Then, just like that, he hooks my panties to the side, pushes me back, and closes his mouth over my clit.

“Well,” I gasp, closing my eyes and dropping my head back. “Manners are important.”

“And you’ll be thanking me long before the main course.” He pauses long enough to say those words. As soon as the final one has left his mouth, he’s focused entirely on what he’s doing.

Licking my pussy.

And I’m focused on that, too.

I think he has my clitoris on speed dial.

He finds it instantly and wastes no time working it with the very tip of his tongue. And God, God, God. It’s so fucking lucky I’m mute from pleasure right now or he’d think I was renaming him.

Still… He isn’t shy about this. Neither am I. I want him to do this. A part of me, the biggest part, wants him to own me and possess me so thoroughly that the only thing on my mind as he’s inside me is his name.

I want that, too, though. The rest of me. I want him to finally end this are-they-aren’t-they bullshit that’s been spiraling in my mind for days.

I want him to own me.

I want the most vulnerable part of me to belong to him without hesitation.

And it happens as he pushes me over the brink with his tongue and fingers combined.

He’s right. I’m breathing his name before he’s even freed his cock from his pants.

He grasps the back of my neck with his hand and forces my face toward his. “Say it,” he demands.

No more fighting unless it matters.

“Yours.” I tilt my hips toward him.

He teases me by brushing the head of his cock against the opening of my wet pussy. “All of it. Every fuckin’ word, Noelle. Because my cock won’t be inside you until you’ve said it.”

“Yours,” I repeat again. “I’m yours.”

He pushes into me in one long, easy thrust.

And I throw my head back again. I want to hold this, this moment. I want to keep it forever. The moment where everything changes and I finally stop and give myself to him the way he wants. Even if it means fighting every day and rarely seeing eye to eye but always needing the other at the end of the day.

This. Me. Drake.

It’s so right that I don’t know how I ever thought it was wrong.

His grasp on me is so hard and desperate, and my fingers twine in his hair so deeply as he moves me even closer to him and his hips grind faster and deeper and he’s so buried in me that there’s nothing but the way my pussy hugs him as he lingers inside me for seconds that aren’t really seconds but are nothing more than fleeting moments in time.

And this… This is everything. Our bodies together. Skin on skin. Fingers grasping and mouths gasping. It’s insanity and perfection and the one level of oblivion that should be added to dreams.

It’s fast and desperate and furious and intense. It’s just us, us, all over. It’s head-buttingly intense and so fucking crazy that I can’t tell his fingertips from the pleasure that coats my skin as he pushes me closer to the brink of the orgasm I know he’ll give me.

Everything.

Heartstopping.

Skin-tingling.

Lung-constricting.

Stomach-somersaulting.

Breathtaking.

It’s everything and more as his name leaves my lips in a long, breathy cry that isn’t worthy of the pleasure accompanying it. It’s pathetic and useless compared to the sensations unashamedly assaulting my body in this very moment.

“Mine.” He growls it. That deep, rough growl that gets me every time.

“Caveman,” I respond breathlessly. “I’m not food.”

“She says after being eaten on a table,” he laughs into my collarbone.

Bastard. “Shut it.” My responding laugh is breathless and barely distinguishable as one. Because him.

God, just him.

Slowly, he pulls out of me and pushes my panties back into place. “Sorry about that.”

“The sex or my underwear?”

“That’s a tough one. I don’t think I should be sorry about either, judging by your response.”

“It’s okay. I might have packed an overnight bag in case I decided to blow my family off and come here to kick your ass.”

“Hate to tell you, cupcake, but not much ass-kickin’ happened.”

I sigh, still on the table. “I know.”

“Does this mean you’ll stay with me tonight?” he asks, touching his hand to my cheek. “Again?”

“Do you want me to?” I hold my breath as I look into his eyes.

“Do you need to ask me?”

“Okay,” I agree, turning my face into his palm. “Just keep your cock on your side of the bed. It’s real distracting at four a.m.”

Drake laughs, and I can’t help but smile. “Got it.” He touches his mouth to mine softly. “There’s wine in my fridge.”

“You know me so well,” I mumble.

He pulls me off the table. “Grab your shit from your car, and by the time you get back, there’ll be a wine glass on the coffee table.”

“And you’ll clean the dining table, right?”

His answering smirk is both cocky and amused. “You got it, cupcake.”

“So, to sum up,” Drake says, rolling onto his side and looking down at me, “we have no idea what we’re looking for.”

“That would be an accurate explanation.” I wince. “Because the only people who knew about it are now dead.”

“So we need to go back into their houses and search for something that could incriminate the mayor.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” I grumble and sit up, holding the covers over my bare chest. “When can we do that? Are we even allowed to do that?”

Drake gets out of bed and walks toward the bathroom. He’s completely naked, and if I were a less mature woman, I’d laugh at how pale his butt is compared to the rest of him.

“Didn’t stop you before, did it?” he asks.

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean,” I lie.

“Oh, so you didn’t break into Ryan and Lena Perkins’s apartment.”

“It’s not breaking in if the door is unlocked!” I call, grabbing my bra from… Uh… I glance around and find it hanging off the lamp.

Because all good table lamps should have a bra hanging off them.

“But it’s still illegally entering.” The toilet flushes, and he walks back into his room.

Still naked.

“Have we already reached the toilet conversation stage in this? I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” I tease him, pulling a clean pair of panties from my bag and putting them on. “And if we have, I’m drawing the line at poop-talks.”

“How have you been single for years?”

“You’re a cocky bastard.” I grab my dress, lay it on the bed, and dig in my bag. I know I put a roll of string in here yesterday.

“What are you doin’? Not that I’m upset about the view.”

“I’m pretty sure my ass is your favorite part of me,” I mutter, locating the string under my hairbrush and pulling it out.

“No, seriously.” Drake frowns and pauses with his hands on the button of his jeans. “What are you doin’?”

I grin and snap a long piece of string off with my teeth. Then I thread one end through the hole in my zipper. Back zippers are a woman’s nemesis, and ever since I saw this trick on one of those stupid “30 Life Hack” articles that are irresistible reading while on the toilet, my life has been so much easier.

I tie the ends of the string together with Drake still watching me. At least he’s done his button up now. Actually, on second thought, I kind of preferred it open.

I step into my dress, wriggle it up my body, put my arms in the holes, and sweep my hair around to one side. Drake’s now looking at me like the circus let their freak show go somewhere between now and last night. I reach behind me to the base of my back, grab the tied end of the string, and pull it up. The zipper makes that light buzzing sound as it moves up to where I can reach behind me and grab it.

“And that,” I tell him, one eyebrow lifted, reaching behind me to snap the string off, “is how an independent woman puts her dress on.”