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wanting to impose on me unless I was certain.
    â€˜Are you sure? Do you trust me?’
    â€˜You saved my life. How can I not trust you?’
    His eyes sparked and his mouth curled into that gorgeous lop-sided grin. ‘Christ, you’re beautiful.’
    The way he said it made me feel as if he’d never seen beauty before, as if mine was the only kind that mattered. I was flushed with embarrassed pride.
    He kissed me again, slow and gentle this time, his tongue slowly rolling with mine. Despite our desperation, he slowed things down, rolling off me and undoing my shirt, focusing on each button at a time. I moaned my need, pushing up into his hands. When he parted the material, he studied my body with reverence, running his fingers softly over the skin. ‘You feel like silk, Callie.’
    I reached behind to unhook my bra. My nipples were rubbing against the material, clamouring for attention, hard and tight. He helped me remove it, and his hands stroked over my breasts with clear appreciation. I heard him hiss as his thumb caught a nipple and flicked it. A cry of pleasure caught in my throat as the sensation darted straight through to my burgeoning clit.
    â€˜Perfect, perfect girl.’
    I’d always been nervous about my boobs. They were high and pert but I was still envious of the ample cleavage my friends displayed. Even my mother had suggested I should consider a boob job.
    Paul clearly had no such misgivings. With another groan of satisfaction, he lowered himself to one breast and took the nipple in his mouth. Oh, bliss. He nuzzled and sucked with complete devotion, rolling his tongue on the rock-hard bud, tugging it between his lips, giving the slightest little nibble with careful teeth. I twined my fingers through his hair and held him there.
    And then his hand worked its way down to the open flies on my trousers and those strong, warm fingers found their way down under my pants. God, I was wet, it was almost embarrassing.
    Touch.
    That touch I’d been longing for. One finger slid and grazed my clit. I jumped at the contact, so wanted, so needed. He lifted himself from my boob, releasing the nipple with a gentle pop.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ he slurred, his finger now circling the tender flesh dizzyingly.
    I nodded, biting my lip in readiness.
    â€˜Lift your hips.’ I did so and he tugged down my jeans and underwear as I wriggled out of them.
    â€˜Can’t wait to be inside you, Callie, but I’m going to make you come first. I want to watch you, this first time. I want to watch how you come, what you sound like, what you look like. I want to imprint it on me.’
    Oh God. Those words, delivered in that throaty, northern burr, made me come almost by themselves. But his fingers were so perfect, so confident, that I focused on them and let pleasure build. He rubbed my clit just enough, then slid down to dip into me. I ground down onto him, trying to draw him in further. He said nothing, but was staring hard into me, his brows creased a little. I looked back. I usually avoided eye contact during sex. Not with this man. With this man I would share it all; my body, my pleasure, and my soul.
    My lips parted a little and my breath came in short pants. My eyes flickered, my nostrils flared. And that ball of brilliant tension, that rolling, tight ball spinning deep inside me, started to swell and open. His fingers were back to my clit now, focused and intent on their task.
    He was mouthing, ‘Come on, come on,’ but the words were barely audible, more a thought released on his breath.
    There it was.
    Oh God, the beauty of it. I came so hard I bucked right up, my back rigid, my eyes wide and staring. I was silent at first, as if paralysed, and then, as the unearthly pleasure rocketed through me, I wailed, a long, animal-like wail of pure rapture. Never had I had such a strong orgasm from touch alone.
    I slumped down, panting hard, amazed at the strength of my climax.
    I