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The question hangs in the air between us.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he lifts his hand slowly and brings it to my face, his fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness.

“Do not ask questions,” he says softly, “that you do not want answers to.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. “I do,” I insist.

His thumb traces lightly along my jaw, his gaze steady. “No,” he says, his voice low and certain.

“You do not. You should go back to bed,” he says quietly. “Get some rest.”

I let out a small, tired breath. “It’s hard to get back to sleep after being woken up by one of my nightmares,” I admit. “My brain gets too wired.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Is that so?”

There’s something in his tone that makes my pulse quicken.

“Then,” he says slowly, taking a step closer, “I will have to make your brain relax.”

I open my mouth to ask how, but the question never leaves my lips. Because his mouth is suddenly on mine.

The kiss hits me like a spark to dry tinder, hot and immediate. I gasp softly, and he takes advantage of it instantly, deepening the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world.

Heat spreads through me, chasing away the chill of fear and sleeplessness. My fingers clutch at his shoulders as he backs me up, step by step, until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the bed.

I barely have time to react before he guides me down onto the mattress. The room spins slightly as I land on the soft sheets, breath coming faster now, my heart pounding against my ribs. He doesn’t rush, but there’s an intensity in the way he looks at me that makes my stomach flip.

He reaches for my ankle, his hand warm and firm as he gently pulls me closer to the edge of the bed. Then he lowers himself to his knees.

His lips brush my skin, soft at first, pressing a slow trail of kisses along my ankle, lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch. He moves upward with unhurried precision, each touch deliberate, each kiss sending little sparks racing through my body.

My fingers curl into the sheets. He lifts the hem of my nightgown slowly, pushing the fabric up along my legs and over my hips. A faint smile touches his mouth when he realizes I’m not wearing panties. I never have liked wearing them to bed.

The look in his eyes darkens, heat pooling low in my belly. He pauses for just a second, his fingers tracing lightly along my thigh, sending a tremor through me. My breath comes faster, my body already responding to him before I can stop it.

When his mouth finds me again, the sensation is overwhelming. A soft sound escapes my lips before I can stop it, my body arching slightly, reacting to the slow, teasing rhythm he sets.

Every nerve in my body lights up.

The tension that had been coiled tight inside me, the fear, the exhaustion, the restless energy from the nightmare, begins to unravel under his touch. My thoughts scatter, replaced by sensation, by heat, by the steady pull of pleasure building deeper and deeper.

I grip the sheets, breath hitching as waves of feeling roll through me, stronger each time, until the world narrows down to nothing but him and I come crying his name.

How am I supposed to plan an escape from a man who gives me mind-blowing orgasms?

He rises and joins me on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. The heat of his body surrounds me instantly. His hand slides between my legs again, and the sudden contact makes my body jolt, a soft gasp escaping my lips before I can stop it.

My breath catches as he touches me, drawing a sharp response from my still-sensitive body. I buck instinctively, my fingers clutching at his shoulders.

His mouth comes down on mine, swallowing the sound that threatens to spill out of me. The kiss is deep and consuming, stealing the air from my lungs as sensation builds all over again.

“You’re thinking of leaving again, aren’t you?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, threaded with warning.

A small whimper slips from me. How did he know that? The tension inside me coils tighter and tighter, making it impossible to form words.

He shifts slightly, intensifying the rhythm of his fingers, and a louder sound escapes me before I can stop it.

“Whatever plan you have in that head of yours,” he says quietly, his breath warm against my skin, “I advise you to abandon it.”