He smiled—small, private—and stripped off his shirt in one quick motion. The sight of him close, bare to the waist, tightened something inside her. He climbed up over her thighs and hovered, fingers resting at her waist .

“Tell me again,” he murmured. “If I go too far—crimson. If it’s okay—green.”

“Green,” she said. No rope, no feather, just the word like a bell.

His fingers slid up her waist, warm and slow, finding her wet by instinct more than sight. He stroked, ...