Deep.
Slow.
Possessive.
My hands roam everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, down the ridges of his abdomen. I can feel the tension in him now the control he’s fighting to keep.
“I couldn’t keep my hands off you all night,” I confess, breathless. “You looked at me like I was the only woman in that room.”
“You were,” he replies without hesitation.
The limo hits a slight bump as I press my body flush against his. His palm slides along my back. His fingers digging just enough to send heat spiraling through me.
“You’re different tonight,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I’m done shrinking,” I answer softly.
I kiss him again. Slower this time. Deliberate. My teeth graze his lower lip before I soothe the sting with my tongue.
He groans quietly.
The sound travels straight through me. My hands slip into his hair, tugging lightly. His breath warms my throat as his mouth trails along my jaw.
“I couldn’t stand seeing him look at you,” he admits, voice lower now. Controlled but close to breaking.
“He doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “You do.”
I grind my hips deep and he exhales sharply.
“You’re playing a dangerous game in this limo,” he warns.
I smile against his skin. “Good.”
His hand slides under the slit of my gown as his fingers begins tracing the length of my thigh. Not rushing. Just reminding me how easily he can undo me once he lands at my erection.
I shiver.
The air inside the limo feels electric but we don’t cross the line. Not here. We dance along it creating a mutual ache in each other. My mouth finds his again, softer now. Slower. My forehead rests against his as we both breathe.
“I love you,” I whisper.
His thumb brushes along my cheek. “I love you,” he answers.
The limo continues through the city and it feels so amazing that tonight—the heat between us isn’t complicated by guilt.
And when we pull up to the house neither of us rushes because we both know?—
This night isn’t finished yet.
THE STRUCTURE OF US
We don’t even make it past the foyer. The door barely clicks shut before Zaria is on me. Her mouth, her hands, and her hardness.
I barely get the lock turned before she pushes me back against the door letting her fingers curling into my lapels. She’s kissing me like she’s been starving for it all night.
Maybe she has.
I’ve been craving her for months and her speech made the flames of my passion for her burn hotter. Her honesty. Her courage. The way she stood in that ballroom and stood proud as herself—claiming our love—without shrinking.
