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She will.

God help me, she absolutely will.

I cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the tight peaks until her back arches into my touch. That needy little sound she makes nearly ruins me, soft and wrecked in the dark. I replace one hand with my mouth, dragging my tongue over her before sucking gently, then harder when her fingers dive into my hair.

Her body bows toward me.

Mine aches to answer.

Her hands fumble with the button of her jeans, and I step in because if I watch her struggle for one more second, I might lose my damn mind. I slide the denim down her legs, taking her underwear with it, and she lifts her hips without hesitation.

No shame. No hiding.

Just Clair, bare and flushed on the back of my truck, legs parted, moonlight touching skin I’ve dreamed about and never let myself imagine having.

Fuck, she’s stunning.

Sacred.

Her knees ease wider. A whimper slips from her mouth.

If she keeps making that sound, I’m done.

Her gaze drops.

Then lifts back to mine.

Hot. Hungry. Certain.

I slide my hands beneath her thighs and pull her closer to the edge of the tailgate until her legs hang on either side of my hips. She reaches for the condom, fingers already tearing at the wrapper.

I stop her with my hand over hers.

Her eyes snap to mine, and uncertainty flickers there.

I squeeze her fingers once.

Not no.

Wait.

I reach for my back pocket and pull out my notebook. My hands aren’t as steady as I want them to be when I grab the pencil, but the words come fast.

I flip the notebook around.

My turn for a taste.

Color blooms across her cheeks, but her eyes go darker. Hotter.

I wink, then write one more line.

Hold on, baby.

Her lips part.

I drop the notebook and lower myself to my knees in front of her.

The sight of her steals whatever sanity I had left. My hands slide along her thighs, easing them wider, and I press a kiss to one, then the other. Her skin trembles beneath my mouth, and that little reaction nearly takes me out.