“It’s just— I might. Oh, God, this feels amazing. I’ve never done this before so I might make a mistake.”

She realized she’d just made one when everything stilled. She closed her eyes, asked herself why, why , couldn’t she have just let it go, just said nothing until it was done.

“Not done what before, exactly?”

She opened her eyes, found his, so dark, so intense, on hers. “Sex. I shouldn’t have said anything. Why does it have to matter?”

He shifted, sitting up, drawing her with him. And she felt all the joy and delight leak away into mortification.

“Of course you should have told me, and of course it matters.”

“You either want me or you don’t.” She dug for anger, for anything that would cover the humiliation of tears that wanted to spill.

“That’s not the issue. It matters,” he repeated, taking her arms when she tried to turn away. “In approach, in tone. The first shouldn’t be rushed and greedy, and I was feeling both.”

“Since I was feeling the same, why can’t we just—”

“Because you don’t know. But you will.” He lifted her hand, turned it over to lay a kiss lightly in her palm. “If you’re sure. It’s a gift that can’t be taken back.”

“I’m sure. I want to feel what you make me feel. I want to be with you. Now.”

“Then trust me.”

“I couldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“We want moonlight and stars.” As he spoke the room went dusky blue. Lights—candles? stars?—glimmered through it. “The song of the sea, the scent of flowers.”

She heard the waves, like a whisper as he laid her back on what had become a bower.

“You’re so much more than you’ve shown us.”

Illusions, he thought, but the moment called for them. And for romance, and tenderness. He found he had them for her, and could call on them as easily as he could whistle up the wind.

He cupped her face with one hand, took her lips slow, slow, deep, deeper, until he felt her melt into his bed of feathers and flowers.

He could seduce, degree by degree, give them both the sumptuous. She smelled of the sea, tasted of honey. And under his hands her skin was soft as satin.

On impulse he ran his hands through her hair, scattered tiny rosebuds through it. Looked down to enjoy the way it spread and tumbled over his bower.

“You look like a faerie queen. If I had your gift, I would paint you just like this. Or . . .” He waved a finger through the air, and she was naked but for a scatter of flower petals.

“Oh!” Instinctively, she lifted a hand to cover her breasts, but he caught it, brought it to his lips as he skimmed his gaze over her.

“Yes, just like this. I’m commissioning you to do this self-portrait. Name your price,” he murmured and took her mouth again.

How could she have known she could float and fly, could soar and dive all at the same time? That she could burn and shudder. And want, want, want.

His mouth took hers with soul-deep kisses and whispered words she didn’t understand. And his hands glided over her, awakening fresh thrills.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, then his tongue, stirring something deep in her belly. Then his mouth closed over her, and that stirring, that pulling flashed into a fast, shocking leap of pleasure.

She cried out from it, arched up as it struck like an arrow.

“You’re quick,” he murmured.

“What? What?”

“Just the start. Just a sample.” He pressed his lips to her thundering heart. “This time you’ll take, and taking, you give.”

He gripped her hands with his, as her touch, her explorations tempted him to rush. So he used only his mouth on her, roaming down her torso, pleasing himself when her belly quivered under his tongue.

She moaned for him, moved for him, and the mix of her need and surrender sparked like a wire in his blood. Another time he would give in to that, another time he would let that hunger loose. But now he would seduce her, now he would torment them both.

He brushed his lips over her thigh, and then his tongue along the vulnerable line beside her center. And his teeth, lightly, lightly, until her breath became long, sighing moans, until her body undulated.

He found her warm and wet, so ready to fly up again.

It was like being showered with warm liquid gold, showered with melted jewels. Every inch of her sparkled, shone, glimmered, gleamed. The world was warm and soft, and smothered in flowers, drenched in moonlight.

And the world was only him.

As his mouth came back to hers again, as her hands were free to touch and stroke, she thought nothing could ever be more beautiful.

“Will you look at me now? Look at me, Sasha.”

She opened eyes dark and heavy with the glorious weight of pleasure. “Bran.”

“This is ours, only.”

He banished even the thought of pain as he slipped into her. And she learned there was more beauty. She opened for it, welcomed it. Keeping her eyes on his, she moved with him, let that beauty, the glory of it saturate her.

It took her higher to where the air thinned, the world spun. As even the air shattered around her, she laid her hand on his cheek. “Yes,” she said. “Yes,” she sighed, and let herself slide down.

She imagined her body pulsing off light. Pale pink and gold light. Warm and soft and lovely. He lay full on her so she imagined the light pulsed right through him as well, and filled the room with color.