I've learned to allow myself the room to fall in love with what I'm writing.

I own your pleasure," I whispered into his mouth. "I'll take it if you won't give it to me.

You didn't see him watching you dance with your dad. His eyes got all shiny. I thought he was going to cry. And on the way up here, in the elevator, he tried to play it off, but I could totally tell he was nervous.

It was the nature of our relationship to be lusty and emotional, earthy and raw. The trust that held us together also opened us up to each other in ways that made us both vulnerable and dangerous. And it would get worse before it got better.

Your craving should be for me, angel, not an orgasm. For my body, my hands. Eventually, you won't be able to come without my skin touching yours.

Are you hurting anywhere else?" I asked, feeling so emotionally raw after the long night we'd had. He caught my wrist and pulled my hand down to press flat over his heart. "Here." "So am I." He kissed my fingertips, then linked our hands and led me.

If I was any more pleased with you, I would lose what little remains of my sanity.