Then he's kissing me again—slower this time, deeper, like he's memorizing the taste of me. Heat pools low in my belly, spreading through my thighs, tightening at my core.
My fingers tug at his shirt and he moves backward, pulling me with him. We stumble toward the bed, his hands never leaving my body, and when the backs of my legs hit the mattress I fall and he follows, his weight pressing me into the springs.
His mouth leaves mine to trail along my jaw, down my neck. Each kiss deliberate. Claiming. His breath is hot against my collarbone and he pauses there, like he's grounding himself before he loses control completely.
Then his hands find the hem of my shirt.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me. Not asking permission. Confirming what he already knows.
My shaky exhale answers for him.
He pulls my shirt up and off in one smooth motion, tosses it aside without looking. The cool air hits my skin a second before his hands do. His palms skim up my ribs, over the newly bare skin, calloused and warm, and the sound that escapes me is embarrassingly soft.
He exhales like he's been holding his breath for years.
Then he sits back just enough to strip off his own shirt—quick, efficient, like it's in his way. His chest is broad and solid, muscle earned from years of ranch work. Fencing. Hauling hay. Breaking horses. His arms flex as he tosses the shirt aside and the sight of him above me makes my stomach twist hard.
He leans down again, his mouth finding my shoulder, then lower. When his lips close around my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, I arch into him with a gasp. His tongue flicksover the sensitive peak and heat courses through me, molten and insistent.
His hands move to my back, finding the clasp of my bra. He unhooks it without fumbling, slides the straps down my arms, and pulls it away. For a second he just looks at me, eyes so dark they're almost black.
"You're beautiful," he says, low and steady.
Then his mouth is on my bare skin. Lips closing around my nipple, tongue working, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp his name. His hand cups my other breast, thumb brushing over the peak in rhythm with his mouth, and I can't think, can't breathe, can only feel.
My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there, and he groans against my skin. The vibration of it shoots straight through me.
His hand slides down my stomach, over my hip, to the button of my jeans. He doesn't hesitate. The button pops open, the zipper slides down, and then he's easing the denim over my hips.
I lift to help him and the way he inhales at that—sharp, controlled, almost pained—sends fresh heat through me.
He pulls the jeans off completely, drops them behind him. His hands return immediately, sliding up my calves, my thighs, tracing the lines of me. His touch is sure but there's a tremor beneath it now. A crack in the control.
His mouth grazes my inner thigh, stubble scraping sensitive skin, and I shudder. He places small kisses up, up, until he reaches the edge of my panties. He kisses me there—right over the fabric—teasing, deliberate, his breath hot.
Then he looks up at me with a grin that's pure sin before he hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls my panties off in one swift movement.
Before I can speak, before I can think, his mouth is on me.
The first touch of his tongue makes my back bow off the bed. My hands fly to his hair, gripping, and he groans against me like this is exactly where he wants to be.
He doesn't rush. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, learning me, remembering me, taking his time like he has all night. Like he's been waiting years for this and he's going to savor every second.
My thighs tremble. My breath comes in short gasps. Heat builds and builds, coiling tighter with every pass of his tongue, every brush of his lips.
"Eli," I gasp. "Please—"
He responds by sliding one finger inside me, then another, curling them just right while his tongue keeps working and I shatter. Everything blurs as pleasure crashes through me, my whole body tensing and releasing, his name breaking from my lips.
Before I've fully come down he's moving up my body, kissing his way up my stomach, between my breasts, along my throat. I reach for him, hands shaking, and he lets me pull him into a kiss. I can taste myself on his tongue and it makes me want him all over again.
He stands long enough to strip off his jeans and boxers in one motion and when he straightens I get my first real look at him.
Holy shit.
He's thick and hard and ready, and the wanting in his eyes when he sees me looking makes my thighs clench.
He comes back to me, settling between my legs, his weight pressing me into the mattress. Bare skin against bare skin. The heat of him makes my whole body arch instinctively.
