She wants this.
Wants me.
I stroke her slowly, teasing. Learning her all over again. Her body arches, soft sounds leaving her mouth, her hips pressing into my hand like she needs more and knows I’ll give it.
But not yet.
I lean in, brushing my mouth over her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she whispers, breathless. “Here.”
That’s all it takes.
My mouth finds hers. Hot, deep, hungry.
She melts into it, pulling me in by the shirt, kissing like she’s trying to consume me. I haul her into my lap without breaking contact, her thighs straddling mine, her core pressed hard against the erection that’s been straining since the first time she looked at me like this.
She rolls her hips. I groan into her mouth.
My hands grip her ass, guiding her rhythm as she rocks against me. We’re still mostly dressed. Still playing with fire.
But it’s already out of our hands.
Her body knows mine. My body’s starving for hers.
I push the flannel off her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms until it pools behind her.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Flushed cheeks. Heavy eyes. Mouth kiss-bitten already.
“Bedroom,” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers, breath warm against my mouth. “Here.”
God help me.
She yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it aside. Her palms skim over my chest, fingertips tracing the lines and scars like she wants to memorize every inch.
I reach between us, freeing myself from my jeans with one hand, and she watches, eyes wide with heat, mouth slightly parted.
I sit back against the couch, cock thick and aching, standing tall between us.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She rises to her knees and lowers herself slowly. Her eyes flutter closed as I slide inside her, inch by inch, every muscle in my body fighting to stay still and let her take her time.
She’s so tight. So wet.
It’s like heaven and hell at once.
When she’s fully seated, she opens her eyes and meets my gaze.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she says softly.
I grip her hips, voice ragged. “Then move, sweetheart.”
And she does.
