“Yeah.” He steps closer.
Slow. Unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world.
Like he already knows I’m his.
He cups my breast, fingers warm and heavy, molding me into his palm.
I gasp.
His thumb brushes lazily across the peak—once. Twice.
Not enough. Never enough.
The way he pays attention to me makes my body react in ways I didn’t know it could. My back arches before I can stop myself.
Then he pinches.
I gasp.
His thumb rolls over the peak, sending heat straight through me. I arch into him, breath hitching sharply.
His lips quirk up at the sight.
He pinches.
Another gasp rips through me.
His smile lifts.
“The way you react to me—” he sucks in a breath. “I can’t get enough of it.”
His mouth trails down, over my jaw, my throat, slow and hot.
Every inch he kisses burns like he’s branding me.
I’m shaking.
I can’t say anything. Every nerve in my body is focused on him. My knees threaten to buckle.
His hand slides behind my back like he knows he’s making my entire body weak. He hoists my naked body against him and squeezes my breast again.
I gasp, and his mouth drops to mine, crushing, claiming.
Then he trails hot, firm kisses down the curve of my chest. His lips graze the skin over my nipple. I arch into him, breath hitching, fingers tangling in his hair.
He kisses me like he’s starving. Slow. Deep. Possessive.
Like his mouth is exploring every inch of me.
I feel wanted. Seen. Desired in a way that’s never happened before.
My fingers find the waistband of his jeans again, feeling the warmth beneath.
I unbuckle him, wanting—needing—him closer, needing him naked.
I slide my hand further inside the denim, palming him through the thin cotton.
His hips jerk. Then grind. I press harder, and he grinds harder. Every movement drags another groan from deep in his chest, ragged and raw.
