I lift my head, tilting her chin back so she's looking directly into my eyes.

"But, I'm not done exploring every inch of you."

A soft gasp escapes her, chest rising unevenly, her eyes glossy with need.

"Well, there's...a lot of inches to explore."

A self-deprecating little joke.

Not. Fucking. Happening.

My fingers squeeze around her cheeks, not hard, but forcing her eyes to stay locked on mine.

"You're mine now. And I'm not going to let you put yourself down like that." I release my grip and brush my thumb along her lower lip, watching as she shivers. "I'll remind you, Izzy, over and over, of just how beautiful you are. Every single day, for as long as it takes."

Her breath stutters, and then I dive back in, kissing her deep, kneading her breasts, completely fucking lost in her.

Her hand travels lower, fingers curling around the outline of my cock, kneading me through my pants. I groan, deep in my chest, my hips twitching slightly into her touch.

Fuck, she's so eager.

Her confidence builds, her hand slipping higher, tracing the waistband of my pants, teasing beneath the fabric. She's about to go further, and it takes every last shred of willpower I have to stop her. I reach down, gently but firmly catching her wrist. Her brows furrow and her lips part slightly. Her eyes lift to mine, and I immediately know what she's thinking.

She thinks she did something wrong; thinks that I don't want this.

She couldn't be more wrong.

I lean in, brushing my lips over her cheek, whispering against her skin, "You first."

She exhales, shaky, uncertain. "What?"

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me, and to make sure she sees the truth written all over my face. "Because I've been waiting," I tell her, my voice thick with restraint.

She shudders.

I drag my lips over the shell of her ear, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer, holding her exactly where I want her. "Since the first day I saw you in that steakhouse."

She freezes.

Her breath catches. "What?"

My fingers tighten against her waist. "That night was the first time I saw you. Watching some douchebag say words that made you look sad. And I knew—" I drag my nose along her jaw, inhaling her scent, letting myself feel her softness against me. "I knew you'd be mine."

“You knew back then?”

I nod. "Didn't know you yet. Just knew that I would."

She stares at me, realization dawning in her expression. She takes my hands in hers, lifting them, guiding them. Then, slowly she presses them down, right over her sweatpants. My thumbs hook into her panties, and then she's pushing my hands lower, and I'm pulling the material off her body, peeling it down her thighs, down her legs, down until she's completely bare beneath me.

I pull back, just enough to see her.

She’s a goddamn vision. All soft skin and curves begging to be marked, heat rolling off her in a way that dares me to take. She was made for this—for me.

But she doesn't see it.

Not yet.

Instead of owning the moment, owning her beauty, owning the way my eyes can't stop drinking her in, she hesitates. Her body tenses, shoulders curling inward, thighs pressing slightly together, like she's waiting.

For judgment.

For rejection.

Like she doesn't realize that I would get on my knees and worship every inch of her if she let me.

My chest tightens, possessiveness curling inside me.

She should know.

She should fucking know.

I part my lips, ready to tell her exactly that, ready to tell her she's the sexiest fucking woman I've ever laid eyes on, that she has no idea how much I want her, how much I want to devour her.

But then she makes a sound. A tiny, soft little whimper, and my restraint snaps.

I move without thinking. I slide my hands down her thighs, gripping them firmly, feeling the heat of her skin beneath my fingers. I spread her apart, watching her reaction—the gasp, the quiver of her lower lip, the tremor that runs through her body.

She’s gorgeous like this.

Spread out.

Exposed.

Mine.

She looks up at me. Her pupils are wide, chest rising and falling rapidly, hands gripping the couch cushions. I exhale slowly, my fingers tightening against her thighs, keeping her still. "Lie back for me, pretty girl."

Her breath shudders, but she listens. She lets me move her, lets me guide her, lets me position her exactly how I want her.

I dive in. The first swipe of my tongue against her slick heat has her hips jerking up, thighs trembling in my grip. Her breath stutters and I feel the tremor of it all the way through her. I growl against her skin, my hands tightening around her soft, curvy thighs. She's writhing beneath me, and I’m going to give her exactly what she wants.

She's mine to devour.

And fuck, she tastes like heaven.

I lap at her like I'm starved for it, because I am.

Her clit pulses against my tongue, hot and swollen, and I wrap my lips around it, sucking just enough to feel her jolt beneath me. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair, tugging, anchoring herself, pulling me in closer with her needy, desperate sounds.

I groan, lapping up every drop, drinking in every sound, every little gasp and whimper that spills from her lips. She's so sensitive, so fucking reactive. Every flick of my tongue, every slow, deliberate movement, has her tensing, tightening, breaking apart little by little. I drag my tongue through her folds, slowly, teasing, savoring her.

Because this?

This is what I've been waiting for.

Her taste, her sounds, the way she writhes beneath me, desperate, helpless, completely undone⁠—

It's everything I've fantasized about.

I grip her hips with one hand to keep her still as I push two fingers inside her, curling them deep.

She's so tight.

So fucking perfect.

She clenches around my fingers, and I can feel the way her body reacts to me, like it knows exactly who it belongs to. Her thighs twitch against my shoulders, her entire body shuddering.

"Cal—"

She gasps it, her voice breaking apart like she can't hold herself together anymore.

Hearing her say my name like that, it does something to me. Her fingers tighten against my scalp, tugging hard, like she needs something solid—someone—to keep her from unraveling. Her head tilts back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut, body shaking beneath me.

And I feel it—the intense, possessive need curling in my gut, the raw, aching hunger to hear her say my name like that over and over again.

I want to pull it from her lips in every way possible.

Make my name the only name she ever thinks about when she comes.

I groan against her, lapping her up, fucking her with my fingers, dragging her higher, watching her unravel just for me.

Because that's what she is now.

Mine.

She's so close.

I flick my tongue over her again and again, dragging her closer, pulling her to the edge, making her feel nothing but this.

Her moans turn breathy, higher-pitched, frantic.

Her legs start to shake.

Her hips buck, her breath catches, and I don't stop.

I don't let up.

"Come for me, Izzy."

Her entire body locks up and then she shatters.

Her back arches, her breath erratic, and she falls apart beneath me, gasping my name like it's the only word she remembers.

I groan into her, licking her through it, prolonging it, making sure she feels every last second of her release.

She trembles, twitching, her thighs jerking against me as aftershocks ripple through her.

I don't stop until she's whimpering, too sensitive, too overwhelmed.