And he’sgone?—
eyes half-drowned, lips damp and parted.
“Made up your mind yet?” I ask,
exhaling straight through the ache.
His groan rolls against me, mouth landing right over the keyhole tattoo inked into my skin.
He presses a lingering kiss there.
“Yeah,” he breathes, just as a breeze whips through the terrace again.
It twirls my hair,
sends chills racing down my spine.
But his hot mouth keeps moving,
skimming the soft edge of my breast.
Another shudder rakes through me,
goosebumps crawling over my skin.
I press down on his shoulder,
and he doesn’t think,
doesn’t resist.
He just sinks into it.
Lower.
Lower.
Then he’s on a knee, mouth at the curve of my hip, and his hot breath pounds through my dress to get to my skin.
My knees weaken,
my thighs clench.
“You in?” I rasp.
“Or should I stop wasting my time?”
His grip flexes around my drink he’s still holding.
“I have concerns,” he says,
the words grinding out like gravel.
I let the slit of my dress fall open,
revealing the inside of my upper thigh.
His fingers brush my calf,
