When he looked up, his eyes locked on her face. He stroked his chin, and shook his head in appreciation.

“I could get used to this,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice turning her to liquid as he stalked over to her, up the six steps, then cupped her cheeks in his big strong hands. “You. In my house. In my clothes. Here for me.”

She melted as sparks raced over her skin. “All for you.”

Neither one of them said another word as he looked at her as if he were inhaling her, as if the very sight of her was oxygen in his lungs. Electricity charged through her under his gaze. She wanted him to eat her up, to taste her, to touch her all over. Everywhere—this man needed to be everywhere on her body, in her body, in her heart, in her mind.

She reached for the collar on his shirt, gripping it hard. At some point they were going to kiss, they were going to crash into each other, but now the moment was heady with silence, drenched in anticipation of them coming together.

She stepped backwards, clutching his shirt. He followed, matching her until the back of her knees hit his couch.

Then it happened. Like fireworks, an explosion at the end of the Fourth of July, loud and powerful, that rang in your ears and lit up the sky. Everything became a frenzy of heat and vibrant color as he touched her. Before she knew it, the buttons on her shirt—his shirt—had scattered to the hardwood floor as he tore it off her. His shirt was gone next, pants unbuttoned, yanked down to his knees, then off. Like a leopard, he sprang fast, heated and fevered too, and before she knew it she was naked on her back on his couch, her legs up on his shoulders as he held her down hard with his big body. His arms, like steel, held her thighs in place as he entered her in one mind-blowing thrust. She was pinned, deliciously pinned, by this position. She couldn’t move her legs, but her hands were free to touch his beautiful face, and she reveled in the chance to stroke his five o’clock shadow, to map his features with her fingers, to draw her thumbprint over his jaw that she loved.

Loved.

He moved in her, fucking her the way he kissed her, deep and consuming, in a claiming of her body. He was owning her, marking her, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, clutching her tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He took her hard and he took her slow at the same time. She felt him in her bones, on her skin, down to her very cells. He was inside her, he was outside her, he surrounded her. A symphony of sensations flooded every vein, and soon it became impossible to tell where one note ended and the next began. She could no longer distinguish between her body and her heart; they were one and the same, swallowed whole with longing for him. She and Clay had smashed into each other, atoms and particles colliding, combusting into this never-ending bliss.

“Do you think this will ever stop?” she whispered in between breaths.

“Wanting you like this?”

“Yes,” she said, inhaling sharply as she held his face, never taking her eyes off his.

“No,” he said, his voice ragged. “Because of how I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

“I am obsessed,” he said, raw and heated, his words touching down in her soul. “Utterly obsessed.”

“The same,” she whispered, barely able to form complete sentences, but not needing to. He took possession of her mouth, his lips devouring hers as he rocked deeper into her. He kept her restrained with his body, his arms, his cock, his lips, his tongue, his power, his control that he desperately needed to balance his obsession. She felt it all too, every ounce of him, of his desire and his need for her. Giving herself to him, she let him take her how he had to, because when he did, he brought them both over the edge.

She grasped his neck harder, holding on tight as pleasure ricocheted through her body, and the world spun so far into ecstasy that she never wanted to return.

Eventually she came back to earth, and he reached for her, nuzzling her neck, kissing her cheek, unable to keep his lips off of her. A kiss on her shoulder, another at the hollow of her throat. He stopped kissing her to trace her arm, holding her gaze as he did. “I want that every day. I want you every day,” he said, his voice rumbling over her skin, drugging her with its sexy warmth.

“Me too. So much,” she said, still high on him, them, the moments that had stitched together into bliss. Maybe that’s why she felt bold enough to say the next thing. “It was different this time, Clay,” she murmured.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Maybe more connected. This is going to sound crazy, and you know I don’t talk this way. But it felt deeper. Like we were the same,” she said, a flush creeping over her cheeks as she opened her heart to him more and more every time. But she wanted him in now. She didn’t want an arm’s-length Clay anymore. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. Do you know why it felt deeper?”

“Why?” she whispered, and the moment felt suspended, like they were on a bridge, holding hands, about to jump into the water below.

“Because there aren’t secrets anymore between us,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, softly, oh so softly that she melted into his touch. “Because we’re in this together.”

“That’s all I want. To be together with you,” she said, the warm rush of falling blotting out everything else in the universe. Surely, nothing existed beyond these four walls. The city had disappeared and they were all that was left.

“No more lies. No more secrets. Only the truth,” he said, his voice strong and steady.

“Only the truth,” she repeated, and nothing had ever felt more true than this moment. “Like this. How I feel for you is like nothing I’ve ever had before.”

“Me neither. I can’t get close enough to you, Julia,” he said, linking his fingers through hers, and that gesture, so tender and loving, was like stripping off a final layer. “I can’t have enough of you. I want more of you. All the time.”

“You can have all of me,” she said, watching the reaction in his eyes. As if she’d given him all he ever needed with those words.

“You’re all I want,” he said, and it felt like a promise of what they might have together.

“What will you do with me after tomorrow night, once I have all this free time?” she asked, shifting from the intensity of their admissions to something a touch more playful, like they’d always been together. They’d had that from the start, from their very first night. She loved that they had so many sides.

“I figured you’d have your fill of poker, and be ready to move onto bridge. Strip bridge,” he added, raising an eyebrow.

“We could try canasta, even. Or if you really want to go wild,” she said, punctuating her words with a quick trip of her finger down his strong arm, “we could do Go Fish.”

He pretended to fan out several cards in his hands. “Julia, do you happen to have any sevens?” he teased, as if they were playing the kids’ game.

She mimed handing over a pair. “I’ll miss my lucky sevens,” she said with a pout.

“We’ll make new luck. Because I know what we’re going to do with all your free nights.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to take you to Vegas. Play for fun. We’ll play blackjack.”

“I’d love to go to Vegas with you.”

“You can meet my brother. We’ll go to Brent’s comedy club, then I’m going to take you to one of those late-night clubs in the Bellagio, where it’s dark and smoky and the music is low, and you’ll dance with me.”

“You dance?”

“Gorgeous, with you and me, dancing would be foreplay. I’d have you grinding against me on the dance floor,” he said, flipping her around so her back aligned with his chest.

She wiggled her rear against him in demonstration. “Like that?”

“Yeah, keep practicing that,” he said, low and husky in her ear.