“You don’t have to.” My words softened. “It feels a lot better.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But my hands need something to do, and your back is the safest place for them.” The words were measured. His restraint wasn’t. I felt it in the air—heat and want and a distance he was barely holding.
I tilted my head up to look at him through my lashes.
Something caught in his throat, eyes darkening, hunger flickering beneath the restraint he was barely holding together.
I pushed on my toes and pressed a featherlight kiss to his mouth.
He froze.
Then he was on me—surging forward, one hand in my hair as he dragged me into him, his mouth crashing into mine. The world dropped away. His kiss stole everything—breath, balance, thought—heat pouring from him in a way that felt primal and undeniable.
My hands skimmed his chest, muscle flexing under my palms. A breathy sound escaped me—gasoline to a fire.
He caught my waist and pulled me into his lap, the movement snapping whatever restraint I had left. He hardened beneath me instantly—twitching against the core of me—and a broken sound tore from my throat.
His hands slid beneath my shirt—warmth, bare skin—his palm finding the small of my back, scorching like a brand.
He broke the kiss, pupils blown wide, searching for a reason to stop.
A wicked smile curved my lips—permission.
He leaned back only long enough to drag his shirt over his head, the motion revealing the dark trail of hair scattered across the solid cut of his chest. The sight punched the air from my lungs.
Broad pecs, defined muscle, the elegant lines of his collarbones—everything shifting in one fluid rhythm as his hands found me again. One hand found the hem of my shirt, fingers grazing bare skin; the other anchored my waist, pulling me flush against him. Instinct took over—I rolled my hips, feeding the storm between us.
But it was me—caught in the rush of adrenaline and want—who grabbed the fabric and yanked it over my head. Cool air swept across my bare skin, lifting a trail of goosebumps along my arms.
His hand found my bra clasp with unnerving precision, freeing it in one smooth motion and tossing it aside.
His jaw went slack.
A heartbeat—no breath, no movement—just him staring.
Then, finally—
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes raking over me.
Heat flooded his expression, dark and consuming, as his hands rose—careful, reverent—to cup my breasts.
His thumbs swept over my tightening peaks, a shiver snapping through me. Then his mouth closed around one, warmth and tongue drawing me in.
I arched against him, a groan slipping free—breaking into a sharp gasp when he grazed me with his teeth. He pulled back with a wicked, mischievous smile that made my whole bodyclench, then lowered his head to the other, sealing his mouth over it in a long, devastating pull.
His free hand found the breast he’d left behind, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers—gentle at first, then harder, blurring the line between pleasure and pain until my mind swam.
My hips moved without thought, grinding against him in an aching rhythm as warmth pooled between my thighs, dampening the layers of fabric separating us.
“Emma,” he growled against my skin. “We need to stop.”
“No.” My voice slipped out in a low, aching purr as my hands slid up to his shoulders, dragging him closer. “We don’t.”
His fingers tightened on my hips, digging into my skin as he fought himself, every muscle going taut beneath my hands. His chest heaved unevenly—shallow, shaky pulls of air like he was holding back something feral.
“Emma…” he warned again, voice rough and fraying at the edges.
I bent down, letting my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Don’t stop.”
