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Salty, male, tantalizing. Knowing I can make him leak before I’ve even touched him gives me a little thrill.

After a shy flick of my tongue, a long groan spills from his chest. I relish the sound way more than I ought to. His fingers tighten in my hair, urging me to take more of him, to establish a rhythm with speed and sizzle.

As I wrap my tongue around the head on the next upstroke, he hisses and curses and fucks my mouth as if he’ll never get enough.

“Yes,” he groans. “Damn, that’s good… Suck me, sugar.”

Sugar. He called me sugar again. Just like Noah. Not totally uncommon for southern men, and I do hear a bit of Texas in some of his growled words. But that isn’t odd here in Dallas.

Did you hear Noah in his voice because you wish so badly that he was Mr. Mysterious?

If I’m honest with myself, likely yes. But with Noah panting after Divorcée Barbie, talking babies and marriage, the chances of him being in my home, in my tub—hell, in my mouth—moaning and clasping my hair in his fists—that’s pretty slim.

I push the thoughts from my mind. I can’t smell anything—a weird defect in my genetic makeup—but I can absolutely taste my Mr. Mysterious. Clean skin, a hint of tang and musk that drives me completely wild.

I reach up to cup his testicles, which feel full and heavy as they lay in my palm. They draw up as I slick my tongue up his shaft and curl over the sensitive head again, this time giving him a gentle nip of my teeth.

Mysterious hisses. “You’re flirting with danger now. Keep that up and you’ll stay there until you suck me dry.”

Crazy and wild, but his words send a thrill through me. The thought of having the power and finesse necessary to bring this man to his knees—literally—ramp me up dangerously fast. My breasts hang heavy and ache. My sex clamps down with a hungry clench of need. I slip a hand between my legs and fumble around for my clit.

The sloshing water must alert him. Or is it my whimper when my fingers first make contact with my hard knot of need?

“You touching yourself?” At my nod, he pants. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. Come with me.”

Rubbing furiously at my clit, my desire skyrockets within seconds. Blood rushes through my body, heart pumping. My stranger leaks more fluid into my mouth. Urgency flows from his fingertips, through his touch, deep into me. I suck harder, faster. He curses and groans, hardens again and pulses on my tongue. He’s seconds away, and desire claws at me. I want this. For some reason, in that moment, I need to know that I can send him into bliss the way he can do to me.

“Lauren.” He barely gets my name out between harsh breaths. “Ready?”

I moan, dragging my fingertip over the swollen bud of nerves between my legs, now screaming to explode.

Seconds later, I do, saturating my body with the white heat of lightning pleasure. He joins me, flooding my mouth with the salty taste of him, filling my ears with his ragged groans and a torn curse.

Triumph and elation swirl with an encroaching oh-shit feeling. What have I done? Now that I know the taste of him, I’ll want it again. I’m supposed to be discouraging the man, sending him away. Somehow, I don’t think that sucking him to an orgasm so hard he’s still trying to find his breath is giving him the “get lost” message.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I finally utter.

Above me, his body tenses. “Because you don’t love me?”

“Because I don’t know you. This is insane! You keep sneaking into my house⁠—”

“And you keep letting me into your body. Obviously, I’m not the only one out of my mind.”

“Oh, I agree. My behavior is completely mental. This needs to stop.”

He eases away, stands. The tub starts to drain.

“Easy to say that after the orgasm, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Don’t make something out of nothing. You want to fuck and that’s it. I get it. I can accommodate you.”

No doubt, he can be extremely accommodating. But I hear the anger in his voice. Nothing good can come from this.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I say gently.

“Having your own secret fuck toy isn’t a good idea? Just think, no maintenance. Nothing to share except your pussy and your mouth…and your ass, if you’ll let me have it. No messy emotions or commitments. No man’s dirty underwear to pick up off the floor. No one to hog the remote control. No guy to hear snoring at night. Perfect, isn’t it?”

No one to hold me as I drift off to sleep. No man to soothe me when I’ve had a hard day. No helpmate to care about, to turn to in tough times.

God, he’s messing with my head. With my heart. Despite the fact the tub is nearly empty and the air is cold on my wet skin, I draw my knees up to my chest. Hot tears scald the backs of my eyes, my cheeks.