A thrill runs down my spine, one part nervousness to ten parts excitement. My stomach clenches with anticipation. I’m so ready for this, for him, I feel like I’m on fire. Panting aloud, I quiver and clench around his fingers. Almost there, almost . . .

Until the son of a bitch pulls back. “Not yet,” he teases.

I almost give him a dirty look for stopping. But I know what’s next, and I want to come with him inside me. I nod at him in speechless eagerness as he quickly sheds his pants and boxers, then takes a condom from his nightstand drawer and rolls it on.

Wait, this picture seems wrong. I try to gather my lust-fogged thoughts. He had condoms all along—last night too? Then why did he stop when I mentioned them? And why did I have to go to the drugstore this morning?

But my thoughts dissolve as he starts easing his cock into me. My breath hitches; he’s so thick and it’s been such a long time, even the first inch stings a little.

“Wait,” I gasp, and he immediately freezes.

“You okay there?”

“Y-yeah,” I reply. “Keep going. Just . . . go slow.” No way in hell do I want him to stop now. I don’t care where the condoms came from, so long as we can just fuck already.

Bit by bit, he works his way inside me, pausing whenever I tense up. “Good girl. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs.

His voice is strained; I’m sure from holding himself back. He looks incredibly sexy poised over me, with his lips parted and those veins standing out in his tensed forearms.

Just when I feel like I can’t take any more, at last he bottoms out. I’m already damp with sweat. The feeling of fullness is breathtaking, a slightly burning stretch that balances on a knife edge between pleasure and pain.

He starts withdrawing again, then pushes back in, just as slowly as before. But I’m ready for the real thing now. I dig my heels into his lower back to urge him on.

His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

I moan in response, because forming actual words when he’s so deep inside me just isn’t possible.

“You’re ready to be fucked hard now?” He slowly pulls out, almost all the way—then snaps his hips forward.

My mouth falls open in a silent cry. He rocks back and slams in again and again, finally fucking me in earnest. Bliss crashes through me with every sharp thrust, each wave coming right on the heels of the last, keeping me afloat, drowned, overwhelmed. I’m dizzy with pleasure. It’s so intense I can’t think or breathe or do anything but whimper.

“Damn, baby, you feel amazing,” Noah groans. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to jerk off every night thinking about you . . . wanted to bury my cock in you, make you scream my name. You made me come so fucking hard.”

His voice is ragged with need. I feel a thrill at the idea that I’ve driven him so wild, made him lose all his control. Noah Tate, the man who can have any woman he wants, has waited years just for me.

He crushes our lips together, his tongue searching for me. The shift in position presses my legs up, and his pelvis grinds against my clit with every move. I moan desperately into his mouth. The waves of ecstasy surge higher and higher—

Until they crest and crash, my release pounding through me. “Noah!” I cry out as I quake apart in his arms.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming . . . so tight, so good, I’m—”

His husky voice collapses into a shapeless growl, a dark, primal sound of pure pleasure. He gives a few more hard thrusts, shuddering into me until his hips slow and finally still.

For a few minutes we just cling to each other, panting for breath, savoring the last aftershocks as we come down from our high. I’m not sure I could get up even if I wanted to. Now I understand what women mean when they talk about feeling the Earth move.

I suck in my breath when Noah eases himself out. He leans over me to throw the condom in the trash, then lies down beside me, his head propped up on his elbow to gaze down at me.

“So . . . what did you think?”

Oh, come on. After all that, he shouldn’t expect me to speak coherently, let alone leave a damn Yelp review.

“Good,” I mumble. That’s the best I can manage. But I guess that’s less embarrassing than eleven out of ten or I can’t feel my legs.

I feel his chuckle more than hear it. He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. Lifting my hand to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss to the back of it, then pulls to draw my arm over his body.

Held safe in his embrace, I lie limp, exhausted, bathed in a warm golden glow of satisfaction. I finally did it. I fucked Noah Tate, and it was one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. I knew sex was better than my past experiences—otherwise, people wouldn’t talk about it as much as they do—but I never imagined it could be this good. Even my teenage fantasies barely measure up.

I decide that my boring, painful fumbling with Brad didn’t count at all. Tonight was my real first time. A whole new world of pleasure has opened itself before me, and I intend to explore it to the fullest.

An enormous yawn overtakes me, interrupting my thoughts. Phew . . . right after I get some rest.

I wriggle closer to Noah and pillow my head on his bicep. Together, we drift off to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Noah

Watching Olivia put this cocky asshole in his place is exhilarating.

It’s our regular Friday morning executive planning meeting with the board chair, Olivia’s father, Fred; my late father’s advisor, Prescott; and the department heads from marketing, finance, and HR. Olivia just finished explaining her plan for the upcoming quarter. And the finance executive—a dinosaur named Peter who we should have fired last decade—made the fatal mistake of questioning her expertise a little too adamantly.