I didn’t need to be asked twice.
We locked the gym and crossed the lot in a rush of laughter and half-tripped kisses. The drive took half the time with her in the passenger seat next to me. When we made it to her front door, I almost dropped the key.
She kissed me like she meant it, like she was done fighting the way we fit together. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was fire and demand and hunger all wrapped into one long, searching kiss that sucked the breath from my lungs.
I tangled one hand in her hair, the other gripping her hip as her body pressed tight against mine. She made a sound—low and needy—and that sound short-circuited every rational thought in my brain.
“Dane,” she whispered, breaking the kiss for half a second. “I want you.”
My restraint snapped like a weak branch on a hiking trail. I walked her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the couch. She landed with a soft grunt, her eyes wide, lips parted. I followed her down, bracing one hand beside her head and staring into her face.
“Say it again.”
“I want you,” she said, breathless. “All of you.”
I groaned, crushed my mouth to hers again, and this time there was no holding back. I kissed her like I’d been starving, and she was the only thing that could satisfy the ache.
She pulled at my shirt, her fingers fumbling, desperate to get it off. I yanked it over my head and reached for hers, tugging the soft knit fabric up and over. No bra. Just miles of smooth skin and breasts that filled my hands perfectly.
“Jesus, March,” I rasped. “You’re killing me.”
She arched into me, gasping when my mouth found the tip of one breast and sucked gently, then with more pressure when her fingers clenched in my hair.
“You like that?” I murmured, flicking my tongue.
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
I kissed lower, across her ribs, down the soft dip of her stomach while she writhed beneath me, practically panting. I looked up and saw her watching me, her eyes glazed and full of need.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she said, her voice hoarse.
I didn’t wait. I scooped her into my arms, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist, and carried her down the hallway. She buried her face in my neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw. I was already hard as hell, every muscle straining with the effort of holding back.
When I kicked the door open and laid her on the bed, I took a second to just stare.
Rowan March, flushed and wild, hair tousled, lips kiss-bruised, and looking at me like I was the only man in the world.
“You okay?” My voice came out rough as gravel.
She nodded, breath ragged. “More than okay. But you’re wearing too many clothes.”
I smirked and shucked off my jeans and boxers in one quick move. Her eyes widened. “Damn.”
I climbed over her, kissing a trail up her thigh, her hip, her stomach, until I reached the waistband of her leggings. I peeled them down slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said against her hipbone. “I can’t get enough of you.”
She moaned, hips arching as I kissed lower, letting my tongue tease where she was already slick and aching. I licked once, slow and deliberate, then again, swirling until her thighs trembled.
“Dane,” she gasped, grabbing the sheets. “Oh my god?—”
I flattened my tongue, giving her everything. Her hips bucked, breath shuddering as I worked her toward the edge. I slid one finger inside, curling just right, and that was it.
She shattered.
Head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, thighs clenching around my shoulders as she came apart. I didn’t stop. I held her through every wave, every gasp, every tremble.
When she finally collapsed against the mattress, boneless and dazed, I crawled up her body and kissed her slow and deep.
