Underneath, he’s already hard as a brick, and it feels like acceptance.
He’s letting me make the move even though he could easily pin me down with no objection.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he snarls.
“I’m okay with crazy.” My voice is so small.
His hand squeezes my hip—hard—and his other hand moves to my back, molding me against him, tormenting my skin with a hunger to connect.
We both know what happens next, but there’s still that delicious, slow drop.
The very second my heartbeat starts to drum too loud in my ears, when my legs shift apart for his hand, when time itself freezes and we’re just simmering in possibility.
Maybe, baby.
Tonight, maybe I don’t want to think.
Maybe I want to be destroyed.
Then he makes a guttural noise that might be a groan, a growl, or something unspeakable. Either way, it’s animalistic, chaotic, and when he kisses me, it’s an earthquake.
Holy shit!
Kane’s restraint snaps, and then he’s everywhere.
His mouth is soft, but he nips my bottom lip as I rock against him, already drunk on his kiss.
His tongue slides into my mouth.
He tastes like blueberries and thyme.
Heat floods me.
“Seriously, did you—”
“Yeah, I’m addicted to your muffins, woman. I ate another one after dinner. But only half as obsessed as I am with finding out what that mouth does besides sass.” His finger slides over my lips, silencing me.
God, I’m in pieces.
And I grind my hips more deliberately this time, settling against him until the pressure intensifies.
I moan helplessly.
He swallows the sound, pulling it out of me, drowning me in a growl.
“Keep it down. The kids are sleeping,” he whispers against my jaw.
Oh, crap, yes.
The kids.
Before, that was enough to throw me off of him like a ten-thousand-volt shock, but now I just tilt my head back, giving him access to my neck.
This man doesn’t need to be asked twice.
Kane’s cock grinds against me as he goes to town, huge and pulsing and needy.
Every thrust of his hips makes me feel him, his length dragging over my thigh like he’s marking me.
