“Then I’m yours,” he whispers over my lips, trailing kisses down my neck. “And you’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” I echo back to him, knowing we both feel the promise weighting my declaration.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers.

“Is it a secret?” I laugh a little, my heart feeling lighter already, buoyant in my chest.

“Only to you.” He pulls back, his face serious. His eyes probing mine, searching for something I hope he’s finding. “I’m pretty sure everyone who’s ever seen us together already knows. Hell, Gep just met you today, and I think he already knows.”

“What is it?”

He drops his head until our temples rest against each other, his warm breath floating into my ear.

“I’m in love with you.”

Nothing could have prepared me for those words from this man. Not the rock star. Or the child prodigy. The masterful musician. The celebrity. But this guy who has systematically taken possession of my heart, day by day, piece by piece, until I have half and he has half, and one part doesn’t work without the other. My throat holds my breath hostage. And my heartbeat? Prestissimo, my music instructor called it in high school.

Very, very fast.

Rhyson’s words set my heart free like a stampede of wild notes across a music staff, falling off the lines, running off the page. I’m a composition out of control, without form. Freestyled. Improvised. Unsure of where we’re going, but certain that it’s right. Sure that in the end, it will be a thing of beauty.

“You don’t have to say it.” Rhyson’s uncertainty is an anomaly, like a discordant note, but that’s the look on his face. Not sure. Not sure of me.

“Can I though?” I push my fingers into that glorious mess of hair that never stays tamed for more than five minutes. “Can I say it?”

Rhyson leans back a few more inches, until his arms are straightened, pressing our hips together. Rhyson pushes into the juncture of my thighs, separating them. Parting me like water.

“If you feel it, you can certainly say it, but I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Oh, now you don’t want to pressure me, Mr. Ultimatum.” I can laugh now even though his words this afternoon struck fear in my heart. Fear that I would lose him for good.

“Since we’re sharing secrets,” he says, a smile splitting those full lips I’m not sure I can resist much longer. “I was probably bluffing this afternoon, but now we’ll never know.”

“Well, I love you, so it’s a moot point, right?” Any leftover laughter dissolves under the heated intensity of his stare.

“You love me?” he demands, eyes locked with mine.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I just want to be sure so when we make love you can’t pretend it didn’t happen this time or push me away or say you need time.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice falters. “I was so scared to depend on you. So scared to need you. I was afraid leaning on you would make me weak.”

I want to confess that in some ways, I still am, but I want him too much not to try.

“I know that.” Rhyson kisses my nose and then my lips and then my neck, lighting small fires over every surface of skin he touches. “I knew it then, even though I was so damn frustrated with you. I knew what was behind it. This time, we’re going to be absolutely clear about what this is.”

His fingers nudge the T-shirt I’m wearing up until cool air kisses my breasts in the push-up bra Bristol gave me. Not sure if that was a jab at my small breasts, but I can’t care right now because Rhyson looks at me like I’m a dream.

“The first time we made love was on a pool table.”

“I do recall,” I whisper, propping myself up on my elbows so that our chests almost touch.

“I think we can do better.” Rhyson rolls the cups of my bra down until my nipples peek out, pink and tight with anticipation. “When does your flight leave?”

“In three hours.”

Disappointment settles on his face for a moment, but with one glance at my breasts, his expression changes. Intensifies. Ignites me.

“We’ll have to make do.”

I’m not ready for the slow love he makes to me. The hurried coupling on the pool table exceeded any of my previous experiences, limited though they admittedly were. This deliberate seduction unravels me, starting with his lips at my breasts, tugging and biting and sucking until my head rolls back and forth on his pillow, frantic for a release he keeps just out of reach. He shoves the shirt completely over my head and reaches behind me to undo the clasp of my bra. His heated stare is foreplay, the way his eyes eat at my breasts, a promise of what’s to come.

I want in. I can’t be a spectator with this beautiful man whose desire is a palpable thing lapping at my body. I pull his T-shirt over his head, until his broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his abs are exposed for my touch. I run my fingers over the rungs of muscle in his stomach and brush my fingers over his nipples, over the musical notes and lyrics tattooed around his ribs and sketched over his arms. He sucks in a harsh breath.

“Pep, yes. Touch me.”

My eyes flick to his face, and I love the anticipation there. I reverse our positions until he’s on his back and I can straddle him, feeling decadent with my breasts hanging naked above him. I lean down, suckling at his chest, satisfied by the way he writhes beneath me, as desperate for me as I am for him. His nipple goes tight in my mouth, and I reach down to grip the stiff bulge through his jeans. His head snaps back, exposing the strong muscles of his throat.

“Damn, Pep. You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

Oh, I plan to.

I work the buckle on his belt, scooting down to slide away his jeans and the briefs clinging to the hard muscles of his thighs. My mouth waters at the sight of him, erect and already wet at the tip. I’ve never felt possessive of another person in my entire life, but I know that’s what I feel right now. This is mine. He is as much mine as I am his, and without a moment’s hesitation, I lean down and take him in my mouth.

I’ve never done this. Never wanted to. His gasps and groans guide me. I tighten and loosen my lips, play my tongue over him by instinct. His hands set the pace, twisting in my hair as he pumps into my mouth, the tempo at first slow and measured, then building to furious and urgent. My jaw stretches around him, and he’s tangy on my tongue.

He pulls back abruptly, and I’m immediately insecure.

“I did it wrong?” I can’t meet his eyes, thinking of all the groupies who have probably sucked him off in bathroom stalls and behind stages.

He tips up my chin, his eyes searching my face.

“Was that the first time you’ve done that?”

I hesitate, tempted to lie, but unable to in the honesty pressed between our nearly naked bodies.

“Damn, Pep, I hate to see you with experience.” He pulls me up until I’m flush against him. “On second thought, if that’s novice, I can’t wait to see you with experience.”

He leans into my ear.

“Do you know how it makes me feel that you’ve never done that to another guy before?”

I shake my head no, and he pulls my chin gently between his fingers.

“Like the luckiest guy in the world.”

“Then why’d you stop me?” I ask, embarrassed but curious.

“Because I want to be inside you.”

His words land on me like hot needles. He scoots to the end of the bed, taking me with him and standing me on my feet. He peels the chinos down, sliding his fingers beneath the tiny strips of lace hugging my hips and pulling down until they puddle around my ankles. His fingers brush across my nipples, tracing the words scripted under my breast and down the muscles in my stomach, lingering on the belly ring.

“You remember that day at Grady’s when I was teaching you that breathing exercise?”

I can only nod dumbly at this point because my body is livid. Passion leaks down the inside of my thighs. My fingers tremble with the strain of not touching him.