"I came to thank you.”
She slid over me without permission, one leg then the other, thighs parting around my hips as she settled into my lap like she'd been born to fit there. The pathetic scrap of cotton between her legs did nothing to hide her heat. I could feel the soft, slick warmth of her pussy pressing against my stomach; that and the slow roll of her hips tested my restraint.
"Thank me for what?"
She leaned down, her hair falling around us like a curtain, trapping us in our own private world. The scent of her filled my lungs.
"For catching me." Her lips brushed my ear as she spoke. "For talking to me like I'm normal."
"Caspian says..." she breathed against my mouth, "there's a proper way to thank a man who's been kind."
The uncle.
"That's what he says, huh?"
It wasn't a question, and she didn't answer. She just pressed her mouth on mine.
It wasn't the kiss of a slow, isolated girl. It was slow, deep, and devastatingly sure. Her tongue slid against mine like velvet, tasting of sweetness and secrets. She kissed me like she wanted to ruin me for anyone else. Like she'd practiced in the dark until she perfected the art of making a man forget every decent thing he'd ever known.
Heat hit me hard and fast. I lost myself for a second—one stupid, weak second—and kissed her back before I could stop myself. My hand found her waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of her hip. I pulled her closer, ground up into her, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to me.
She whimpered into my mouth, a small, broken sound that went straight to my dick.
"Chloe—" I tore my mouth away, chest heaving. "This isn't how you thank a man you barely know."
She only smiled against my throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along my pulse.
I was trying to be good, but kisses like hers could probably ruin men better than me.
"Please stop." I was begging her.
She paused, leaned up, searching my face.
She shook her head, dismissing my plea, before kissing me again—deeper this time, hungrier, pushing herself closer like she was trying to crawl inside my skin. Her tongue swept into my mouth.
"You don't know what you're doing, what you're starting," I said between kisses.
Her lips parted slightly.
"I'm thanking you."
She kissed my eyes, my cheeks, my throat—tender enough to break something in me. Made me want to be her weapon. Her war. Her soft place to land. Whatever she needed.
She pulled away. I watched as she grabbed the hem of her camisole and snatched it over her head in one fluid motion. Moonlight worshipped her.
God help me.
Her breasts were full and heavy, more than a handful, the tips dark and peaked from the cool air. Her waist curved inward before flaring to wide hips. She was built like an old-world goddess—soft where it counted, generous in everywhere that mattered.
She cupped the back of my head, guiding me.
"Kiss me here," she ordered softly.
I obeyed like a man already damned.
My mouth closed over her nipple, tongue circling the tight peak before I sucked deeper, harder. She gasped, fingers tightening in my hair, hips rolling against me in slow, sinfulwaves. The taste of her skin—salt and woman and something sweetly forbidden—made me groan against her flesh.
I wanted more. Wanted to lay her back and trace every inch of her. Wanted to hear what kind of sounds she'd make when I spread her open and tasted the honey between her thighs.
