When he finally moves lower, dragging his mouth along the edge of the lace, I gasp, every nerve ending stretched tight, every breath hitching. And when he looks up at me, eyes stormy and fixed, voice a rasp?—
“Tell me what you want, Charlie.”
I don’t hesitate. “You. All of you. Now.”
His breath hitches at my words, and the shift is instant.
Sam’s hands tighten on my thighs, and the heat in his gaze darkens into something primal. Something that claims.
“You want all of me?” he murmurs, voice rough and teasing as his fingers drag slowly down my stomach. “Then you better be ready to earn it.”
I shiver, the rasp of his tone wrapping around me like velvet and fire. “Oh, I’m ready.”
“Are you?” he smirks, eyes flicking up. “Because once I start, darlin’, I’m not letting you off easy.”
I lift my chin, daring. “Good.”
In one fluid motion, he grabs both my wrists and pins them above my head, holding me there with one hand while the other trails back down, grazing the edge of the lace, but never quite giving me what I want.
“Look at you,” he drawls, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “All pink lace and attitude. Thought you were in charge, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I whisper, breath catching as he drags a knuckle down the center of my chest.
He laughs low. “Cute.”
He shifts his weight, sliding a thigh between mine to pin me in place, and the pressure alone makes my back arch. Still holding my wrists, he dips his head to kiss me again—deep and slow—tongue teasing, claiming, retreating just when I lean into him.
He pulls back, letting his breath fan across my mouth. “You want me to keep going?”
I nod, desperate. “Yes.”
“Then beg.”
My breath stutters. “Sam?—”
He tightens his grip. “I said beg.”
My cheeks flush, pulse hammering beneath his hold. But I don’t break eye contact.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t stop. I need you.”
His eyes flare with heat. Satisfaction. Possession.
“There’s my good girl.”
And with that, he releases my wrists only to slide his hands down my body, gripping my hips as he lowers himself, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world.
But the second his mouth lowers, the second I feel that first flick of tongue over lace I snap.
I push up with my thighs, twisting just enough to throw him off balance. His eyes go wide as I roll him beneath me, straddling his hips in one smooth motion.
“Darlin’,” he growls, half-laughing, half-stunned, “you trying to steal my thunder?”
I lean down, hands braced on his chest, lips brushing his jaw. “Not steal. Claim.”
His breath hitches as I grind down, slowly, deliberately, my lace-covered heat dragging over the denim that’s still hanging low on his hips.
“Thought I was the one in charge,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.
