I gasped and shuddered, sensation eddying out from the spot where his mouth worked on me to every single nerve in my body. I seized his head, fisting his hair. His hands slid under my ass, lifting me higher and holding me in place for him like I was some kind of feast.

“Shaw, please!”

“Tell me, baby.” His lips moved against me and this only made me wilder. I tugged on his hair, trying to bring him back up on top of me. He continued to work my oversensitized flesh with his lips, tongue, and teeth, toying with me. I released a long, keening moan as he eased one finger deep inside me, adding to my torment.

“Tell me,” he demanded, adding a second finger inside me, pushing deeper, hitting a spot that sent me spiraling. His mouth sucked me harder then, only adding to the intensity of my orgasm, making it go on forever.

I was still shaking, pleasure rushing through me when he disappeared from my body.

“Shaw,” I moaned his name, squirming where he left me on the bed, watching him in a daze as he shed his briefs and fumbled with his discarded jeans. I heard a slight crinkle of paper and he was back, settling between my thighs. There was a rip of paper and I knew he had a condom—that he was putting it on.

Still no panic. No urge to jump off the bed and run away. I wanted this. I wanted him. Unbelievable as it all seemed.

Then his mouth was on mine again and I arched up, my tongue parrying with his. The hard length of him slid along my wetness, not penetrating, just teasing against my opening. The friction tantalized me, and I lifted my hips, my breath in shallow pants. “Please. Please,” I begged.

“What, Emerson? What?” His dark eyes glinted down at me. “I won’t. I’m not moving a muscle until you say it. What do you want from me?”

“I want you.” My nails dug into the skin of his back.

“What do you want me to do? Say it.”

“Take me . . . fuck me.” I moistened my lips, something else running through my mind.

And like he knew that, like he could read my mind, his hand cupped my face. His mouth brushed my ear. “I’m going to do that, baby. But what else?” Goose bumps broke out across my skin at the hot fan of his breath against the whorls of my ear. “Say what else I’m going to do to you. You know.”

I knew what he wanted to hear. I remembered what he had promised to do to me.

“Make love to me.” Was that my voice? I didn’t even recognize the low purr. “I want you to make love to me . . .

He pulled back to smile, slow and wicked, at me, and a shiver rushed through me. “All right then.”

I felt him then. The head of him right there, his hardness easing inside me. It was surreal. My fingers clenched his biceps like I was clinging to a lifeline. My wide eyes flitted everywhere, seeing nothing, feeling everything, excited and alarmed at what was happening.

At what was finally happening.

“God, Emerson,” he groaned, dropping his head in the crook of my shoulder, his mouth moving against my sensitive flesh as he added, “You feel so good.”

His hands slid under my back, his fingers curling over my shoulders, anchoring me between his body and the bed, pulling me even closer, if possible.

And then he plunged, pushing deep inside me, tearing through the thin barrier of my virginity, seating himself to the hilt, his fingers tight on my shoulders.

“Oh!” I gasped at the sudden invasion, at the sharp pain. I felt stretched, full in a way I had never imagined possible. My muscles stretched to accommodate him, burning and throbbing around his hard length.

He stiffened over me, his head lifting off my shoulder. “Look at me.” I fixed my gaze on him. He smoothed a lock of hair from my forehead. His dark eyes gleamed with emotion . . . something that looked suspiciously like regret. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shook my head, unable to form words, too busy adjusting to him, processing everything. Like how he actually seemed to grow inside me. How my muscles clenched around him and that shot sensation to every nerve in my body. How could I explain anything at a time like this? Certainly not that I was a fake. A virgin. It was my secret. At least it had been. Now it was neither a secret nor true and I just wanted to move on to the obvious benefits of not being a virgin any longer.

I wiggled, testing out the feel of him in me.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Baby, don’t. When you do that, I just . . . don’t.” He started to withdraw and that slight movement made me moan. My hands flew to his ass, dragging him back inside me. That slight thrust made me gasp and arch under his body. “Don’t leave me.”

“Oh, Emerson, I couldn’t if I wanted to.” His bracketed arms trembled on either side of me. “But you probably shouldn’t move right now,” he hissed.

“I can’t.” I had to move. It was like something propelled me. It certainly wasn’t experience that had me lifting my hips up and down, seeking a repeat of the friction that I’d just experienced. With him over me, pinning me to the bed, I couldn’t move enough and I let out a sound of frustration, my nails clawing him.

His hips lifted then, pulling out almost completely. I whimpered at the drag of him against my aching flesh, clenching his firm ass, hoping this was it. He would finally move, finally satisfy my desperate hunger.

His cock hovered at my entrance. I felt the top of him there, and it killed me. Small, animal-like sounds I didn’t even recognize escaped me. Finally, he thrust deep once again, his hands anchoring on my hips. There was no pain this time, just pleasure. “God, Emerson. You’re so perfect, so tight.”

He kept a steady pace then, slow and even, cautious, almost like he was worried that he would hurt me if he let go, if he went faster. The friction drove me wild. A pressure built at my center, coiling in my belly. My body demanded more, needed it harder.

I angled my hips, taking more of him inside me, following my instincts, searching for a way to bring him closer, deeper, to assuage that ache that only seemed to pulse and grow. “More,” I pleaded.

“Emerson,” he choked. “You don’t know. You’re so small—”

“I won’t break,” I growled. Lifting my head, I bit him, my teeth clamping down on his shoulder and it was like I flipped some invisible switch in him.

“Fuck!” He moved then, his big hands sliding under my bottom and lifting me higher, holding me off the bed, angling me in a way that changed everything. Stars blinded me as he slammed into me, hitting that magic spot buried inside me. I screamed his name, my spine arching, head dropping back on the bed as he did precisely what I asked. He took me. He fucked me. He loved me. And I knew with a sense of shock that this was more than sex. He’d stamped himself not just on a canvas for me. He’d etched himself on me. Indelibly. He was under my skin. In my blood. A part of my soul.

I shuddered, coming apart. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as he joined me, pumping several more times until he shuddered and then stilled. I clutched him close, one hand buried in his hair, the other at his back.

The sound of our ragged breaths filled the air. I didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to face the questions I would see in his eyes.

His head turned to press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of my neck. “Emerson.”

A question hung in the sound of my name. I sighed, relaxing my arms around him. He pulled back and studied me for a moment before rising up from the bed. I watched him, a twisting ache in my chest. I’d done it. Given up control. And I was terrified. I pasted a smile on my face and hoped it didn’t look too thin. I sat up and reached for his shirt, pulling it over my head. I curled my knees together, wincing a little at the soreness between my legs.

He watched me carefully as he disposed of the condom. My face burned. He pulled several tissues from my Kleenex box and then sat back down on the bed. “Let me.”

I shook my head fiercely, mortified. “I can do it.” I snatched the tissues from his hand and turned halfway on the bed, cleaning myself off. The sight of the blood on the white tissue only drove home what I had just done. I wadded up the evidence in my hand and rose to dispose of it in the trash can. While I was up, I grabbed a fresh pair of panties from my drawer.

“Emerson.” The sound of his deep voice pulled my gaze back to him. So unbelievably hot and still naked. Not a flicker of embarrassment crossed his features. “Why?” He shook his head like he didn’t even know where to begin.

I decided to make it easy for him and get to the point. “I never said I wasn’t a virgin.”

“But you let everyone—me—assume—”

“I can’t help what people think.” Lame, I know, but if I was honest with him, I would be giving him too much of myself and I’d already given him enough for tonight.

“C’mon.” His mouth quirked into that sexy half grin. “What about Pepper and Georgia? Do they even know?”

I looked away at that, unable to hold his gaze. I let Pepper and Georgia assume I was experienced—maybe even implied it on more than one occasion.

“Wow. Your own best friends.”

“Why should it matter?” I snapped, looking back at him.

“It doesn’t. I still would have wanted you. I still do.” His eyes gleamed fiercely. “But I might have liked to know before this happened.” He motioned between us. “I could have made it better—”

“You were fine.” I dropped on the bed beside him, splaying a hand on his chest, directly over the tattoo. Fine? Try amazing. “Better than fine. It was . . .” I paused, suddenly self-conscious under his intent gaze. “It was beautiful.”