat, and he groaned into her skin. His hips were already moving, stroking his cock along her pussy, his shorts dragging against her wetness, so fucking hot. “I can’t wait.”

“Then don’t.”

He pushed up on straight arms and looked to the table, but she already had the condom in hand. As she opened it, Casey got his shorts off, knelt, primed himself with a light stroke—no need. He was as hard as sin, already wet himself. Her gaze took it all in with a hunger he hadn’t seen in those blue eyes before. Made him feel fucking huge.

He took the condom from her and rolled it on. Fuck if that didn’t feel good in itself, after so long. The promise inherent in the cool caress of the latex.

His hand was shaking as he guided himself to her lips, every cell pulsing in time with his thumping heart. He eased into her with a single, slow push.

“Fuck, you feel incredible.” He could only shut his eyes, sink down on his elbows and press his face to her neck. It had been so long since he’d felt this. So long since he’d been invited here. And he’d wanted her for ages. “You’re so warm.”

She tensed. “I’m not . . . I know I’m not as . . . since the baby.”

He cut her off right there, propping himself up to hold her stare, and began to move, easing out, then back in a little deeper. “I’m not thinking about the things you’re not, honey. You’re warm,” he told her again. “And wet. You’re perfect. You’re the best thing I’ve felt in my whole goddamn life.”

She bit her lip, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“And you’re gorgeous. You just tell me if anything doesn’t feel good.”