His expression is fully relaxed now, his lips wearing just the hint of a smile as he asks, “Are you hungry?”

For you, I think, but I shake my head no.

He gets to his feet, pours us some wine and pops a cherry into his mouth. He knots the stem and shows me his perfect knot. “You ever do that?” His deep voice as he sits near me warms me up.

“It means you’re good with your tongue.”

His gentle laugh ripples through the air, and oh, I feel his smile between my ribs, between my legs.

He heads back to the table. Joining him by the little fruit buffet, I eat a cherry, put aside the seed, and try to knot the stem. He eats another while he watches. After a minute, I give up and shake my head, taking the straight stem out of my mouth and showing him.

“Nope,” I confirm, laughing.

He just smiles down at me, his voice low and husky. “Nobody ever gets it right the first time.”

He grabs another one and knots it again, moving his tongue slowly inside his mouth in a way that causes all kinds of lusty thoughts to run through me. There’s a curious swooping pull to my insides as I watch him do it, and when his lips curl upward as he gazes at me, the swooping is followed by a shock wave that rocks me.

Before I can take another one, he grabs my wrist, his other hand lifting to rest on my face. He brushes my lips with the pad of his thumb. I shiver involuntarily.

I’m entranced by the thoughtfulness on his face as he draws my cheek to his chest and caresses my hair. We stay like that. The very air over the water seems electrified. He runs his hand through my hair and the sensation is so sweet and so intoxicating, I can’t move.

He obviously knows he affects me. But he seems affected too, his body stone-like and buzzing with tension.

As if getting control of himself, he peers down at me. “Do you want me to teach you how to knot one up? Or want a dip in the water?”

I glance at the cherries, and his lips curl. My toes curl in response. Reaching out, he raises a cherry, dangling it from the stem.

I ease down onto the chaise near the buffet table and start to feel warm from his body heat, suddenly so very near.

He leans over, holding the cherry by the stem, and I part my lips and pluck it off. I bite into it with my molars and feel the cool juice slide down my throat. I’ve never been more aware of him watching me eat as I take the little seed out of my mouth and I set it on a small plate on the table.

He sits beside me, his shoulder touching mine, his face looking down at me, and I swear the sun looks better on his face than in the sky.

My lips part when he offers the stem, and I pull it into my mouth and give it a try. He bends his head closer to speak through the noise of the wind. “Curl it around your tongue.” His voice is absolutely low. “Like this.”

He dips his head and before I know it, his lips connect with mine and his tongue is moving, guiding the cherry stem around mine sinuously, expertly knotting it in my mouth.

When we separate, our eyes hold for the longest second as he pulls out the knotted stem from his mouth. Which he just took from mine. His lips curl as he sets it aside, his eyes smiling too when, gently, I feel the brush of his thumbs on my cheeks as he cups my face.

“I know what else you twist around so easily,” I breathe.

He stares deeply into me as he waits for more.

“Me.”

And then he’s not smiling anymore. And neither am I. A tremor runs through me as he ducks his head. And then, ohhhh. Ghost kiss. Against my mouth, he speaks, deep and gruff, “Do you want another cherry stem? Or do you want my tongue inside your mouth?”

Immediately, I close my eyes and tip my head back.

Another corner kiss.

He’s breathing slowly but so deeply his chest expands, clearly fighting for control. And I want him to lose it. I want him to snap and kiss me, fuck me, love me.

He caresses my cheek with the knuckle of his forefinger as he ducks his head again and this next kiss is so close to the center of my mouth, I can taste cherries on his lips.

“Come here.” He reaches out and pulls me off the seat. He does it in one fluid move until I’m sitting on his hard lap, my legs draped to the side, and I struggle with a nervous laugh but ultimately fall still. Oh boy. It actually feels better every time. His arms around me. It makes me feel small in the best ways.

I’m adjusting to the sensation of safety—a sensation I’d kill to feel for the rest of my life—when I see Saint look at me as if I’m the juiciest thing he’s ever seen.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he says quietly in my ear.

He rubs a hand up and down my back. I do what he says, my arms trembling. Though we’re in the end of summer, it’s so cool today, the wind, but then he takes hold of both my hands at the back of his neck and moves them up and into his hair.