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All that was left was sensation.

And something sneaky, scary, but spectacular.

Hope.

And for just the moment, I was going to let myself feel it.

Coast’s other hand sneaked between us, tracing the seam of my thigh, then moving between. His fingers tapped against the entrance of my body, getting soft mewling sounds out of me until finally, they slid inside.

Against my clit, Coast groaned as my walls tightened around his fingers.

That seemed to be his undoing, the last snip to the final thread of his self-control.

Suddenly, his tongue was flicking up and down my clit faster, harder, as his fingers thrust into me to match the pace.

He had me at the precipice, gasping, stumbling, tripping, calling, crashing.

The orgasm surged through me, leaving me crying out as my thighs shook, as my fingers curled tighter in Coast’s hair, as the pleasure seized me over and over.

Coast’s head shifted, kissing my inner thigh, across my hip, up my ribs, over my breasts.

When his lips met my neck again, his hands were both sinking into my ass, pulling, lifting. He paused, waiting for my legs to wrap around him.

Then he was turning and walking toward the bed, lowering me down, his chest to mine, but his weight suspended over me as his lips claimed mine.

He kissed me long and deep, leaving tingles that started to burn as the moments passed and the need bloomed again.

But then, suddenly, he was moving away, standing, and looking down at me.

There was hunger in his eyes, I was sure of it.

But then he was turning and walking away. Toward the playard.

I fretted for a second that I’d been so wrapped up that I hadn’t heard her fussing.

But Coast kicked up the locks, then rolled the whole damn thing into the bathroom, where he closed the door.

His look was sheepish as he moved back toward me to stand at the foot of the bed.

He reached back, pulling his shirt off.

“Felt weird about doing this with her in the room,” he admitted, tossing the shirt before letting his hands drift down to the waistband of his jeans.

But before he could undo them himself, I folded up, letting my hands slide around his hips to his ass, pulling him closer between my thighs so I could do the job for him.

His gaze was fiery as my hands grazed across the waistband of his pants, getting distracted by the array of tattoos up his sides, tracing the edges of them with curious fingertips. His muscles twitched at the gentle touch, and his breath got faster and more shallow.

As my fingers traced over fifteen arrows right over his ribcage, I decided I wanted to know the stories of each image inked into his skin.

Did they have meaning?

Were they just evidence of some fun, drunken night somewhere?

I had to know.

But it was certainly not the time, with Coast’s labored breath, with his body tight as a bow.

My hands drifted back down.