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“That was not permission to kiss me.”

His expression changes instantly, all humor gone. “Ruby.”

I put a hand against his chest. “I’m kidding.”

He searches my face again like he wants to be sure I’m still committed. So, I pull him down to me and say clearly, “I want this.”

His gaze stays on mine for another second.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs. Zander’s hands pin mine above my head against the dark burgundy comforter.

“Say that again,” he says, his voice low and rough.

“I said I want this.” I buck my hips, trying to throw him off. We’re both laughing, but he doesn’t budge. Six-foot-two of solid muscle versus my five-foot-nothing. The math isn’t in my favor.

I turn my head and bite his forearm. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make him hiss. His grip loosens for half a second, and I twist, rolling us both sideways. For a moment, I’m on top, straddling his hips, my hands flat against his chest.

“Got you,” I breathe.

Then his hands find my waist, and the world flips again. My back hits the mattress, and he’s settling between my thighs, his weight pressing me into the blankets.

“You were saying?” Zander grins down at me.

I open my mouth to snap back, but his lips are on my throat, and the words dissolve into a sharp inhale. He kisses like he plays music, confident, focused, a little reckless around the edges. His mouth finds the spot below my jaw that makes my toes curl, and when I make a sound I can’t control, I feel his smile against my skin.

Bastard.

His hands slide down my sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of my black jeans. He pops the button, drags the zipper down, and I lift my hips to help him pull them off.

“This doesn’t mean you win. Your music is still too loud.” I tell him, my voice already going breathy.

“Sure it does.” He kisses the inside of my knee, then higher. His stubble scrapes my thigh, and my stomach tightens. “I’m about to prove it.”

His mouth finds my pussy through the thin fabric of my underwear, and my back arches off the bed. He hooks his fingers under the lace, drags it down my legs, and then there’s nothing between his tongue and my clit.

“Fuck,” I gasp.

He laughs against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. His tongue traces slow circles, then faster, then slower again, like he’s learning the rhythm of my hips. When I grind against his face, he groans, and the sound is so obscene, so hungry, that I feel myself getting close.

My hands fist in his messy brown hair. I pull hard enough to hurt, but he just moans and doubles down, sucking my clit between his lips. The pressure builds sharp and fast, coiling low in my belly.

“Zander.” His name comes out like a warning.

He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I come apart. My thighs clamp around his head, my hips bucking, and he doesn’t stop; he just works me through it until I’m shaking and shoving at his shoulders.

When he lifts his head, his lips are slick, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Round one.”

I want to argue, but I can’t catch my breath.

He sits back on his heels, unbuttoning his jeans. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, and I watch him stroke himself once, twice, while he looks at me sprawled naked on my bed. The dark lavender walls, the forest photos, the twinkle lights; all of it feels like a stage now.

“Condom,” I manage, pointing at my nightstand.

He grabs one, tears it open with his teeth, rolls it on. Then he’s over me again, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.