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Why isn’t he saying anything? Was I unclear or . . . ?

“What I’m trying to say is I can’t do the hookup thing with you,” I add. I don’t know how to be any more direct than that.

Silence.

His lack of response is making me regret ever opening my mouth, and it forces me to brave his stare. I hesitantly drag my gaze back to Casper, half expecting to find him asleep, but discover he’s very much awake—his stare burns into mine.

He winds the ends of my hair around his fingers, studying my face with a rare tenderness. After a beat, he stills and a smile curls at the edge of his mouth before he leans in and kisses me.

Casper’s kisses are devastating—in the most magnificent way. His lips move unhurried against mine. He kisses like we have all the time in the world and he’s going to savor every second. My hand slides up to his jaw, brushing my thumb across his chin. He rolls on top of me, bracing himself on his elbows, and catches my lower lip between his teeth. His mouth trails below my ear, warm breath fanning over my neck and chasing shivers up my spine. It’s exhilarating. I cradle his head, dragging my nails softly over his scalp while silently praising myself for every decision that led to this moment.

Above us, the dark sky stretches wide, stars glittering beyond the halo of the moon. A wave of contentment washes through me and my fingers slow as I try to place the feeling—and then it clicks. I’m happy. Not grateful or relieved glad—this is carefree happiness. It’s been so long that the realization almost startles me.

He’s not like any other man I’ve met. So much of our time together feels like more, but until he confirms it with words, I can’t assume, or surrender to these feelings . . . which seems like an impossible task when his mouth is on me.

I haven’t had sexual attention in years, and even then, it was never like this—never safe attention. Casper is so intentional in the way he treats me. Always ensuring I feel sheltered, respected . . . cherished. He’s patient, waiting for me to give myself freely instead of out of obligation. He makes me want things I abandoned a long time ago—things I used to dream about before bad men taught me I would only ever be a transaction.

He makes me believe that just because I’ve made mistakes in my past, even if that past is catching up with me, it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be happy or to feel carefree like this. It’s the first time I’ve said those words to myself and meant them.

“Do you promise?” he asks, his voice soft against my skin.

I don’t remember the last thing I told him. “Huh?”

“Promise me more than a hookup.”

The warm glow he’s planted in my chest expands and spreads all the way to my fingertips. My breath catches, and his mouth breaks into a grin against my throat as he traces his tongue lazily over my flesh.

I want this.

I want Casper.

“I promise,” I pant.

I cup his chin and bring his face to mine—kissing him deep. My tongue swipes over his, stealing his lips until we’re both breathless. Before tonight, I don’t remember a time I used my mouth as something other than currency.

This is just for me. I want Casper to myself—I want his time, his focus, his touch, his kiss, his cock. His name slips from my lips, sounding more like a moan than a whisper.

“That’s my girl.” He grazes over my barely clothed pussy. His slow, satisfied smile is detectable in his voice. “Love the way you say my name when you’re all needy like this . . . I’m dying to know how it sounds when you’re coming for me.”

The wicked gleam in his eyes has heat flooding my core and I squirm under him. “Still want to know what I taste like?” I ask, breathless.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, getting to his knees. I sit up with him, unzipping my left boot while he unzips my right. I kick them off and he gets right to work pushing my dress up, and hooking his fingers in the sides of my underwear and ripped tights, peeling them down my calves. As I drop back onto my elbows, he tears off his flannel, leaving him in a white shirt that practically glows in the moonlight.

Casper keeps his gaze locked on mine as he settles between my legs, and the hunger in his stare when it drops between my thighs sends my pulse soaring.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this . . . Up,” he commands with a lift of his chin. I raise my ass and he stuffs his balled-up flannel under me as if he’s preparing to be down there a while. Oh my God.

He spreads me open, dropping down to his elbows and curling an arm beneath my bent thigh, easing my knee to the side so I’m fully bared to him. He presses a kiss to my inner leg. Then his other hand finds mine, and he laces our fingers together. “I’ve got you, Duchess.”

I nod, the cool air suddenly making me aware of just how embarrassingly wet I am. His hot breath ghosts over my skin and my entire body tenses with anticipation. I tighten my grasp and exhale slowly, attempting to relax. He flattens his tongue, and licks from my entrance to my clit. My back arches and he groans with relief, like he’s finally getting the fix he’s been craving. Holy hell. My needy whimper elicits an overconfident smirk from him—he knows exactly how he’s affected me.

“You taste so fucking good.”

My chest is already heaving when his tongue flicks my clit. He reaches a steady rhythm, torturing me with lazy, patient circles. The heat of his mouth colliding with the cool night air heightens every sensation. I'm unable to think about anything other than the way his mouth feels on me. I don’t remember pleasure before him.

Casper maintains a slow pace, reminding me of the way he kisses, letting the pressure and need build until I’m barely holding on. His tongue idly traces over every inch as if he’s committing my body to memory. He’s attentive, watching closely as he consumes me, registering every gasp, and roll of my hips—he’s mapping me.

My vision blurs when he sucks my clit, and I gape at him in awe.