And his nostrils flare.
I follow his line of sight—and realize.
Oops.Oh.No.
My blouse is indecently parted.
And my pink cotton bra is showing through the gap like it wants to be part of this conversation.
“Oh God,” I whisper, fumbling to close it, but I barely get the fabric between my fingers before he’s stepping forward.
Inside.Into my space.Into me.
“Goddamn, Angel,” he growls, voice low and rough like gravel in honey.“It was gonna happen sooner or later.Might as well be sooner.”
“Theo—”
I don’t finish.
Because he’s already there.
His hands cup my face, big and warm and sure, tilting my head up with so much control and so much care I forget how to breathe.
Then his mouth crashes into mine.
And I’m gone.
Gone in the taste of him.The pressure.The fire.
His lips are hot and demanding.
His short beard scrapes gently against my skin.
And I don’t even think before my hands are on him, gripping his shirt like it’s the only thing holding me upright.
I moan.
Out loud.
Into his mouth.
And he responds with a sound that vibrates through my entire body, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, the other fisting in the hem of my cardigan like he’s two seconds from losing whatever control he has left.
This is madness.
Hot, glorious, maddening madness.
And I don’t want it to stop.
His mouth is everything.
Hot.Demanding.Possessive.
Like he’s been starving for me, and this kiss is the only thing keeping him alive.
And me?I’m no better.
I melt into him like butter on a summer sidewalk—gripping his shirt, clinging to him, kissing him back like I’ve forgotten how not to.
