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He is.

He settles between my thighs on his knees on the floor, pulls my hips to the very edge of the cot, and puts his mouth on me.

I nearly come off the bed.

His tongue is broad and slow. He’s careful with his tusks, and he’s so thorough. He licks me open, finds my clit, and circles it around and around until I’m gasping and my heels are digging into his back.

He listens to every sound I make. He’s learning me. When I moan, he does it again. When I gasp, he does it harder.

Then a low hum starts.

I feel it before I hear it, right through my hips and straight into me.

I know that sound. I’ve felt it before.

“Holt,” I gasp. “That noise.”

He lifts his head, instantly alert, ears swiveling toward the door. “What noise?”

“Not out there.” I reach down and lay my palm flat on his chest, over his breastbone. It’s vibrating under my hand like a speaker cabinet. “In here. It’s you.”

He looks down at my hand like he’s never seen his own chest before. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”

“You did it in the glade, too. When I kissed you.”

“I can stop if you don’t like it.”

“Like it?” I laugh, shaky. “Holt, I played bass for seven years. I spent my whole life feeling the low notes come up through the stage. I know a good frequency when I feel one. Keep going.”

His eyes turn gold. He bends his head again.

The hum comes back stronger, rolling up through his chest and into his mouth, straight into my clit. I cry out. He slides one thick finger inside my pussy, slow, and I’m so wet he groans against me.

Holy crap. Is this real life? Did I really spend three weeks arguing with this man about footbridges?

Then a second finger stretches me, curling up to find the spot that makes me shake.

“There,” I gasp. “There, right there.”

He keeps the hum going, his mouth on me and his fingers moving, until my thighs start to tremble.

“That’s it, little bird,” he murmurs against me. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

I come apart. It crashes through me, wave after wave, and I hear myself shout his name. He doesn’t stop. He hums me right through it, until I’m limp, twitching, and laughing with my arm over my eyes.

When I can see again, he’s kneeling between my legs, licking his lips, looking very pleased with himself.

“Oh, wow,” I say. “Okay. You’re good at that.”

“I’ve never done it before.”

I lift my arm off my face and stare at him. “Never?”

“Never wanted to. Before you.”

How am I supposed to survive this man?

I sit up on the cot and pull him toward me by his belt. “My turn.”