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“Perfect. Keep doing that and I’ll lose the ability to talk.”

“You say that as though it’s a threat.”

His laugh vibrated against my breast. He moved to the other side, and one broad hand traveled down my stomach and settled between my thighs. His fingers parted me, slick and gentle, and found the place that made me shiver.

“On Friday, you asked for one finger,” he murmured.

“I did. Tonight I’d like two.”

He slid two fingers inside me, slowly, and I closed my eyes. The stretch was deeper and fuller than anything I’d felt before, and I heard my own breath catch and then release. He curled his fingers toward the front, and his thumb found my clit and began to circle, light and slow, just as I’d asked on Friday. I rocked into his hand. I kept stroking him, and the quiet, ragged way he breathed made it very difficult to concentrate on rhythm.

“Look at me,” he said, and I opened my eyes. His were dark and steady, only inches from mine. “I like watching your face when you’re getting close. I like it so much I can hardly stand it.”

“I’m getting close,” I said, and my voice wavered. “Please don’t change anything.”

“I won’t. You feel incredible. You’re so wet for me, and you’re squeezing my fingers, and I want to feel you come on them.”

The words, spoken in that low, even voice, went straight through me. Tension drew up through my thighs and my stomach, and I held my breath, and then I couldn’t hold it any longer. The orgasm broke in a long, rolling wave that left me gasping his name against his mouth with my fingers gripping his shoulder. His thumb stayed steady until I couldn’t take any more, and then he eased his fingers out of me and kissed me, soft and sweet, while I shook with the last of it.

“Oh,” I said, once I could. “That was extremely good.”

“I thought so.” He was breathing hard. His erection pressed insistently against my hip, and when I reached for him, he caught my wrist, smiling. “Not yet. If you do that, I won’t last, and I have some plans.”

“You have plans?”

“A few.” He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. “Do you want to hear them?”

“Very much,” I said.

He rolled onto his back and drew me with him until I lay half across his chest, and for a moment he simply looked at me, his fingers moving through my hair.

“I want you on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed,” he said, “with me standing behind you. It puts me at exactly the right height, and I’d be able to reach you everywhere I want to. I’d like to be deep, and I’d like to feel you move against me. But if you’d rather see my face, we’ll do it that way, and I’ll like it just as much.”

I had expected to blush, and I did, but I also found that I liked hearing him say it. He’d laid it out as a choice, in complete sentences, with his heart beating steadily under my palm.

“I’d like that,” I said. “I’ve narrated that position eleven times, and I’ve never understood the logistics. I’d like firsthand data.”

“Then let’s collect some.”

“I have a few conditions.”

“Name them.”

“A pillow under my arms, because I’m not built for the leverage. And your hand where it was a minute ago. And you should tell me if any of it is a bad idea, because I’d rather laugh about an ill-advised angle than pretend it worked.”

He kissed me. “Deal.”

I sat up and took off my glasses, folding them carefully before I set them on the nightstand beside his water. Without them the room softened into gold and shadow. Hudson stood, pulled a pillow from the head of the bed, and handed it to me, and then he stood at the side of the mattress and waited. I crawled to the edge, tucked the pillow beneath my forearms, and looked back at him over my shoulder.

The look on his face was the most flattering thing I had ever seen.

“God, Peyton,” he said quietly. “Look at you.”

“I’d rather you stopped looking and started doing something.”

His laugh was low and surprised. He came up behind me, and his hands settled at my hips, rough palms warm against my skin. He stroked them up my back and then down again, and the contact made me arch toward him before I’d decided to. He ran the head of his cock along the slick seam of me, once, and then again, and I pressed back with a sound I could only describe as impatient.

“Tell me when,” he said.