It’s the only warning I get before she fists my shirt, yanking me down the final inch of distance between us, kissing me.
Heat. Pressure. Soft lips, parted and desperate, giving me a taste of everything I’ve been craving. She initiated contact. Igroan, something primal ripping through me, something that demands more.
I press her back against the window, caging her in, one hand tilting her jaw, the other smoothing down her ribs, gripping her hip, feeling the tremor beneath my palm.
She moans into my mouth, and it’s everything.
I drink it in, deepen the kiss, swallow her sounds, revel in the way her body molds to mine, the way she gasps when I press closer, let her feel just how much I need her.
Then I drop to my knees.
I drag my hands down her thighs, gripping the backs of her knees, spreading her just enough to fit.
She whimpers.
I smirk up at her.
“You let Carson have you,” I say, fingers teasing the band of her jeans. “Now it’s my turn.”
Her breath shudders, her eyes locked onto mine, her hands dropping to my shoulders. I grip her hips, my thumbs smoothing slow, lazy circles against the sensitive skin right below her belly button.
“Let me worship you, Willow.” My voice drops to something low and reverent. “Let me have you.”
She exhales, and I can see her internal debate.
Then, finally?—
She nods.
That’s all I need.
I pop open the button on her jeans, slowly dragging the zipper down, savoring the way the fabric parts, revealing the soft lace beneath. My gaze traces over her panties, the delicate material soaked through, her body already desperate for my touch. I wet my lips, dragging my eyes back up to hers.
She’s watching me. Good. I need her eyes locked on mine when we take this step. I want her to see everything.
Leaning in, I press a kiss to the edge of her hip bone, mylips lingering, breathing her in. I push her jeans lower, peeling them down her thighs, over the curve of her ass, letting my fingers graze bare skin as I go. She shivers, her body responding before she can think better of it.
Her sneakers stop my progress. A soft hum rumbles through my chest as I kneel before her, slipping them off, first one, then the other, my hands cradling her ankles. Her sock-covered toes curl as I slide the fabric down, baring every inch of her to me.
Her legs tremble beneath my touch, and my stomach tightens. I run my fingers slowly up the delicate skin of her calves, over her knees, up her thighs. She’s soft everywhere, warm and perfect.
I press my lips to the inside of her knee, murmuring against her skin.
“Little fire, you’re going to burn me alive.”
She exhales shaky, hips shifting, desperate to close the space, needing more.
I press another kiss just above the lace of her panties, my tongue flicking out, tasting salt on her skin. My fingers catch the waistband, and for a second, I almost lose it.
I could tear them off. I should tear them off.
Instead, I go slow, savoring the feel of fabric gliding down her legs, peeling it away inch by inch. My jaw locks at the sight of her bare for me. Wet for me.
I ball the lace in my fist, shoving it into my pocket.
Mine.
Dragging my nose along her hip, I inhale deeply, drowning in her scent—peaches and heat, desire and surrender.
