Behind me, I could feel the way he hardened, and just barely resisted bending over and rocking my ass back at him.
Instead, I turned in his arm.
His hold tightened on my lower back.
My hands danced up his bare chest until my arms wound around his shoulders, my fingers teasing up the back of his neck to sink into his hair.
All the while, he watched me with those dark, dangerous eyes of his. But when his gaze triangulated my lips, I could feel the change in him, the way his control snapped.
His fingers tightened on my hip.
His body tensed.
His hand rose, grabbing the back of my neck in an almost punishing grip, pulling me closer but pausing, waiting.
I couldn’t tell if I was the one to close the distance or if we both moved at once.
It wasn’t so much a kiss as a collision—heat, teeth, and the raw edge of everything we’d been holding back.
Caymen’s fingers tightened, almost punishing, but I moaned into his mouth; I bit his lower lip.
A low, vibrating sound moved through him, vibrated into me, making my breasts go heavy, making my nipples twist into needy points. He slammed me back against the counter, his hardness pressing against my belly.
My lips fell open on a ragged moan. He took the invitation to slip inside, his tongue toying, teasing, claiming.
Warmth crawled up my chest. Something molten burned in my core.
I felt fevered.
Yet all I wanted to do was leap into the flames.
My hands slid down from his shoulders, and the room narrowed to nothing but skin, breath, and need as I explored his chest, his abs, ribs, and back.
My fingers snagged the waistband of his towel and freed it with a flick.
A sound close to a growl escaped Caymen at that moment, the sound a match strike to my desire.
My palm slid down, flattened, slipped between us, then closed around his hard length.
The catch in his breath matched the one in my heartbeat as I stroked him down to the base, watching the way his eyes became dark pools of desire.
His own hands were greedy then, pulling down my bodice and closing his hand over my breast, squeezing almost to the point of pain as my hand kept stroking him.
His breath was coming in ragged huffs as his hand shifted, his thumb and forefinger finding my nipple—circling, rolling, pinching, twisting, until unfamiliar, throaty sounds were escaping me.
My hand shifted up, my thumb teasing across the head of his cock.
His free arm rose, slamming into the cabinet behind me, making my heartbeat skitter and my sex tighten at his lack of control.
He let me work him for another moment, his gaze motley, his body tense, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.
But then his hands were grabbing my hips, lifting me up, and then dropping me down on the countertop.
Reaching down, he pulled up my skirt so he could step between my legs that spread for him.
He guided my hips again, tilting, angling me as he stepped closer still.
Tension snapped, and my thighs trembled in anticipation at the feel of his hips moving between.
