I glance back at him over my shoulder. “It buttons down the back. Will you help me?”

He smirks, making my knees go wobbly. Slowly, he undoes the buttons of my mint-green dress, one by one. “It’s my honor to serve my Queen.”

His rich voice is so smooth and decadent, I can’t even tell if he’s joking.

When I step out of my dress, Edward shakes it and hangs it on the back of the chair to dry. He’s much less careful with his own clothes—his shirt ends up in a slapping wet heap on the floor, before it’s joined by his trousers.

And Edward is naked and I’m practically naked, but there is no shyness. No awkwardness or anxiousness.

I gaze at the impressive, hard erection between his legs . . . and I am not ashamed to want it. Crave it. Desperately. To want to touch his cock with my hands, my fingers, my mouth, my tongue—touch him everywhere and for a very long time. The thought creates a throbbing ache low in my stomach—because I yearn to feel his touch in return.

It’s just like Edward said . . . we’re going to belong to each other.

But I think we already do.

“There’s something I want to show you,” Edward says.

But he doesn’t move, and neither do I. We look into each other’s eyes, like we’re reading each other’s minds. Because the next thing I know, we’re pressed right up against each other, arms wrapped around each other.

Edward bends his neck, kissing me furiously, greedily.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

I taste rainwater on his lips.

“I think about you every night,” I confess between kisses.

“So do I,” Edward says. “If I think about you any more, I’m going to jerk my dick right off.”

I convulse in his arms, laughing wildly.

“It’s not funny. I’m not joking,” Edward insists, backing me up toward the bed—a dangerous, predatory glint in his eyes. “It’s a very serious matter.”

He lifts me under my arms, onto the bed. I’m on my knees, eye level with him, my arms on his shoulders, and slowly our laughter fades away.

Edward looks down between us and sighs as he traces the waist of my black silk knickers. “I like these.”

His hand skims up my waist, slipping a finger under the strap of my bra. “But this . . .” He shakes his head mournfully and clicks his tongue. “This monstrosity has got to go.”

He makes quick work of the clasp and slides the satin down my arms—tossing it over his shoulder. And then he stares at my breasts, like he’s hypnotized. He cups one in his large hand—rubbing the nipple with his palm.

My head rolls on my neck. “What’s this lesson called?” I moan.

He licks his lips. “This lesson is called, your tits are beautiful and if I don’t get my mouth on them right now, I’m going to go mad.”

And then he’s kissing me, climbing on the bed with me, laying me back and sliding on top of me. And the weight of him—the feel of his taut, tan chest pressing down on me—is electric. Heavenly.

Edward kisses down my neck, then lower still over my collarbone. He holds my breast up for his mouth—his lips closing around my nipple with a groan. And then I can’t hear anything except the sound of my own gasps and my own pounding heart.

“Oh . . . oh . . . yes . . . please . . .”

The feel of Edward’s sucking mouth, his swirling wet tongue, robs me of all my senses. He licks his way over to my other breast—palming and pinching the first as he laves and flicks at my nipple.

I feel the hard ridge of his cock—hot and big—between my legs. Pressing against me. Sliding up and down against the tight cleft of my opening—separated only by a thin, shifting, strap of silk.

“Edward—?”

“We won’t.” He kisses my breasts, nibbles around the soft swells. “It’s all right, Lenny. Not yet—I promise.” His breath is warm and minty on my face as he lifts up onto his elbows and smooths my hair, looking down at me with so much affection in his eyes.

“Trust me.”

I cover his hand with mine and twine my leg around his—pulling him closer.

“I do. I trust you.”

And my body goes loose and lax with that trust. Edward shifts his hips, thrusting up—he doesn’t penetrate me, but his erection slides up and down against my knickers, between my lower lips. I’m slippery and warm from the rubbing, gliding, wet friction. His hips retreat, then push back again, and the hard head of his cock glides back and forth right over my clitoris, igniting a spike of hot pleasure that tears through me. I tingle everywhere and burn for more.

“Oh . . . oh . . .”

Edward holds my gaze while his hips circle again and again. “Yes?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Oh, yes . . .”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” I pant.

His hard cock hits that spot again, and my back arches and my muscles clench—to get closer. To get more.

“Don’t stop, Edward.” My voice is keening, shameless.

Edward drops his forehead to the pillow beside me, and as his hips pump wilder—harsher—his breath bites out in pants against my neck.

He palms my bottom, pulling me against him—giving me more, taking me farther, higher. “Move with me, love. Yes . . . just like that.”

My arms clutch at him and my hips rotate—matching his thrusts. Edward turns his head, slanting his mouth over mine, sucking on my tongue. And the beautiful sensation is rising, filling me with feeling. Like I could burst with bliss.

And then I do. And Edward bursts with me. I feel his hot semen on my stomach, and his grunts in my ear.

“Fuck, fuck . . . fuck . . .”

The masculine carnal sounds of his release feed my own and I moan into his shoulder, pressing my teeth against his skin as the pulsing pleasure wracks through me—and I go tight and stiff beneath him. Both of us taking and giving and feeling the rapture of the moment together.

Later, after Edward has gotten a cloth from the washroom and cleaned us both up, and we lie in a heap of tangled limbs in his bed, he presses his lips to my temple.

“This isn’t why I brought you to my room, I swear.” He thinks on his words, and then rephrases. “Well . . . it’s not the only reason.”

I smile. “Yes, you said you wanted to show me something.”

He kisses my forehead, then slips from the bed. I sit up so I can watch him cross the room. I admire his tapered waist, the hard swell of his arse, and how the muscles in his back ripple as he moves.

There was a time I thought God had forsaken me. But looking at the bare perfection of this man, I realize . . . I must be God’s most favorite person ever.

I pull the blanket over my shoulders and shift to sit on the side of the bed, my feet hanging off. Edward opens his top bureau drawer, takes something out and walks back to me, crouching down.

His hair falls forward into his eyes, and his grin makes him look young and boyish and so very handsome. “Give me your hand.”

I hold my hand out to him and he slides the ring—his mother’s ring—off my finger.

Then he walks over and throws it out the window.

“Edward!”

“Don’t argue with me about this. That ring is cursed.”

He comes back to me, and this time he doesn’t crouch down.

He kneels.

Edward flips the box open and inside is a ring—a perfect pearl surrounded by small glittering diamonds on a gold band.