His lips appreciate the skin around my belly button before slipping down further. He’s so close to where I’ve craved his touch. So close. Before the craving is satisfied, his cheek comes to rest on my thigh, his sapphire eyes finding mine. “I want to do even better than erase. I want to remind you why I’m the best you ever had even if you can’t forget him.”

I realized that when he kissed me last night. What he’s going to make my body feel tonight will just etch it in stone.

He drags his lower lip between the inside of my thigh. His calloused hands grip my knees, spreading my legs to give him better access. He kisses my core then pulls back to look at me.

Standing, he holds his hand out. “Up.”

There’s this glimmer in his eyes—bright and playful. He’s enjoying the slow burn. Maybe I’ll come to appreciate it, too, but right now, I just want him to dull the ache—relieve the pressure I feel.

When I’m on my feet, he turns me until my back is flush with his body, hugging me around the waist as he walks us to his bedroom. He buries his nose in my hair. “You smell exactly like I remember. You don’t know how hard I tried to forget, but I can’t forget the unforgettable.”

The door opens to more candles and rose petals. I have to look back just to verify this is really my Blake. “Just because I’ve never done this before doesn’t mean I don’t know how,” he says, kissing my cheek.

“I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

His palms trail back up over my breasts circling once then settling on my shoulders. With each caress he ignites something in me. Then, he’s standing in front of me, not touching, just exploring with his eyes. I wouldn’t have been okay with this before Blake—being unclothed while someone examines every inch of me.

He peels his shirt off then unfastens his jeans, stripping himself bare in front of me. His skin doesn’t graze mine, but yet I sense him everywhere.

“Does it hurt when I’m not touching you?” he asks, his voice shows heartbreaking emotion.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Where?”

Reaching for his hand, I place it at the center of my chest. That’s where it aches the most.

“Where do you want me first, Lemon Drop?”

“Kiss me.”

His lips mark mine slowly, his forehead pressing to mine. “Now it’s my turn,” he says, lifting me in his arms. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, letting the journey take me.

My back falls on the bed of rose petals. Blake stretches out over me, propping his head up with his elbow. “I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight.”

This is worth twelve cups of coffee in the morning, I think to myself.

His touch is agile at first—subtle kisses, soft caresses, and appreciative glances. My love for him only amplifies, but the words still remain unsaid.

I want him to ravish me.

I want him to push me to the edge.

I want his rebellious love.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. I’m gasping for air when he finally pulls his mouth away.

I feel him at my entrance, lifting my hips to beg for more … to beg for everything he can give me. I accept him slowly, enjoying the fullness as he goes deeper.

“You feel so fucking good wrapped around me. This was made for me … only me,” he groans, reaching his fingers between my legs. His fingertips circle my skin, and with all the teasing he’s already put my body through, I’m only seconds away from pulsing around him.

Then he pulls his hand away, punishing me once more. “Blake, I need to come. Please.”

He presses his hips to mine, slowly rocking back and forth. The friction he creates is perfection. The tension builds as he works his way in and out. I moan, digging my nails into his back. His pace quickens as he burrows even deeper. He’s carnal, biting down on my collarbone as the first wave of fireworks sweep through my body.

It’s ecstasy.

A bolt of lightning.

The pinnacle.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against my lips. “If I died now, I’d die knowing you were the best part of my life.”

I shake my head. “Don’t talk like that.”

He continues to sink into me, over and over. “You were the first to believe in me. I’ll spend my life showing you how much that means to me … worshipping you.”

He penetrates deeper.

I scream.

He sits back on his knees, not breaking rhythm. “On your hands and knees.”

With the little energy I have left, I comply. He holds my hips, pounding in then slowly pulling back out. In. Out. Deeper. Harder. I’ve never experienced sex like this before. Love, lust and affection … it’s all there.

He fists my hair, wrapping it around his hand. The sensation sends shockwaves between my legs. It’s not long before my body is squeezing around his again. This time, he follows my lead, pulsing inside me as his fingers dig into my hips.

“So good. So fucking good,” he moans, a faint comparison to the screams I can’t control.

I fall onto my stomach, my knees too weak to hold me up. His body covers mine. Our heavy breaths mix, saying everything we can’t. Sweat drenches our skin, gluing us together. Even with the exhaustion, I’d do it all over again. It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

“How was that?” he asks, kissing the center of my back.

“I loved every second of it,” I say honestly. I can’t say those three words, but I can hint at them. “I don’t know if it beats lemon drops and paint, though.”

“I need to be your only one.”

“You are,” I promise, finding his hand beside me to kiss his knuckles.

He slips out of me, lying at my side. He’s the only person I look at and see sorrow and satisfaction at the same time.

“But he’s still in your heart. The heart doesn’t forget so easily; I know that much.”

“Our hearts weren’t made to hold one person. They were made to love many with a special place for the one we love the most.”

Silence falls between us. The L word seems to do that. “I can’t say it,” he finally admits. “The night I left—when I said it—I mean it, but I’ve only spoken those words to one other person and she’s gone now. I don’t want to lose you too.”

“Love isn’t a curse.”

“It’s a superstition.”

I run my fingers along his spine as my eyes fill with tears I refuse to shed. Sadness overtakes me because of everything this man has gone through. Anger spills over because that everything may keep us from being us. I want to heal him until he believes in happiness again … until love isn’t a curse or superstition.

“She didn’t do what she did because she thought you didn’t love her enough. Sometimes, our demons are too powerful. They speak louder than the deepest of loves can cure. There wasn’t anything you could have done to defeat them.”

He smiles sadly. “My therapist tells me that all the time, but you have a better way of saying it.”

“What’s it going to take before you believe it?”

“Time.”

I press my lips to his. I can deal with that as long as time doesn’t turn into forever. Our future depends on it.

He combs his fingers through my hair, letting it fall back on his sheets. My eyelids are heavy, slowly drifting shut.

“You’re special,” he whispers. “You’re the first one who’s made me want to try. For the first time in years, I’m thinking of what I have instead of what’s already gone.”

Those are the words I fall asleep to.

THINGS ARE GOOD FOR THE next week. We fall into this pattern. I work. He cooks. We make love. The last part differs; he’s had me against the wall before dinner, on the counter after, the shower, the couch, my bed, his. The apartment has been thoroughly christened.

Today is the start of a new week. Pierce is back in town, and I only have a couple weeks left before the new mood board is due to Wade.

Last week was a game of pretend, but this is reality.