"Completely reckless." My pulse hammers against my throat. Betrays me. Proves every word a lie even as I speak it.
"Mm-hmm." The sound vibrates between us. His other hand settles at the small of my back, broad palm burning through the thin barrier of my shirt. Anchoring me. Claiming me.
I should mean it. Should pull back. Should listen to the warning bells clanging in the back of my mind.
Instead I arch closer. Close enough to feel his heartbeat thundering against my ribs. Close enough to taste the want rolling off him in waves.
This is how it starts, I think. With all the reasons it shouldn't.
His hand comes up. Slow. Giving me time to pull back. Fingertips brush my jaw. Rough skin against mine. Gentle despite the size. Despite the strength I know is there.
I should step back. Be reasonable. Be smart.
I lean into his touch instead.
His breath catches. I feel it more than hear it. See the way his eyes darken. The way his thumb traces along my cheekbone with devastating tenderness.
"Maris."
My name again. But different this time. Hungry. Wanting.
I fist my hands in his shirt. Pull him down.
Our mouths meet. Crash together. Nothing gentle about it now. His hands frame my face. Mine grip his shoulders. Teeth and tongue and the taste of him flooding my senses.
He lifts me. Sets me on the prep table. Steps between my knees. I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him closer. Closer. Not close enough.
His mouth moves to my jaw. My throat. Kissing. Biting. I gasp. Tilt my head back. Give him access.
He groans. Deep. Primal. Hands sliding under my shirt. Calloused palms against my ribs. My skin burns where he touches.
I yank at his shirt. He helps. Pulls it over his head. Tosses it somewhere.Too busy mapping the planes of his chest. The old scars. The impossible heat of him.
My shirt joins his. Then my bra. His hands cover my breasts. Thumb circling. I arch into the touch. Bite back a moan.
"Don't hide." His mouth finds mine again. "Want to hear you."
So I don't hide. Let the sounds escape. Let myself feel without filter. Without the careful control I usually maintain.
His hands move lower. Unfasten my jeans. I lift my hips. Help him peel the denim away. Underwear too. All of it discarded in our wake.
Cool air hits my skin. Then his hands. His mouth. Kissing down my sternum. My stomach. Lower.
"Wait." I grab his hair. Tug gently. "You too."
He straightens. Unfastens his belt. I watch. Heart hammering. As he strips away the last barriers between us.
Then he's back. Hands on my thighs. Spreading them. His eyes meet mine. Dark. Intense. Asking permission without words.
I nod.
He enters me. Slow. Careful. Stretching. Filling. The sensation borders on too much. My nails dig into his shoulders. He pauses. Lets me adjust.
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Move. Please move."
He does. Pulls back. Thrusts again. Setting a rhythm that scatters my thoughts. Builds heat low in my belly. Tension coiling tighter with each stroke.
