I don’t pull away.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“Say what?”
“That you want this.”
My throat tightens. “You already know.”
“I need to hear it.”
I swallow. “I want you.”
The sound he makes is low and broken and not entirely human.
He turns onto his side in one smooth motion and kisses me.
No hesitation.
No slow testing.
He kisses me like restraint finally snapped its teeth.
His mouth is hot and demanding, tongue sweeping into mine with the kind of hunger that steals my breath outright. I make a startled noise and clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, needing the pressure of his weight, the proof that this is real.
He groans into my mouth, deep and rough, and the sound goes straight through me.
God.
He tastes like heat and control and something dangerously close to desperation.
His hands find my face, thumbs bracketing my jaw, holding me still while he devours me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. Every kiss is deeper than the last, slower, more thorough, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth with his.
I break away gasping.
“Tatek—”
“Tell me to stop,” he says, breath ragged, lips brushing mine again. “And I will.”
I don’t even pretend to think.
“Don’t you dare.”
That’s when he loses the last of his restraint.
He rolls over me, pinning me to the bench with his body, one thigh sliding between mine, hard and deliberate. I feel him immediately — thick and hot and impossible — pressed against my hip through layers of fabric, and my entire body lights up.
“Oh,” I breathe.
His mouth trails down my throat, teeth scraping lightly over skin before soothing it with his tongue. My hands areeverywhere, yanking at his jacket, his shirt, desperate to feel skin instead of fabric.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my neck.
“So are you.”
He stills for a fraction of a second.
Then he laughs softly, breathless. “Fair.”
