His eyes flick to my lips. I can almost taste him. Each of the two hundred kisses he gave me in our teens, and the dozens he’s given me since I’ve been with him again. He kisses so well. I used to name his kisses. The sleepy kiss and the smiling kiss, the seductive kiss and the laughing kiss. Right now he looks like he wants to Kiss Me To Death. He looks concentrated like he’s kissing me in his head.

“Tell me something, Pandora,” he commands huskily. I know Mackenna, and what he’s really saying is “Distract me before I do something I’ll regret.”

On his thighs, his hands are clenched into fists, and I know he wants to make the car stop and jerk Noah and his camera out of here. He’s mad because he was being set up, and I somehow think he’s mad because they used me to get to him. He’s mad because they can get to him by using me.

“You’re a Herculean masterpiece with a penchant for trouble,” I say.

He’s not appeased. He leans over and grabs my face, then whispers, “Tell me something you mean, Pink. Say it. Nothing silly, nothing angry—something real. Can you do that? Or you only dress like a badass to hide the tenderness within?”

Strangely, my throat is starting to thicken.

He wants to open me up? To open the box in me and let all the bad stuff out?

He reaches out and cradles my face in his palm. I struggle to tame a shiver building at the base of my spine.

“Tender. Right. Pfft!”

“Come on,” he presses, leaning forward, elbows to knees, his face as persuasive as his music is.

I can’t answer that. I can’t even open my mouth while thinking of the answer, so I leap into the first subject that comes to mind. “I’m mad you pulled that guy away when I was so ready to smash my knee between his legs.”

“Seriously? You’d kick his nuts?” he asks with obvious delight.

“You think I wouldn’t bust his balls? That I only busted yours?”

“You don’t only bust mine . . . you lick them too.”

“I do not! Ohmigod, Noah, erase that!”

Noah grins and shakes his head behind the camera.

We’re laughing now. “Mackenna!”

“See the way she says my name right there, Noah? She sounds guilty, doesn’t she?”

“Mackenna, shut the hell up!” I reach out with my hand to shut his mouth, but he licks my palm and bites my finger gently and playfully. Then he twists his head and kisses me, hard. We moan as I allow myself this kiss. One second . . . two . . . three . . . then I push him and arch away. “Mackenna!”

“What, Pandora?”

We’re laughing, and even Noah is trying to stifle his own laugh.

“I don’t want to kiss you. Not here.”

“Don’t worry, I know where,” he says playfully.

My eyes widen when I realize he’s implying I want to kiss his cock, not his mouth. “MACKENNA!” I cry again, laughing hysterically.

When we get to the rooms, Noah’s still following us as Kenna keeps his arm around me. When I open the door to my room, Kenna tells him, “Night, dude. Bet you really want to be me right now, huh?” and shuts the door on Noah’s camera. He spins me around in the middle of the room, saying, “Come here now,” and I’m smiling, because his eyes are smiling at me too. But suddenly, his lips aren’t.

The atmosphere turns deadly serious, and the air begins to crackle with whatever it is that always—always—leaps between us.

I love that Kenna knows it’s hard for me to ask for what I need. Sometimes even I don’t understand why it’s so hard, but he does. I suddenly wonder if maybe he left all those years ago because I could never say I loved him.

What if I still love him?

He takes a breath and reaches up to stroke me, temple to chin. “You all right?” he asks seriously.

I nod. “I am now.” His eyes watch me as his fingers trail my skin. My body starts throbbing. Right now, there is no past. There’s just now. I want to climb onto him, or want for him to climb into me.

Without warning, he moves his mouth over mine, devouring the softness of my lips, his kiss sending new spirals of need swirling in my tummy. When we embrace and I make a soft whimper, he tears free, takes one ragged breath, and looks at my wet lips with those glimmering wolf eyes. My lips still burning from his kiss, he promptly recaptures my mouth, more demanding this time.

“Yeah,” he rasps. The touch holding me against his body is both firm and persuasive, and as his mouth becomes more commanding, my eager response makes him groan.

“Spend the night,” I whisper as I clutch his shoulders and sink my teeth into his lower lip, a lower lip I’ve been watching through the night. Before he can answer, I add, “Spend the night with me, you won’t regret it.”

“Finally the lady sees the advantages of having a strong, capable man by her side.” His voice is all satisfaction and teasing huskiness. He has no idea who I really am—scared, lonely, vulnerable, and full of regrets—as he lifts me up in his arms and carries me to the bed.

I swear he acts like I’m this big prize . . .

A part of me wants to tell him I’m a big empty prize with nothing inside.

But another part just aches for him to fill it and help me finally heal it.

The thought that I might be hurtling past the point of no return briefly crosses my mind. But only briefly, because his slow, drugging kisses are back on my mouth, my face, my neck, sending the real world spinning on its axis. The bed nearly swallows me as he sets me down and spreads out over me.

His hands work faster as he uses them to strip his beautiful body of his clothes and then strip me of mine, his erection thrilling me as he leans over to scrape his hands over every inch of me. Every hot touch tells me that tonight will be an act of raw possession. His possession. I usually take back as much as I give, but right now Kenna seems determined to take—and I am trembling.

He spreads out over me and I slide my arm up the coiled muscles of his back. I move my head to the source of his breath and whimper in the only way I know how to make him come kiss me. He does. He gyrates his hips and presses against my hip bone as though he needs the contact, making a soft, growling noise as he slips the strong, probing hand of his tattooed arm between my legs.

He pushes his finger inside.

I spread my legs wider apart and moan.

He sucks my lower lip into his mouth and releases a low, heady groan as he brushes another finger along my entry. I’m trembling with need as he ducks farther down and sucks first one breast, then the other as he continues fingering me. A fire burns in my tummy, and I squirm as my body begins tightening.

“Don’t let me come without you,” I moan.

“With or without me, you’re coming now.” He circles his thumb over my clit, and I remember him promising me, One day, you’ll beg. . . .

“Please. I like watching you come with me. Mackenna, please.”

He stops to look at me, both of us panting harder than ever.

“Say it again.”

“Come with me.”

“The please part.”

“Please, Mackenna,” I moan.

He growls, using his teeth to tear open a condom packet. Soon he’s armed and ready, and he’s pulled my legs around his hips, and with a thrust, a gasp, a groan, we’re moving together. His dancer’s body, muscles trained for strength and flexibility, moves over mine, cock filling me. Moans of ecstasy slip past my lips as I stroke my fingers up his back to cup the hard, clenching muscles of his ass. We find our tempo and our breaths become ragged—our bodies moving like we’re extensions of each other.

As he kisses me again, mouth moving deftly over mine, my emotions whirl and skid, and the fire in my cunt spreads to my heart. My walls are down. I can’t stop them from tumbling. I’ll raise them when it’s over, I think to myself, but in this moment the smell, feel, and taste of this man consume me. This isn’t just a fuck.

And I know it.

As he pumps rhythmically into me, he seems about as lost in the shape and texture of my body as he does when he sings. The harsh look of ecstasy on his face unravels me, and when the involuntary tremors of orgasm begin, I arch to take more of him, surrendering completely as a hot, powerful climax rages through me, tearing my breath away.

I feel him come, and something just loosens in me as his body flexes in orgasm. A tenderness washes over me as I clutch his body tight to mine and whisper, “That’s right, come with me, Kenna.”

His groan is deep as he buries it in my mouth, and when we sag, he rolls us to spare me his weight as he kisses me, whispering into my mouth, “On a scale of one to ten, how’d that go for you?”

“A million.”

He laughs with me and squeezes me in his arms, and I swear his ego just went Shrek-sized. “You look like a conquering Napoleon, don’t you. You feel like you got it all right now,” I say, groaning tiredly.

“Nah. Napoleon was a little guy. I, on the other hand, am huge.”

“Your ego is huge.”

“Babe, my dick is just as huge as my ego, and they both enjoy being petted by you.”

His husky, cocky way of teasing makes me smile, but I hide my smile against his chest and just lie there, feeling happy and still dazed by our lovemaking. By the new feeling of peace between us. We’re still in bed, sweaty and silent, hands somehow still wandering aimlessly over each other, when there’s a knock on my door and a familiar voice calls, “Mackenna, open up.”