“Emily,” Oz warns, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he releases my hand and rewraps his arm around my waist. “Eli will kill me and I’ll lose any chance at prospect.”

As if we’ve been extremely intimate before, as if we’ve been together forever, Oz extends an arm under my head. He then wastes no time inching up the material of my shirt until he can rest his palm against my skin. I melt under the heat from his hand.

He’s right, I’m being selfish, but I don’t push him away. Instead, I lick my lips. Oz settles his head on the pillow and our faces are close. Extremely close. So close that his exhalations move random pieces of my hair.

“You’re right. You should go,” I say.

“I will,” he responds.

“Okay.”

“All right.”

“Good night, Oz,” I whisper.

His fingers begin this slow brush along my stomach. Each goose bump–inducing glide edges farther up a centimeter and then down with each cycle. My breathing hitches when Oz skims the bottom seam of my bra.

“Good night,” he says against my mouth.

“Good night,” I repeat, and as I say it, my lips touch his. Energy builds between us and my legs become restless with this pent-up urge for more.

Oz takes in my lower lip and I’m overwhelmed with this sensation of awareness, this realization of each and every nerve ending I possess. Oz’s hand, which had trailed south, tightens on my hip.

His lips pause on mine. He’s waiting on me. I want this. No, I crave this. I brush my mouth against his and the movement is so slight he could miss it. So delicate because I’m afraid if I do too much then the two of us will explode.

My hand slides up his arm to his neck. A whisper of a touch as I let my fingers tease the ends of his hair. Oz sucks in a breath and my mouth turns up at the idea that I have this effect on him.

I’ve dreamed of this. Night after night. Woke up morning after morning to Oz sitting across the table from me acting as if he’s in total control. But as Oz curls me into him, his body informs me that he’s seconds away from shattering. And so am I.

Excitement unfurls within me with the expectation of what’s on the verge of happening. I allow the tip of my tongue to lick Oz’s lips and there’s an almost audible crack of electricity. Our mouths part and...fireworks. The beautiful kind. The loud kind. The type you lose yourself completely in. Reds and blues and an array of bright colors burst behind my closed lids.

My hands wander Oz’s back, pulling the material of his shirt up along the way. Oz rolls us and he uses his arms to balance his weight, creating the sweetest pressure of his body over mine. My legs hook around his and it’s easy to pick up Oz’s rhythm.

He leans up, yanks his shirt off and my heart goes completely still. Oz is gorgeous. His body hard and ripped. I stroke my fingers along the cut lines. In return, Oz circles my belly button and the caress sends pleasing waves throughout my body.

“Are you a virgin?” There’s no judgment in his voice. No tease. He says it in a way that indicates he already knows and is perfectly fine with the answer.

“Yes,” I tell him, unashamed.

There’s no doubt Oz is more experienced than me. Not just because of what people have said, but by how expertly he maneuvers. It doesn’t bother me to be more naive. My body is a gift, not something to be carelessly given away.

Violet was right. What’s important is accepting what type of girl I am and I’m the girl happy to share this with Oz, but I’m not willing to share too much. “I’d prefer to stay that way...for a while, but I’d also like to keep kissing you.”

“We can definitely do that.” His eyes grow dark as he watches his hand inch the material of my shirt up and over my bra, and I slightly tilt up to allow him to ease the shirt off my body.

Oz lowers his head and blows air across my stomach. My toes curl and I wiggle under the luscious sensation. He kisses a path along my stomach and my muscles dissolve to liquid.

Fingertips along my bra straps. One down and then another as Oz continues this divine assault. Wherever his hands touch, his lips soon follow and what started out as slow has increased in speed.

My fingers entwine in his hair and thanks to the clasp in the front, cold air nips across my breasts quickly followed by the warmth of Oz’s mouth. We blend into this seductive rhythm. A synchronized dance that makes me dizzy, that makes me ache in a very good way.

He reclaims my lips and we continue to escape from unnecessary clothes. We roll, we explore and we move. Move in a way that I don’t want to stop. Move in a way that causes me to hold on tighter to Oz. Move in a way that causes soft sounds to leave my throat and makes Oz moan as he nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck.

A rush of energy. A rush of power. A pure rush of adrenaline that causes us to fly faster and faster until the entire buildup deliciously shatters. My body arches at the same exact moment that Oz’s arms constrict around me and then we’re gasping for air.

Oz kisses my lips again and this time it’s lazy and sweet and the most beautiful kiss I’ve ever been given. His warm palms caress my face as if I’m glass and then he sweeps the stray strands of hair away from my face. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

Oz shakes his head as if I should already know. “For this. For allowing me this. I don’t deserve it. You’re so damned beautiful.”

I’m a puddle and Oz adjusts so that he’s flat on the bed and I’m tucked into his side. He gathers me close and encourages me to mold my exhausted and sated body around his. My arm rests over his bare chest. My leg lies over his. I should care that the only piece of clothing I have on is my underwear. I should care that all he has on is his boxers, but I don’t.