“Yes,” she breathed, trying to arch up against him. But she couldn’t because there was no space between them in the first place, the hard planes of his body forced intimately against hers, her legs wrapping around his waist as if they were puzzle pieces slotted perfectly together.

“Good.” He kissed, then licked, then sucked the base of her throat. She shivered at the hot, wet love, at the lust it stirred between her thighs, and wondered if he could tell her pulse was racing. He must be able to hear the way her breaths sped up and grew ragged, must feel her hips trying their best to rock against his. Her clit was already swollen and needy and desperate for a little more pressure, for sweet friction. He didn’t provide it. Instead, both of his hands found both of hers and he twined their fingers together. Through their clothes, she could feel his hard cock wedged tight against her cleft—and yet, all he did was hold her hands.

“Red,” she whispered.

He kissed her cheek, her temple, her nose. “Chloe.”

“Not to ruin this very romantic moment, but would you possibly consider fucking me now?”

His laughter rumbled through his chest. “I’ve already considered it. Frequently.”

“In that case, would you hurry up and do it?”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” But without warning, he thrust his hips. The thick jut of his erection nudged her clit so beautifully that even with all the clothes separating them, pleasure ripped through her. She was gasping, her sight unfocused, her body already reaching a tipping point. That easily.

Oh, God.

“Baby,” Red murmured with a smile in his voice. “You should’ve told me you were desperate.”

She gritted her teeth. “Shut up.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” His lips brushed her ear, the glide of skin on skin hot and sensual. “You seem to come much faster when I remind you of how bad you want it.”

“Red!”

“Chloe. Will you take your hair down for me?”

Even though it would wind up a mess in the morning? “Yes. Whatever. Just—”

“I know, I know. Just hurry up and fuck you. Come here.” He rose up on his knees and she felt so suddenly cold and alone, she actually whined out loud. But then he pulled her up into a sitting position and said, “Hair.”

Her hands rose obediently to undo her braid. But they froze when he yanked off his hoodie and T-shirt, her mind skittering to a stop at the sight of his bare torso. In the low, warm light, his fair skin was burnished pale gold. Shadows played over the lean lines of his body, the ridges of muscle. He flashed her that confident smile as he removed the rest of his clothes. “Now, Chloe. I know you’re wearing twenty thousand layers of clothing and I’m pretty eager to get it all off, so if you could—”

“Okay,” she blurted out, because when he spoke his hands stopped moving, which meant that the fabric covering his body stayed in place, which meant that she still couldn’t see his cock. And she really, really wanted to see his cock, now, immediately, for what she abruptly realized would be the very first time. She unraveled her braid with suddenly rapid fingers, then started dragging her hoodie over her head. Next was her T-shirt, her undervest, her sports bra—God, that was a nightmare—

Holy shit, Red was naked.

She’d been yanking off her clothes, putting her glasses away, and cataloging everything she had to remove, and then she looked up, and there he was, just fucking naked. And glorious. Her mouth practically watered as her gaze dipped lower, taking in all of him, blurry as he was. His thighs were thick and muscular and dusted with fine golden hair, and as a definite leg girl she’d usually take her time enjoying them—except she could barely spare them a glance when his dick was right there, curving proudly up against his taut stomach. It was rigid, heavy, the swollen head flushed and glistening. She reached for it as if hypnotized, but he caught her wrist, holding her off with ease.

His voice more urgent than she’d ever heard it, he gritted out, “You. Clothes. Off.” Then he grabbed the waistband of her tracksuit bottoms, the leggings underneath, and her underwear all in one go. How had he managed that? Was he a witch? The question flew out of her head when he pulled, easing the clinging layers of fabric off her. In the name of teamwork, she dealt with the vest she was still wearing, then started wrestling with her sports bra. Which, unfortunately, was not the most graceful thing she’d ever done.

But Red didn’t seem to mind, possibly because it involved a lot of jiggling and bouncing around. In fact, by the time she yanked the bra off over her head, his labored breaths sounded more like growls and his eyes were glued to her like a tongue to treacle. He dragged the last of her clothes off of her ankles and then they were just two people sitting in a tiny, pillow-strewn, fairy-lit tent, staring at each others’ naked bodies.

She liked what she saw.

He liked what he saw, too. She knew because she could see the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and because his high cheekbones were stained scarlet. His eyebrows were drawn in a fierce expression that sent a spiral of jittery desire through her nerve endings. He wrapped one big hand around the base of his dick and squeezed. “Chloe?”

“Yes?”

“I have this idea. I think—just hear me out, yeah?—I think that you should maybe consider being naked all the time. I mean, just, always. Think about it, okay?”

“I will,” she said, and then, just to see what would happen, she ran her fingertips over her own chest, circling her nipples. “I’ll definitely—”

She never managed to finish that sentence, because when she touched herself it was as if something in Red snapped. He lunged for her, but when he pushed her back onto the cushions he was gentle despite the wound-up tension she could feel vibrating through his body. And then his mouth was all over her, sucking at her breasts, licking at her throat, while his fingers went straight to her wet, aching pussy. He moaned when he felt how slick she was, the sound muffled against her breast. Then he shoved those wonderfully thick fingers inside her and she let out a moan of her own, a sharp, broken thing that was closer to a scream.

“Oh my God, Chloe.” He said it again and again, rasping out her name as he rubbed her swollen, sensitive depths. “Oh my fucking God, you feel so good. Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Hurry up then,” she gasped, her hips jerking as he stroked that secret spot in her, the one that scattered stars across her vision and made her feel more limp and languorous with pleasure than any drug. “Oh, please, just hurry up.”

“I want you to come first.”

“Oh, for—”

He kissed her again, softly, until she released her lower lip from the cage of her teeth. And then he kissed her harder, hotter, wetter, his tongue thrusting in a bold, steady way that made her breathless. When his fingers started moving inside her again, they matched the rhythm of his tongue, fucking her in that deep, consuming, almost obscene way that drove her so damn wild.

He broke the kiss even as his thumb nudged her clit. When she moaned and arched into him, her body demanding more, he smiled. “Relax. We have all night.”

“O-okay,” she gasped out, her voice shaking. Her whole body was shaking, in fact, vibrating as coils of energy lashed around her, holding her hostage, driving her toward what felt like an explosion. “Sounds good.”