I can only nod because I don’t trust myself to speak.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
My head bobs in another nod as I blink. His presence is an electric force as he stops immediately in front of me. His touch is light when he lifts his hand to palm my cheek. There’s a gentle quality to it, yet his strength feels as if it surrounds me. The voltage of our connection shimmers around us.
I study him, taking in the bronze shimmer of his skin, which isn’t quite scaled but almost looks as if it is. His presence is so powerful. It feels as if he is encompassing me. His golden eyes are intense, his features stark and bold. It’s as if everything that makes a man in the human sense is taken up several notches with strong bones, a square jaw, and sensual lips. He towers over me, and it feels as if his eyes themselves are beams of light into the very heart of me.
It's as if he can see those old fears inside me, the loneliness I have carried for too many years. Beyond his shimmering electric force, I sense the natural intimacy between us. The tug of it is so strong that it’s discombobulating.
His thumb strokes along the line of my jaw. His touch is warm, and I feel shockingly alive. I’m so hot, I imagine sparks leaping from my skin. His touch is a balm to my unsettled state. His thumb moves in a sensual caress over my bottom lip.
Unbidden, my mouth parts, and I try to breathe. I draw in the smallest sip of air. All the while, my heart rampages in my chest.
His gaze darkens. “Romi,” Thorne whispers gruffly.
“Yes?” I whisper.
“You are my fate.” His declaration rings in my heart.
Thorne’s words set my racing pulse careening along faster and faster. Time feels simultaneously slow and fast as he bends low to bring his lips to mine. The moment our mouths collide,it’s like lightning strikes between us, the air snapping with the burning-hot jolt of our connection.
His lips brush over mine, once and then again, before he lifts his head. “Romi, my heart,” he whispers.
I stare into his fiery gaze, breathless with the rush of emotion and sensation spinning through me. Although I cannot speak, it feels as if we are communicating with our bodies.
You are mine as well, I say.
I will protect you, he returns.
And I, you.
On the heels of a breath, he angles his head to the side and claims my mouth in a devouring kiss. Our tongues tangle, and I’m grateful for the shelf behind me and his arm, strong around my waist, to keep me from collapsing to the floor.
Everything blurs into nothing but sensation. I catalog all of it—the way he tastes, the firm, sensual command of his mouth over mine, his strong body pressed against me, the muscled planes of his chest, the way his palm splays on my lower back.
He tugs at the ties of my shirt until it falls open. My aching breasts feel heavy, and my nipples are tight. We break apart, our breathing echoing in the air around us.
His eyes are like fire on mine. I feel the heat of his gaze when it dips down to my bare breasts. His hand slides down the side of my neck, the calloused surface of his touch like the sensation of sparks leaping over my skin. His hand is so big it engulfs my breast as he lightly cups one and then the other, teasing his thumb over my aching nipples.
I hear myself whimper, arching into his touch. As if he can read my thoughts, he knows I need more. He dips down and catches one nipple with his mouth. I cry out at the sharp, hot suction. He teases my nipples, and all the while, I barely recognize the sounds I’m making—pants, whimpers, moans.
I’m wearing what I typically wear for riding and working in the stables. A laced top over a riding skirt that falls to my knees with leggings underneath. My chest heaving, I feel restless and needy, desperate for something.
I can feel the hard, hot length of his arousal pressing against my lower belly. I know I want him to fill me. I’m near frantic for it. He lowers his head again, his eyes burning into mine.
“I need to taste you,” he growls.
In answer, I drag my palm over the thick ridge of his arousal. I feel bold, unfettered, and entirely unafraid. He yanks at my leggings, shoving them down around my ankles before dragging my skirt up my thighs. He lifts me, and I feel the rough surface of the table against my bottom as he slides my hips onto it. I’m still wearing my boots, and my ankles are bound by my leggings. My knees fall open, and he steps back, his eyes dipping down. I feel my pussy clench. I’m so wet and slippery, aching for him to fill me.
Once again, I’m startled by my whimpering. His fingers tease through the wetness while my hips rock into his touch. He lifts his eyes to mine again.
“I cannot take you completely. Not now. We must wait,” he says.
My breath is coming in sharp pants as I look at him and nod.
“But I can give you pleasure.”
At that, he sinks two fingers inside me, and I cry out sharply. When he withdraws his touch, I’m startled to hear myself plead, “Thorne, please.”
