“Let’s get you comfortable, Berry.” He tugs me into the shelter of his big body. “Because I’m not nearly done with you.”

How had I managed this long without having this? How do I go on when it’s gone? For the first time in my sex life, I’m afraid. Not because I think Rye will hurt me; I trust him implicitly with my care. But because I’ve lost control.

Control has always been mine, no matter the partner, no matter the situation.

Rye is another story. Hell, he’s a whole other genre.

I can’t control Rye. I can’t control my feelings when I’m with him. I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl in the dark, terrified the harness might snap.

Rye steps to me, all hard focus and softly smiling mouth.

“I didn’t come here for sex,” I blurt out.

He pauses, head cocked, that small curve at the corners of his lips remaining. Calm blue eyes search my face, assessing. “Do you want to leave?”

Lord, but his voice is rich with arousal. He doesn’t move but stands loose-limbed, a lovely flush of exertion on his cheeks. I want to trace my palms down the thick column of his neck where I know his skin will be like satin over steel. Do I want to leave?

“No.”

“Hmm…” His voice dips with quiet amusement as he leans in. Smiling lips brush along the sweet spot under my ear, as those clever fingers ease the blouse and dangling bra from my shoulders. “Do you want a drink?”

He asks the question while taking my hand to help me step out of the pile of clothes surrounding my feet, leaving me in nothing but my petal pink Louboutins.

Rye’s gaze slides over me like hot cream. “There you are. God. Look at you…” He licks his bottom lip, a man thirsty. “Damn, Bren, you blow my mind.”

I’ve never felt more utterly exposed. I don’t believe I’m perfect. But right now, under the admiration of his gaze, I feel close to it. My lips quirk as I rein in a smile and answer his previous question. “No drinks. I’m good.”

“Yes, you fucking are.” With surprising grace, he steps up to me, sliding an arm loosely around my waist. His hand spreads wide over the small of my back, the other one clasping mine by his shoulder, and it’s almost as though we’re about to dance.

The pleasant rumble of his voice touches the shell of my ear. “We can read.”

Light punctuated kisses follow a path down my neck, the soft bristles of his beard tickling. I tilt my head to the side with a smile, my eyes closing. “Maybe later.”

Rye grumbles low within his wide chest. The tips of his fingers glide down my spine and over the curve of my butt. He draws an idle circle and nuzzles the hollow of my shoulder. I sway into him, my fingers threading through his hair.

Rye pauses, lips just touching my pulse point, hand roaming as though he can’t stop feeling my skin. When he speaks, his voice pours out like tumbled rocks. “Do you want to fuck?”

My breath hitches, and I rest my lust-addled head on his broad shoulder. My lips find the tender spot on his neck, loving the way he shivers at the contact. Desire coils low in my belly. Do I want to fuck?

“Yes.”

I love the way his big body seems to buckle, just for a beat. Then he grunts, a satisfied sound that sends a swoop of heat through me.

“Good. That was my preference too.” He steps back, and with brisk movements, tugs his shirt off.

I don’t think I’ll ever be immune to the sight of Rye’s naked chest and arms. He’s too beautiful. Power and grace. The silver barbell piercings in his nipples wink in the lamplight, his pecs twitching as he tosses the shirt aside and then toes off his battered black Converse.

His worn jeans hang low on trim hips, highlighting the lovely valleys of taut external obliques that point to the rude bulge of his cock. I’m so distracted by that edible sight that I almost miss him turning to walk away.

“Where are you going?” I sound far too needy. His fault, though.

Rye pauses, a twinkle in his eyes as though he knows perfectly well what state he’s brought me to. “Getting condoms. A stack.”

Without thought, my hand whips out to grasp his wrist. He stills, brows lifting in question.

“Rye.” I pause. Fingers press against the steady beat of his pulse. “Can we go without?”

His pulse kicks up, but he doesn’t pull away. He steps closer. “You want me bare?”

I don’t know why I do. It feels like another weakness, another crack. But I want something different with him, some small marker that says it’s not just a fleeting arrangement. And I don’t want to pause and think about logistics.

My voice isn’t steady or very strong when I finally answer. “I want to get messy with you.”

Rye’s breath leaves in a chuff. His hand slides to the damp nape of my neck, and he rests his forehead against mine. “Oh, honey, we’re going to get so messy.”

I’m not certain either of us is referring to sex. Doesn’t matter. He kisses me slow and seeking, drawing my tongue out to play with little licks and nips.

The roughened pads of his thumbs lightly caress my cheeks when he pulls back. “Turn around.”

As though I’m a princess, he guides me to the end of his bed and then bends me over it. My fingers curl around the padded, gray linen footboard, a fierce blush burning my cheeks as I imagine the picture I make: buck-ass naked, legs elongated by my heels, the aroused pout of my sex peeking out like a taunt.

It turns me on so much, I’m surprised there isn’t steam wafting off my damn skin. The sensation grows as Rye makes a noise of pure masculine appreciation. “Killing me here, Berry.”

The feeling is mutual.

The sound of his zipper lowering sings through the close air and has me tensing in anticipation. I feel him behind me, a wall of heat and intention, but I nearly jump out of my skin when he finally touches me.

He palms my butt, massaging a bit as if to test the firmness. His long middle finger slips between my cheeks and finds the entrance to my ass, and I tense, a quivering mess, my entire attention focused on his touch. He presses there, not breaching, just making me feel it, before he slides away to caress the curve of my hip, back over my cheeks, the touch almost reverential.

“I want to spank this ass,” he says idly, darkly.

A little shocked, I toss a look over my shoulder and find him staring back at me with hot eyes.

He rubs me gently. “I’ve always wanted to see your sweet ass ripple against my palm.” A small quirk lifts his lips. “And I think you’ll like it.”

Cocky bastard.

Rye Peterson spanking me isn’t something I thought I would ever allow. Not in my wildest dreams. The mere suggestion should set me off because no way should I be giving Rye that power. Never mind spanking is so not my kink.

And yet the way Rye looks at me with that impish glint in his eyes. The one that says, Let’s play. The way he bites his lower lip as though he can’t wait to take me in hand and give me pleasure…

God. A tremor goes up my thighs, and without another thought, I arch my back a little, lifting my butt into his touch. “Do it.”

Rye is a bassist; his hands are, quite frankly, huge. And strong. He knows his strength. He knows how to use those clever hands. A slap rings out, the contact sending prickling sparks of sensation over my ass, between my thighs. Everywhere.