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“Meaning, this isn’t the norm for me.”

He nodded slowly, like he was going to accept that answer, but then, all of a sudden, he was moving, bringing his body over hers, uncaring for the food that was between them and the way the chips spilled out onto the sheets. And a second later, she was uncaring, too, because his mouth was at her throat, kissing her, sucking, tasting, and then flicking lower, to her breast, his breath warm against her skin. Her nipples, already sensitive from so much attention, sparked the second he touched them, and she whimpered. A plea. To stop, to never stop. She wasn’t sure.

“Ten men?” he asked, rolling her nipple with his tongue.

She groaned. “No.”

“Less? More?”

She arched her back in a silent invitation, her whole body stirring now and needing everything he could give her. Again.

“Emilia?” his tone was sharp as he lifted his head, eyes linked to hers, but then, his fingers were at her other nipple, rolling it, then squeezing, just hard enough to send arrows of need through her overwrought body.

“You’re making it hard to think straight.”

“Want me to stop?”

She shot him a fulminating glare. “No.”

“Good answer. Now, give me another one.”

“Another what.”

“Answer.” She bit into her lip as he moved his mouth to the breast he’d just been squeezing, and pressed the same pressure points, so she was practically exploding already.

“Fewer than ten.”

“Nine?” he asked, bringing his hand between her legs and separating them, hovering right at her sex so she was holding her breath without even realising it.

“Fewer,” she almost screamed, the need, pleasure, pressure, all too much.

“Interesting.” He slid a finger inside of her wet core and she bucked against his hand, heat spreading through her body and to the roots of her hair.

“Eight?”

“Fewer,” she panted, as he began to move, and her cells trembled with the promise of what he was offering.

“Seven men?”

He placed his mouth over her other nipple, tormenting this one now, as his fingers pushed inside of her mercilessly, until she was whimpering and digging her fingernails into his shoulders, the word ‘please’ tumbling from her lips over and over.

“Salvatore,” she cried. “I—can’t—think?—,”

“Then don’t think,” he said, moving his mouth higher, to claim hers, his body over hers now, the weight its own kind of delicious, addicting pleasure. “Just float.”

She groaned, riding the wave he was building inside of her, with his skillful fingers, mouth, and proximity, so she was almost on fire with delirium, and then, the flames licking through her caught, sending fire through her entire body. She was in free fall and she didn’t care—she only cared that it wouldn’t stop.

“I—can’t—I?—,”

“I know, I know,” and then he was kissing her hard, absorbing her frantic cries, his mouth effortlessly dominating and delighting her, so she couldn’t think of a more sublime moment in her life. And then, she was coming, again, fast,recklessly and completely, at his mercy, in a way it didn’t even occur to her to mind.

“You’re leaving?”

It was still dark out. Well, as dark as Manhattan was capable of being, given the sparkly lights in each and every high-rise. “I thought you were asleep,” she murmured. Now fully dressed, she turned back to the bed.

“I think I was.”

She smiled without realising it. “We both were.”