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“Destiny.” Tristan's voice went rough with emotion. He leaned forward and brought our lips together.

The kiss began with a desperate, pent-up hunger, born of hours of terror, flight, and bottled restraint. But as my arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down against me, the urgency gave way to something deliberate and deep. His hands found the hem of my sweater, sliding over the bare skin of my ribs with a reverent slowness that made me shiver.

Tristan drew back and stood to take my hand and lead me from the library and upstairs to our guest room. We left everything behind—my bag, the painting, our coffee, and the weight of the day. The dark of the suite welcomed us, silvered by moonlight pouring through high arched windows.

He set me on the edge of the mattress, kneeling between my parted knees. His hands were steady as he removed my sweater, lifting it over my head to reveal my lace bra. His gaze swept over my skin, intense and full of wonder I didn't understand. He'd seen millions of women and even if he'd only had one woman every five years, he would have been with more of them than any human man alive. How could he look at me like that?

“You are extraordinary.” Tristan's fingers traced my collarbone down to the valley between my breasts. “Every line of you.”

There it was. After so many years, finding beauty in everything, even though you've seen its like a million times, became important to survival. If Tristan had lost his sense of wonder, he would have been consumed by Heartbreak. The years hadn't jaded him, they'd taught him to look closer. He could look at me and see a woman, but he could also see what made me unique.

“Show me.” I reached down to unbutton his shirt, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders until his chest was bare in the silver light.

Tristan slid his hands beneath my hips to lift me to my feet while he remained on his knees. After removing my shoes, he unbuttoned my jeans, and unzipped them, kissing my belly as he exposed it. Lips still on me, he slid down my panties and moved lower. The first touch of his tongue hit me like a live wire, sending me into a jerking spasm. Tristan kissed me more deeply, taking my left leg onto his shoulder to expose more of me. After what felt like forever, having him touch me so intimately felt like a revelation or a miracle. I could hardly believe it was happening. I ran my fingers through his hair as he lapped at me, my buttocks tensing and hips moving instinctively.

Tristan eased back, planting one last kiss on my sex, then stood up to finish undressing When he stripped away the last of his clothes, the sight of his lean, powerful body in the moonlight did as much to excite me as his tongue had just done. I reached behind my back and undid my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

With a groan, Tristan picked me up and laid me on the bed. As he crawled on top of me, I slid my hands down him, settling on his ass. I could finally feel all of him without hesitation. No holding back, no worries about if it was too soon. I wanted to take it slowly and savor, but my fingers wouldn't listen. I reached between us and took him in hand. He was thick, warm, and velvety.

His hips jerked, shoving him into my hand, and his gaze went everywhere, touching me before his hands did. With gentle pushes, he parted my thighs and moved between them, pulling himself free of my grasp. Tristan didn't go straight for the breasts as most men I'd been with. No, he kissed my belly, nuzzling it before moving to my hips.

His attention was patient, intent, and dedicated to finding what I responded to. When I shifted my hips, he noticed. When I made a sound in response to a lick, he focused on the spot. He knew to linger in places most people skimmed, to use his mouth with deliberateness, and to read the shift of my breathing. It was as if he were reading my manual, as you might with a car before turning on the engine.

A flick of the tongue over the dip between thigh and the mound of my sex. A nuzzle under my knee. A nip at the sensitive skin at the bottom of my breast. I was writhing beneath him within minutes, but it was a slow burn, the heat rising with the steady stroke of his hands and lips. I shuddered under broad sweeps of his palms on my upper arms and moaned when he nudged his chin against my sex. When he finally sucked my nipple into his mouth, it was a little orgasm, the expectation building it into more than it was. Tristan turned me over at one point, but I was so lost to ecstasy I didn't realize it until he licked just underneath my left cheek. His hand coasted down my thighs, twisted around, and went back up, stopping short of where I wanted him.

I moaned and undulated against him, but Tristan took his time, his control better than mine. It was a sharp contrast to the last time we'd tried this, but instead of disappointment over his restraint, I felt grateful he'd stopped us that night. This was how our first time should be—a tender exploration before we let the passion consume us, not a rampant fuck on his couch. And he'd known. He'd known how good it could be, and he'd held out for it.

Tristan's face pressed into the small of my back, and I nearly came from his breath on my skin. The slide of skin and the tickle of hair on his legs came as he slipped between my legs. Softness against my back and warmth from his slow kisses. His fingertips trailed down my spine, then circled my right cheek. Sensations gathered in my sex, making me slick and anxious. He laid over me, pressing his chest against my back, and pulled my hair away from my neck. With his cock nestled between my lower cheeks, he kissed the skin beneath my ear.

“How do you feel, Destiny?” Tristan whispered into my ear.

“Ready to flip you over and ride you,” I snapped.

He chuckled. “I'm sorry. I was just trying to heighten your pleasure. Is this what you need?” He moved back.

Over my shoulder, I watched him kneel and draw his hand up my thigh, taking it up to brush against me. My buttocks tensed and then shook as he petted me with long strokes.

“More,” I said.

“Like this?” He stroked me harder, splitting me and rubbing me from base to crest.

“More.”

“Here?” Tristan leaned over me, one hand on the bed and the other pressing up against me from beneath. His middle finger found my bud and circled it.

I was too worked up from all his endeavors. By the second circle, I was pumping against him, my back arched and my orgasm rocking through me. Tristan rubbed me through it, his cock sliding against my leg, and when I slumped, he pressed his palm against me. I thought surely he'd enter me then, but he didn't. Tristan turned my limp body over, settled between my legs, lowered himself over me, and kissed me.

His kiss revived me, sending thrills down my body, and I gasped into his mouth. His hand found my breast and kneaded it as he slid his cock over my pussy, back and forth, pressing it hard enough to split me. I looked down and saw his pink tip beaded with moisture, rubbing over my clit as his shaft nestled in against me. The edge of his tip felt like a finger flicking me even as it rubbed.

Shivering heat ran down my breasts and belly to gather below, and I tried to angle up to receive him. But Tristan gripped my hip and held me down. I whimpered, and he bent his head to kiss me, trying to distract me with the twining of our tongues. But I couldn't be distracted. Not with the slip and slide of his long, thick cock against me.

Mindless with need, I moved my hands over his chest, pinching his nipples. Tristan pulled back and straightened to his knees, his head bent and his breath ragged. It registered as weakness in my desire-addled mind, and I went for the kill. Gripping him, I pumped his cock, glorying in the sight of his pink tip popping free of my fist.

Tristan let it go on for a moment, but then gripped my wrist. “This is not how I want to arrive.”

“Oh?” I bent my knees and hooked my legs over his shoulders. “Then how do you want to come?”

“I . . .” He stared down at my sex, on full display for him. “I don't carry diseases, and, I, uh, I can't get you pregnant.”