“I didn’t let anyone touch me after you,” she said quietly, fiercely. “After Chicago. After that first night. I couldn’t—” She stopped, shook her head. “I didn’t want anyone else.”
Something cracked wide open in my chest.
I released her wrists, brought one hand up to cradle her jaw. My thumb brushed across her cheek, and she leaned into the touch like she’d been starving for it.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” I whispered.
“Probably.”
My hand came up to her jaw, my thumb tracing the fullness of her bottom lip. Her breath hitched, her eyes locked on mine, wide and waiting.
Then I kissed her.
Not fast. Not angry. Not desperate like the times before. There was no frantic crash of teeth, no punishing grip. This kiss was slow, deliberate, like I was trying to memorize her. It was a question, a confession, and a surrender all at once.
I took my time, learning the shape of her mouth, the faint taste of her, the way her lips parted with a soft, yielding sigh. Shemade a small sound in the back of her throat, a sound ofgiving inthat shot straight to my cock.
My hand slid from her jaw, fingers tangling in the soft hair at her nape, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Hers came up, not to push me away, but to grip my shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like she was anchoring herself. I slanted my mouth over hers, and her tongue met mine. Not a battle, this time. A slow, wet, deliberate exploration.
I pulled back, just enough to breathe. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, her lips wet and swollen.
“Cassandra,” I whispered.
I didn’t rip her tank top off. I gathered the hem in my hands, my knuckles brushing the soft, bare skin of her stomach. She lifted her arms in silent permission. I tugged it over her head, my eyes never leaving hers, and tossed it aside.
She was in a simple black lace bra. I didn’t tear it off. I traced the edge of it with one finger, from the hollow of her throat, down her sternum, to the front clasp. She shivered.
“Drew,” she breathed, a plea.
My mouth found the pulse in her throat, and I kissed it, tasting the frantic beat. I trailed kisses down her collarbone, over the swell of her breast. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her skin.
I unhooked the bra, letting it fall away. Her tits were perfect, nipples tight and aching. I didn’t just grab them. I took one in my mouth, licking it, sucking gently, my thumb stroking the other peak. She cried out, her fingers tightening in my hair, her hips trying to press against me.
“Slow,” I whispered, moving to her other breast, giving it the same attention until she was panting.
My shirt followed, her hands helping me, her palms sliding over my chest, leaving trails of fire. Her shorts were next. I unzipped them slowly, my fingers brushing the soft skin of herhips as I slid them down. She stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a pair of tiny lace panties.
I kneeled.
My mouth trailed from her navel down to the elastic waistband. She gasped, her hands fisting in my hair. “What are you…?”
“I want to taste you,” I murmured, my breath hot against the thin fabric.
“Please,” she breathed.
I hooked my thumbs into the lace and pulled them down slowly, revealing her. She was already wet, her sex slick and glistening, her folds pink and swollen. I parted her with my thumbs, and my tongue found her clit.
She screamed, a sharp, sudden sound, her hips bucking off the floor.
“Shh,” I soothed, holding her hips steady, “I’m just learning you.” I licked her slowly, deliberately, tasting her, making her unravel. I took my time, tracing her, lapping at her, until her legs were trembling and she was on the very edge.
Only then did I stand. I kicked off my own jeans and briefs. I lifted her into my arms, and she wrapped her legs around me as I carried her the few steps to the couch.
I lowered her onto the cushions, following her down. Her eyes were locked on mine, wide and open. Vulnerable.
“Drew,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“I’m right here,” I said, brushing her hair from her face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
