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“Neither do I.” My arms encircle her. God, I don’t want to let her go ever again. That’s how much she’s destroying me. “I do, however, believe you’re changing something within me. Or maybe you’re not changing it. Maybe it’s always been there, and I was too stupid to acknowledge it.”

“You’re not stupid, my love.” A kiss tugs at my throat. “You’re scared. I’ll help you.”

I think of the collar she bought me. Until now, I thought those days were already behind me. No more wearing a collar for Ira Mathison, the only one I would let do that to me. “I am scared. I’m scared you’re going to leave my bedroom without making love to me, even though I’m a mess.”

“What?”

“Look at me, dumbass. I look like I’ve had the flu for a week.”

Ira laughs, the mirthful kind that fills me with a flash of adoration. “I didn’t even notice. I mean, I noticed, but I wasn’t put off. You look like you’re not wearing any makeup.”

I don’t want to say something like, “That doesn’t bother you?” because I know a decent person wouldn’t be mortified by how I look. Like Ira said, though, I’m still insecure at the end of the day, and that can translate to insecurity over my looks. I can’t help but smile into her shoulder as she tells me one more time that I’m beautiful.

No chance to tell her that I think she’s gorgeous. She’s kissing me before the chance.

Have you ever thought you weren’t going to kiss someone wonderful again? Then had the chance to relieve your heart and start all over, with new understanding and hope? That’s me. If you’ve never had that chance before, let me tell you… there’s nothing like a make-up kiss.

Or make-up sex.

All the urban legends regarding relationships are right. See, I’ve never had make-up sex before. So I don’t understand this flood of passion flowing through me as Ira gently lays me down against my pillow and gently kisses me over and over again.

I don’t care if she doesn’t love me yet. I don’t care if this ends in a sweeping blaze months, years from now. I don’t care. All I care about is how good it feels to make love to her and call her mine.

And now I’m hers.

She shows no apprehension holding me, even though she’s decked out in top-tier designers and I’m here in a T-shirt I got from the library I helped. She’s in cologne. I’m in body odor and sweat. She’s teasing my throat with her tongue, and I’m awkwardly reaching between us trying to find her zipper.

“Someone’s grabby,” she mutters against my lips.

I get the damn zipper down and go right for her thigh. “Can’t help it. I want to feel you.”

“Then feel me, darling. As long as you let me feel you too.”

As if she has to ask.

We undulate together, my hand exploring her and enamored with how simple she is today. I already knew just from looking at her. Is it weird that I can tell from the way she walks and carries herself if she’s packing or not? Maybe it’s not weird. Maybe that’s how well I know her now.

In turn, she cups my breasts through my shirt, kissing cotton and making my nipples peak beneath. My whimpers of desire are enough to convince her to reach into my cotton shorts and rub the folds surrounding my clit.

It’s so gentle. While not the first time we’ve gently made love, it is the first time it wasn’t preempted by the rough, passionate sex we’re more accustomed to. This is genuine. Not fueled by exhaustion and remaining desire. This is…

This is otherworldly.

Every time my name falls from her lips, I feel like I’m ascending a ladder toward Heaven. Her hand caresses me between the legs, urging me to get wet for her, while I help her get rid of some of her clothes. Neither effort takes very long.

It also doesn’t take us long to jump right to that event.

Funny, isn’t it? Just a few minutes ago I was hoping she would leave me alone. Now I can’t get enough of her. I can’t stop kissing her cheek and neck as she sits up and begins to undress. The tie lands on the bed. The jacket falls over the side. Her shirt unbuttons until it’s my turn to palm her unbound breasts.

My T-shirt comes up. Not over my head, but high enough for her to touch and lick my nipples. Teeth graze both as she shakes off her pants and boxers. She’s half-naked on top of me, and yet neither of us can bother to finish the chore by removing this shirt. It’s fine. I only want to be able to touch her.

Ira pulls down my shorts and underwear. “Have I told you that you’re beautiful yet?” she asks, slipping one finger into me. I gasp, delighted, happy to have her back in me so soon.

I missed her. I didn’t realize how much until now.

“Katie…” Her fingers thrust into me, making me wetter. Each fingertip curls and grazes my core, but I’m not allowed to taste ecstasy yet. That’s okay. I can wait for her.

She wants the same thing I do. Namely, she wants to make love.