“Oh, yeah?”

“You little rebel, tell me you used to have a belly button ring and I’m going to tattoo your name on Max’s ass.”

“Not yours?”

“Mine’s too pretty.”

“Fair.” I shuddered as his hot breath teased my stomach. “And yes, I thought it would make me cool.”

“Did it?” He blew across my skin.

“Huh?” I blinked down at him. “Did what?”

He licked a circle around my belly button as I dug my hands into his hair and pushed his head down so he would keep going.

Reid chuckled darkly, then glanced up, his piercing blue eyes making me dizzy with longing. “Did the belly button ring make you cool?”

“No.” I swallowed. “And I wasn’t brave enough to show it off, so it was pointless.”

“That’s too bad.” He started unbuttoning my jeans. I wanted to tell him to stop as nerves started to creep up on me again, but his eyes, those eyes were so adoring, so trusting that I let him. I let him slide my jeans all the way down my legs.

And when they got caught on my feet and I felt like an awkward turtle who’d just gotten pushed on its back, he slowly lifted one foot and tugged then lifted the other.

Being that close to a man, where he could see every single dimple in my skin, every single scar, every single mark, was terrifying to say the least.

But something about his touch, the way he held me, the way he explored, relaxed me.

“This isn’t a onetime thing.” He glanced up. “You know that, right?”

I nodded slowly.

“This—” He gripped my butt, then tugged my hips closer to him as he placed an open-mouth kiss across my lower stomach. “This isn’t a fling. This isn’t something that stays in Vegas. I need you to understand that right now.”

“I understand.” My voice shook. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Good.” He winked.

And then my underwear was suddenly pooling at my ankles.

He stood, his grin devilish as he reached behind me and with one hand unhooked my bra.

“Talented.” I raised one eyebrow.

“Sebastian,” he teased. “You have no idea.”

“So show me,” I taunted.

Eyes hazy, I watched him beneath my lashes as he slowly cupped my face and whispered, “No complaining when you get dehydrated and are in desperate need of food. I’m locking us in the room until I’m satisfied, until you’re satisfied, and then I’m going to do it over and over again. If you want out, you better say something now, because once we start there will be no stopping.”

“Kinda bossy, aren’t you?”

“You love it.” His mouth fused against mine as he lifted me into the air again, as if I weighed nothing, and he plunged his tongue between my lips, tasting so warm and sweet.

“I do,” I admitted.

I hadn’t realized that we were already in his bedroom. Or that he had shut the door, or that he still had jeans on.

What? Had I blacked out or was he just that good?

It had been years since I’d slept with anyone.

And the first time I decide to jump back into the sack, so to speak, I jump back in with the king of sex.

The room was dim, and in that moment, I was very much aware why he was cast as the Phantom. There was something dark about him, something so seductive that my heart was racing as if I was in danger, but the good kind, the kind that you run toward even though you aren’t sure you’ll survive it. Like surfing a wave that could kill you.

Or standing outside during a hurricane.

His masculine beauty was both terrifying and intriguing. My body responded and arched beneath his touch like I was an instrument and he was the musician.

“Phantom,” I whispered. “Too bad you didn’t bring props.”

“Ah, so she wants the cape.”

I nodded.

“Next time.” He winked, dropping his pants to the ground, then tossing them in the corner.

Well, just another thing to be amazed about.

The man didn’t wear boxers.

Or briefs.

Or anything.

“So you never wear underwear?” My breathing picked up as he pushed me back onto the bed, his face a mask of pure concentration and lust.

“Nope.”

“Ever?” I squeaked.

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“That bother you?” He smirked as he slowly hovered over me, his bronzed chest such a ridiculous distraction I had to blink a few times before I answered.

“Nope.”

With an amused chuckle, he placed a feather-light kiss across my temple and then down the side of my neck. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” I argued.

“You’re freaked out.” Another kiss. “Overanalyzing.” His mouth descended to one of my breasts. I hissed out a breath. “And figuratively zipping up that skirt again.”

I whimpered as he sucked. “What was that?”

“There we go.” He blew across my skin.

I gripped the sheets as I tried to keep myself from leaping from my current position and tackling him. Why the torture?

“I love how responsive you are.” He paid attention to the next breast while his hand moved south.

“Uh . . .” It came out in a gurgle as I tried to clench my legs together and scoot away. “So, sex, that should happen.”

“Nope.” Apparently his new favorite word. “You aren’t ready for me yet. Believe me, that’s not ego talking, that’s truth.”