But the moment my mouth touches hers, pleasure detonates through me like a fucking bomb, incinerating what little control I thought I had.
I groan, one arm locking around her waist as I haul her flush against me, my mouth devouring hers, her lips hot and impossibly soft beneath mine.
Fuck.
My hand tightens on her throat—not enough to steal her breath, just enough to hold her in place, to feel her pulse racing under my palm. When her lips part, I’m already there, my tongue sweeping against hers, tasting her, claiming her.
Christ, she tastes even better than I imagined.
Her soft, deep moan pushes me past the edge of reason. My hand leaves her throat, sliding down to cup her breast, squeezing just hard enough to make her gasp. Her back archesbeautifully, driving all that perfect softness into my palm, and I can’t get enough.
I want more. Right the fuck now.
I shift forward, backing her up until she’s pressed firmly against the door, trapped between me and the cold surface, her body warm and writhing against mine.
My cock throbs, already leaking like I’m some desperate teenager who’s never been fucking touched. Still, I can’t help myself. I grind against her shamelessly and the friction sends electricity crackling down my spine. She rolls her hips in response like she wants to feel more, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps that drive me absolutely crazy.
She’s not just letting me kiss her, she’smeltingfor me. Surrendering. And it’s a drug I didn’t know I needed. An addictive drug I’m not sure I want to be rid of.
I tug on the short strands of her hair, forcing her head back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, then trail rough, heated kisses down her jaw, sucking at the delicate spot beneath her ear.
Her fingers claw desperately at my chest, pulling me closer even as she gasps. She’s whispering something fragmented between those gasps—my name, curses, maybe pleas—but I can’t focus on anything but the way she’s falling apart under me. Shattering under my touch exactly like I imagined she would.
Finally.
I lift her up into my arms, and without hesitation her legs wrap around my waist, her heels digging into my lower back. She clings to me as I carry her to the kitchen counter, but the second her ass hits the smooth surface, her thighs spread wide.
Good girl.
A groan tears from my throat as I press forward, grinding my aching cock against the hot heat of her cunt through thelayers of fabric separating us. But it’s not enough. Fuck, it’s nowhere near enough.
My hands roam restlessly—sliding up her thighs, gripping her waist, tracing the curve of her ass. And it’s still not fucking enough. It won’t be enough until I’m buried inside her, until I’ve marked her throat with my teeth, until she’s screaming my name and can’t remember anyone else’s.
Grabbing her shirt, I tug upward, but her damn apron gets in the way like some kind of chastity device, and I nearly rip the cursed thing off her in frustration. “Fuck,” I growl, struggling with the knot at her waist. “Why the hell are you wearing this?”
“Because I’m a maid, Roan,” she says on a breath, the words catching between a laugh and a sigh before her head tips back as I lean down, my teeth grazing the side of her throat.
“Not right now, you’re not.” I finally get the apron undone and toss it aside. My fingers find the hem of her shirt, dragging it up slowly, baring inch after glorious inch of smooth, flushed skin that makes my mouth water.
So fucking beautiful.
Her hands slip into my hair, and she uses her grip to pull my lips back to hers. The kiss is hungry, her tongue tangling with mine, the urgency in it feeling less like a choice and more like survival. Like she’ll die if she doesn’t have this.
I know the feeling.
I palm her breast again, this time over the thin lace of her bra, feeling the tight, needy peak of her nipple pressing against the fabric, practically begging for attention. A teasing grin plays on my lips as I pinch it, rolling it between my fingers, and just as expected, she gasps, her hips jerking against me in immediate response.
“Roan.” The way she says my name—all cracked with need, raw with want—it’s a fucking symphony. The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
I flick the cup of her bra down, baring her to my touch and,more importantly, my gaze. Then driven by single-minded hunger, I lower my mouth to her breast. My tongue swirls around her nipple once, twice—pure teasing—before I abandon all restraint and draw the sweet flesh into my mouth, sucking hard.
Mine.
Her moan erupts, one long, guttural sound that makes my head spin, and her thighs squeeze tighter around me. Grinding against her, I make sure she feels exactly how hard I am, needing the pressure, the friction, anything to ease this gnawing ache. Her fingers dig into my scalp, dislodging my hair tie in the process as she tries to drag me even closer—like we’re not already pressed together so tightly I can feel her heartbeat.
Strands of my hair tumble down my face, grazing her sensitized skin, and she writhes, moaning deeply. “Your hair… it’s so stunning.” One hand threads through it, stroking softly, and I almost forget what I’m doing. To refocus, I graze my teeth over her nipple, making her jolt and forget all about my hair.
That’s right. Keep your mind on what I’m doing. Nothing else.
