“No, you’re right. It’ll work. Thank you for telling me.” I lay back down and focused on the hand at my back. At least he was touching me. “I was worried,” I said, reveling in the feel of him.

“About what?”

“The fact that you haven’t touched me in over a week.”

“I explained that.”

“I know, but—”

“Dutch, you deserve so much better than me.”

Glaring up as hard as I could, I said, “You either have an inflated opinion of me or a distorted opinion of yourself. I think it’s both. I think the only way we are going to settle this once and for all is”—I shifted onto him, raised his shirt, and dipped my hands down his pants—“to work it out until we are too exhausted to argue.”

I slid my hand down his rock-hard abdomen and wrapped my fingers around his erection. Every muscle in his body turned to marble. He clenched the hand at my back into a fist as I pushed all the way down to the base of his cock. I massaged and kneaded until I felt the familiar rush of blood beneath my fingers.

He took a fistful of hair and pulled my mouth onto his as I worked.

I leaned away. “But really, can I have a hint? Not even for both of your secrets. Just one will do. Wait, are they related?”

Without another word, he grabbed the edge of the Twister mat, pulled it over us, then rolled, locking us together like the contents of a burrito.

“Are you sure Cookie left? She didn’t just go to the bathroom or something?”

He covered my mouth with his and pushed his hips into mine, his erection hard against my abdomen.

“If she’s still here,” I said, suddenly winded when he sought an ear, “she is about to be severely scandalized.”

Completely ignoring me, he flipped me onto my stomach, his movements rough, hurried, and pressed into me from behind. And as he wrapped his long fingers around my throat from behind, he asked, “What was it you were saying about erotic asphyxiation?”

“I was mostly kidding—” I gasped when he tightened his hold with one hand and pushed my pants down with the other. Cool air rushed across my skin a microsecond before his flames blistered it.

Then his mouth was at my ear again as his fingers unfastened his own jeans. “Spread yourself,” he said, his voice low and smooth and demanding.

But my jeans were only down to my knees. I couldn’t spread my legs.

When I didn’t obey immediately, he sent a hand up my shirt and under my bra. At first he only fondled Danger, but then a sharp sting sent goose bumps erupting over my skin as he squeezed the delicate crest between his fingers.

He straddled me and locked my knees closed with his. “Spread yourself,” he repeated at my ear, his fingers growing tighter and tighter around my throat. He buried his face in my hair and breathed in my scent. His cock lay against the small of my back, hot and hard and ready.

I reached back, put my hands on my ass, and spread myself for him.

“Good girl,” he whispered before gliding his fingers seamlessly into the slickness there. He moaned into my hair. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said as he pumped into me.

I just wanted it to continue. Wanted him to continue. Until I couldn’t see straight.

Then he pulled his fingers out and rubbed my clit softly. Luring. Coaxing. The movement sent waves of pleasure spiraling through my body, lighting every dark corner, kindling the most dormant parts of me with tiny, glittering earthquakes.

That time, I moaned, and it excited him more. He slid the length of his erection over my skin and positioned himself for entrance, his heavy cock pressing into me, struggling to be loosed between my legs like a racehorse seconds before the gates open.

But he paused, caught my earlobe between his teeth, nipped hard enough to wrench a gasp from me, then whispered, “Let’s hope I fuck the right one.”

The right one? My eyes flew open, and I stiffened, fearing anal sex like a Roswellian fears probes, but in one quick move, he buried his cock in my cunt.

A spasm rocketed through me, and I almost came the moment he entered, but he held fast, entombed deep inside me, waiting for me to calm. Waiting for himself to calm. I started shaking, and my fingers slipped. He tightened his hold to the edge of oxygen deprivation.

“Vous ne devriez pas taquiner, mon amour,” he said, his French as strong and fluid as his movements. “You should not tease,” he repeated in English.

Even though he was still, the beginnings of an orgasm resurfaced in the distance, rippling through me in hot, pulsating waves. The tighter his hold, the deeper his cock, the closer it came. I struggled beneath him, luring it even closer, begging, but he held fast. His weight too much. His hold too strong.

He kissed my jaw. My neck. The corner of my mouth. Then, without warning, he slid out, but only an inch or two before he plunged back inside. I gasped as he held me down again. Tightened his hold on my throat. The constraint caused a flood tide of pleasure. It spread like wildfire, and I squirmed underneath him. Wanting that again. That pang of desire, sharp and erotic and fierce.

He clamped onto me, rendering me completely immobile, and did the unexpected. He slowed time as he pulled out and plunged inside again. Short, quick bursts. Sharp jolts of arousal causing the sweetest ache deep in my belly. My climax rocketed closer, but he tightened his hold and whispered, “Don’t let it go.”

His labored pants came in bursts as quick and short as his strokes, and I knew he was as close as I was.

“Don’t let it go,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse, his hands shaking as he pumped even faster. But I couldn’t hold it.

His breath fanned across my cheek and, without slowing his stride, he pressed his mouth to my ear. “Now.”

Time crashed into us, heightening the pleasure that exploded inside me. Every muscle tensed as the raw energy of orgasm spiked and pulsed and shook the world around us. A low growl erupted from his throat, and he clutched the plastic beneath us as his own climax shuddered through him in great, powerful waves.

He whispered a few choice expletives from between clenched teeth, and I couldn’t have said it better myself. By the time he collapsed on top of me, only the shimmering remnants of pleasure remained, like tattered pieces of a forgotten star.

He slid his weight off me to lie by my side. His lashes resting on his cheeks. His mouth swollen and sensual.

“So, was it good for you?” I asked him.