"Color," she said.

"Green," he breathed. "Extremely green."

She stroked him again. His hips shifted beneath her.

"Still," she said.

He went still. His jaw working. His hands on her waist not moving.

She stroked him thoroughly — slow, deliberate, her thumb moving over the head on every upstroke — and watched his face come completely undone in the specific way it only came undone here, in this room, with her. Nowhere else. Never anywhere else.

"Mara—" her name rough and desperate. "Please—"

"Please what," she said.

"I need—" he stopped. Started again. "Please Mara. Please."

She looked at him.

She reached for the nightstand — she had prepared, she...