His hand lifts. One finger trailing from my jaw, down the column of my throat, pausing at the base. “My neck,” he says, voice deep. “Right here. Back of it, especially.”
I don't hesitate. I slide my hand behind his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, nails lightly grazing the skin there.
He shudders.
“That bad?” I tease.
“That good,” he rasps. His lips are at my ear now. “Now it’s your turn.”
“For what?”
“Same question.” His breath is hot against my skin. “Where do you like to be touched first?”
I swallow, pulse racing. I want to be coy, but the truth hums beneath my skin, begging to be spoken.
“My thighs,” I whisper. “When someone’s hand just barely grazes the inside.”
His groan is pure sin.
“Charlie…”
Then his hand slides down slow and intentional until it brushes the outside of my hip, then lower, fingertips tracing the hem of my borrowed coat.
“Like this?” he murmurs.
“Closer,” I whisper.
His fingers move inward, brushing the seam of my jeans just above my inner thigh, and my breath catches.
“Like this?” he asks again, rougher this time.
I nod, lips parted.
And just like that, we’re one more question away from losing ourselves in the middle of a barn.
His hand inches higher, sliding between my thighs just enough to make me gasp. The layers of denim and winter don’t dull the effect. If anything, they make it worse because I can feel the promise beneath the touch. The precision. The restraint.
“You like that?” he murmurs against my jaw.
I can barely form the word. “Yes.”
His lips find mine again, hungrier now and more insistent. The kiss deepens, pulling me under like a riptide. My hands are under his shirt, tracing muscle, mapping heat. He groans into my mouth, hips pressing forward just enough to make me feel how far gone he is.
And God, I want more. I want his hand beneath my clothes, on my skin. I want?—
Bang.
A stall door slams somewhere in the barn. We jump apart like we’ve been caught doing something illegal, breathing hard, eyes wide.
Phern’s voice echoes through the barn. “A beam just fell back here. I don’t like the way this looks.”
I blink, trying to remember how to stand and breathe. Sam steps back, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes still dark, voice still rough.
“Rain check?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
I nod, breathless. “Hell yes.”
He gives me one last heated look. Then we both stumble out of the stall like nothing happened. But we both know the truth. Everything just did.
