Need to go.
All of the layers.
When did I start kissing her mouth again? How—what—where did she learn to—justwhoa.
Her tongue is my new favorite toy.
Her tongue, and her arms, and her breasts—god, herbreasts—and that whimpery little noise in the back of her throat when I squeeze them and tease her nipples.
“Pants—” she gasps.
“Why pants are?” I agree.
Can’t talk straight.
She giggles again, but then she’s moaning as I drop my head to her chest and suck on her nipple while I tug at her waistband.
“Oliver—”
“Be useful,” I tell her breast.
Why does it make me harder to swirl my tongue around this tight pink nub?
Oh. Right.
Pecan pie, anxiety, and?—
I forgot the last one.
Freedom.
That’s it.
That has to be it.
She wiggles beneath me, and my pants slide away.
She wiggles again, and her pants are gone.
“Magician,” I whisper against her breast.
Those fingers thread through my hair again. “Are you drunk?”
“Happy.”
She grins at me, and yeah.
This?
This is all good things.
Naked.
Kissing.
Touching.
Daphne.
