Hanna let him in, thrilled to discover that the fantasies she’d had about his kissing abilities weren’t even close to how attentive he actually was. It made sense, a man didn’t look like Milo, talk like Milo, smell like Milo, and not kiss like a fucking professional. She’d gotten a preview, but his matinee performance didn’t compare.
Milo was a slow plume of smoke blanketing every inch of her as he burned away any thoughts of how risky it was. He melted into her, pulling and pushing and biting at all the right turns, destroying her in the most incredible ways.
“Fuck,” she gasped in the brief break she got from his kiss, his lips curling around the encouragement.
“We’ll get there, Arizona,” Milo pressed into her skin, his fingers slipping under the clasp of her bra. She ran her hands over his back, enjoying the pleased sigh from his throat. The hooks popped free and he pulled the straps down, leaving her topless in his kitchen.
“Wow,” he muttered, staring at her. Hanna leaned back, admiring the full range of his tattoos, taking up nearly his entire torso. She ran her fingers over swirled black ink, tracing the shapes of whiskey bottles and years and geometric patterns. One day, she’d take a more thorough look at them, but not then.
She needed much less space between them.
Hanna pulled him toward her, clashing their mouths together once again, his slow pursuit of her no longer the case. Milo moved quickly, hungrily against her as he gripped her breasts, pinching and pulling in time with his tongue. She rolled into the motion he set, her hips grinding against his as a hand pulled at the button of her jeans.
Losing her patience, she swatted his hand away and peeled them off herself. She tossed them on the kitchen floor and followed him to the living room, where he pulled her down to the couch, over his lap.
Hanna sank over him, hissing as she felt how badly he wanted her.
Milo grabbed both sides of her face, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently, just enough to elicit a gasp from her as he bucked his hips into hers. She wished she’d pulled those damn shorts off before they crashed into the couch.
He dragged her hand up and placed it around his throat, squeezing her fingers around his stubbled flesh as he refocused his lips on hers. Her vision blurred at the edges when a low moan vibrated against her hand.
“Milo,” she breathed, leaning back and sucking in any air she could. Two fingers dipped below the lace of her underwear, pulling at the waistband and searching for where she needed him most.
“How many times has this already happened in your head, Hanna?” he asked.
She wanted to lie—to tell him never, but the arch in her back as he found her center gave her away. He turned his lips loose on her breasts, everything wet and pinched and squeezed in a blur of praise and worship for her.
“Too many,” she finally answered, moving her hips faster against him, the hard length beneath her twitching in response.
Milo pulled her hand up between them.
“Do you fuck these fingers and think of me?” he asked, his eyes half closed.
Hanna would have blushed if her entire body wasn’t already cherry red, her lips parting and another gasp escaping as he ground into her. She nodded.
“Say it,” Milo insisted.
“Yes,” Hanna rasped, leaning into him. She drove herself down onto him, cursing those fucking basketball shorts as she circled her hips faster. Her knees slipped against the slick fabric.
“Hanna,” Milo warned her. “Don’t ruin the fun yet.”
“Aw,” she breathed. “What? You’ve also thought about this too many times?”
“I’m serious,” he groaned, his hands pushing at her hips. Hanna didn’t care. She didn’t need him inside of her. She needed him to be at her mercy. She doubled her pace, the pressure sending wave after wave of blinding pleasure over her.
She pitched forward, running her tongue over the black ink at the base of his neck, higher, higher until she found the ridge of his ear, tucking it between her teeth. She wasn’t as gentle as he’d been, and he only rewarded her for it with a muted whimper, his hands holding onto her hips for dear life.
“Hanna,” Milo gasped. “I’m gonna?—”
“Yes, you are,” she whispered, releasing his earlobe. She could have gone with him, so drunk on the power of making someone like him finish before her clothes were even fully off. She squeezed his throat again, snagging his lips in a desperate kiss as he groaned against her. His head fell back against the couch, throat taut beneath her hold as he choked on her name.
A low laugh followed, a fire burning in his gaze that she hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. Milo pushed her onto her back, falling over her. His hand pulled at her underwear, whipping them off and tossing them across the room.
“I’m going to make you pay for that,” he said, finding her eyes as he kneaded the curves of her breasts.
“Promise?” Hanna asked. She tangled her hand in his dark hair and tugged lightly while he slipped from her neck to her stomach, carving a brazen trail into her skin.
“Unbelievable,” Milo mumbled against her as he landed on her hips, biting at her hot skin, mottled with pink marks from his fingers. His hands wandered and he moved between her legs. She tensed against him, her knees clasping around his shoulders as he found a pace that blinded her.
