He laughed darkly. “Yeah, baby. Sounds good. Good like these little moans you’re giving me.” He kissed her again, quick and hard and so hot she felt seared down to her soul. The thumb that had brushed her clit so delicately touched her again, firmer now, deliciously so. He circled the swollen bud and her whole body jerked as if electrocuted. So he did it again. And again. Even when she dug her nails into the curve of his arse. Even when her breathy sighs turned into something like sobs. Even when she sank her teeth into his shoulder because she was just so fucking beside herself, didn’t know what to do with all this swirling, swelling, pent-up sensation.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even falter. Instead he told her she was gorgeous, falling apart for him, and that her pussy was going to kill him, and that she was so wet he could feel it dripping into his palm, and that he could do this forever just to feel her shaking under him—

And then she came so hard she couldn’t hear him anymore, couldn’t see him anymore, for a moment couldn’t even feel him anymore. But God, she still knew he was there.

By the time Chloe’s eyes opened and refocused on him, Red was about ten seconds and one touch away from coming. How could he not be? Jesus, just the sounds she made were enough to push him over the edge. He’d regret bringing all these damn lights if they hadn’t made her so happy, because seeing her laid out naked in front of him was doing absolutely zero for his stamina.

She was gorgeous. She was just fucking gorgeous. The midnight storm of her thick, wavy hair spread around her face like a halo. Her naked skin looked so vulnerable in the low light, completely bare to him for the first time, and so delicate. She was soft, soft all over, from the gentle weight of her full breasts to the lush roundness of her belly to the sheer decadence of her hips, her thighs, her—fuck. He dug his short nails into the palms of his hand and dragged his gaze away from the plump, pouting lips of her cunt, but it didn’t help. Without permission, his fingers rose to his lips and he sucked off her honey, groaning at the taste. So fucking good. Even better than he remembered.

“Oh, gosh,” she said suddenly. She sounded worried. Why the fuck did she sound worried? “I bit you!”

Ah. He smiled and bent to kiss her little frown, his shoulder still stinging from her teeth. “I liked it.”

“Really? Well, that’s okay then. But still. I should’ve asked.”

“You were busy.” He kissed her again. Busy coming on my fingers. “But now you know. I like it.”

She gave him an impish smile. “Hmm. Well, Red, you made me come, so if you’re a man of your word you will now fuck me into oblivion.”

He almost choked on his own tongue. The pressure building at the base of his spine got even worse. “Into oblivion, huh?”

“That’s what I said. Get on with it.”

Well, that was him told. He found the strip of condoms he’d packed, ripped one open, managed to roll it on with gritted teeth. Maybe she would’ve done it for him, and maybe that would’ve been hot as hell, but since he wanted to actually get inside her before he went off like a gunshot, he needed to keep touching to a minimum.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, she grabbed his hair and dragged him down, pressing all her soft, lush curves against his body. Her skin was hot and damp from the exertion of her orgasm. Her pussy was wet and open, ready for him, begging for him as she spread her legs and reached down to grasp his erection. In his ear, she whispered, “Hard, please.”

Oh, holy fucking fuck. “Chloe—”

“I mean it.” She squeezed him, then positioned his shaft at her entrance. His eyes rolled back into his head. He felt as if he’d been burned in the best way, branded. Jesus. He grunted something that barely sounded human and thrust, the need uncontrollable, his body reduced to its most basic instincts. She was so slick, she took him all at once, releasing a low moan that sent shivers through his body.

When he was buried inside her, he held still for a moment, sucking down air because he felt almost dizzy with pleasure, running his hands over her thighs because he couldn’t quite believe that he had her. He had Chloe Sophia Brown. And she was fucking glorious.

She rolled her hips beneath him, and he gasped out her name. She bit him again, at the base of his throat this time, and he almost came on the spot. Then she slid her fingers into his hair and dragged him down for a kiss that stripped him to the bone, that destroyed him from the inside out, her sweet little tongue tasting him with shameless greed, her lush mouth frantic. And she whispered, “Please.”

He grasped her soft hips, buried his face against her shoulder, and fucked her. Each thrust was slow, hard, deliberate, wringing gasps and then whimpers and then long, rolling moans from her. He gritted his teeth as his orgasm came barreling at him like a freight train. It would be so fucking good, but he didn’t want this to end. It couldn’t end. Being inside her was undoing him, taking him apart and putting him back together differently, better, more himself than he’d ever been before. So he forced himself to hold off and gave her what she wanted, what she begged for: more of his dick, more of him.

But when she came again, shuddering beneath him, her hot pussy fluttering around him, he couldn’t stop his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice—and then everything around him shattered until it was all just colors and light, colors and light.

Neither of them moved for a good, long while, but eventually he had to get up. Had to do something with the condom. Luckily, he’d planned for that, too. When he finished and was relatively cleaned up, he lay back down beside her and gathered her against him, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Would you do something for me?” he asked.

She said, her voice sleepy, “I would do anything for you.”

The words struck him like an arrow to the chest. Like she’d just loved him out loud. Like she wanted him the way he wanted her: completely and impossibly and with ill-advised devotion. Happiness bloomed inside him like a garden. He held her tighter and continued, “If you can’t sleep tonight, I want you to wake me up. Okay?”

She didn’t reply. She was already asleep.

Red packed up the next day with a silly smile on his face—one he was happy to see reflected on Chloe’s. Those smiles somehow remained throughout the day, despite Chloe’s morning joint pain, and the argument they had over which road was the A46 on the way home. Her sense of direction—or lack of—was the ninth wonder of the world, after King Kong. He understood now why she rarely used her car.

“You really do need me around,” he said with barely hidden satisfaction, his urge to be useful fulfilled. “For camping and map reading and all that shit.”

“I don’t need you around,” she said pertly. “Not for directions, and not even for the list, as I’ve come to realize.” But then her gaze flitted to his and her lips tilted a little. “I just really, really want you around.”

His grin was a mile wide.

They got home at lunchtime, and he knew he was supposed to go to his own flat and give her space and all that crap, but she was a bit wobbly and sleepy-eyed. He wanted to feed her and put her to bed, so he bullied his way into her flat. He cooked. He made her eat. He supervised her shower much more closely than usual, and found another use for the cute little plastic seat she had in there.