"Connor," she whispered, and the way she said my name—raw, needy, certain—undid me completely.
"Are you sure?" I asked, even though my body was already screaming at me to stop talking.
She nodded. "I've never been more sure of anything."
That was all I needed.
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her—hard, desperate, pouring everything I couldn't say into the press of my mouth against hers. She responded immediately, her fingers fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
The world narrowed to just us. Just this.
Her taste. Her warmth. The way her body arched into mine like she'd been waiting for this, too.
I broke the kiss long enough to strip off my jacket, to pull my shirt over my head. She watched me, her gaze tracking every movement, heat flickering in her eyes.
"Your turn," I said, voice rough.
She smiled—slow, wicked—and reached for the hem of her shirt.
And then there was nothing between us but skin and need and the kind of hunger that didn't ask for permission.
It demanded.
I didn't rush to familiar places. I wanted to explore her like uncharted territory—every curve, every hidden spot, every way she could unravel that we hadn't discovered yet.
I laid her back gently, my mouth starting at her collarbone, kissing down between her breasts without touching the peaks yet. I traced the underside of each with my tongue, slow and deliberate, feeling her breath hitch, her back arching as she sought more.
"Connor—" she gasped.
I moved lower, my lips brushing her ribs, counting them with kisses. I dipped my tongue into her navel, then continued down, skipping her center entirely to focus on her inner thighs.
I kissed long, slow paths up one thigh, then the other, my hands spreading her wider, thumbs pressing into soft flesh. She was already slick, but I avoided where she wanted me most, kissing the crease where thigh met hip instead, my breath hot against her skin.
"Please," she whimpered, her hips lifting.
I smiled against her. "Not yet."
I moved to her feet—lifting one, massaging the arch with my thumbs while my tongue traced her ankle, then up her calf. When I reached the back of her knee, she jolted, a surprised moan escaping her lips.
Every gasp was a discovery.
I worked my way back up the other leg, taking my time, then rolled her onto her stomach. My hands kneaded her shoulders, her back, down to the dimples above her ass. I kissed each one, then lower still, spreading her ass, my tongue exploring sensitive skin that made her bury her face in the pillow and cry out.
Her body tensed, then melted, pushing back against me.
I kept going, one hand reaching beneath her, fingers sliding through her folds but avoiding her clit—focusing instead on the entrance, dipping in shallowly, curling forward.
She came suddenly, hard, her body convulsing, a muffled scream into the pillow.
I flipped her over, her eyes glazed, chest heaving.
But I wasn't done.
I moved up her body, my mouth on her breasts now—taking one peak deep while my fingers worked the other. Then I switched, my teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
Lower again, this time focusing on the soft skin just above her mound, my fingers sliding inside her—three now, stretching her, curling to hit that spot while my thumb pressed just above her pubic bone.
She writhed, her hands clutching my hair.
