“Your turn,” she murmurs, and gets her hands into my shirt again, more impatient this time, shoving it up my chest.
I let her strip it off me, and I feel her touch everywhere. She finds the scar along my ribs straight away, fingers tracing the line of it once, light and curious.
She doesn’t ask.
Doesn’t make a face. She just touches it as if it belongs to me and then moves on, hands spreading over my chest, warm and flat and somehow more intimate.
That nearly undoes me.
“You’re very composed,” I tell her, because if I don’t say something, I’m going to grab her and prove exactly how discomposed I am.
Her mouth curves. “That’s where you’re mistaken.”
Her honesty goes through me like a shot. “Yeah?” I say, voice rougher now. “Good.”
My hands close around her hips, and I lift her clean off the floor.
She lets out a startled little sound that turns pleased halfway through, arms looping around my neck, legs winding around my waist. We end up at eye level, her breath warm against my mouth, her chest pressed to mine, and this is worse. Fucking unbearable.
“Hi,” she says.
I laugh, because she’s killing me and somehow still making me laugh. “Hi.” The backs of her thighs hit the edge of the counter and settle her there. “Hold on.”
Her fingers tighten on my shoulders while I get her leggings down in one firm pull. She lifts without argument, lets me drag them down and off, and when I drop into a crouch between her knees, just the sight of her leaves me obsessed.
Fuck me.
The scent of her smothers me even more from here. Thick now. Warm and rich and unmistakable, that dark chocolate note deepening into something that goes straight under my skin and settles low in my body like a command. Now there’s no guessing.
There’s just her, open for me, thighs already soft and parted, body answering mine in a language older than words. Theglistening line of her offering is bare, and I’m about to lose control.
Primal hunger roars within me.
Mine.
The thought comes in possessively enough to deepen my grip on her thighs.
I don’t say it, but spread her legs and press my mouth to her pussy instead.
The moan she unleashes is so fucking pretty that it nearly knocks me off-balance. Her hand fists in my hair immediately, and I grin against her because there she is—mouthy, bold, all heat and nerve, right up until I touch her where she needs it and she comes apart for me.
I spread her wider with one hand and take my time licking her length, using my tongue to part her lips.
Every instinct in me wants to devour, but she tastes too good for that, and I’m too far gone already, so I slow down. I savor the little jumps in her breathing. The way her hips try to roll when I find the right pressure. The sounds she keeps trying to swallow back as if she’s still pretending she has some pride left to protect.
She doesn’t, and not with me.
I work two fingers over her clit, slowly at first, and she jerks with a broken gasp, nails digging into my scalp hard enough to sting.
“There you go,” I murmur against her, loving the way she trembles. “That’s it.”
She’s breathing fast now, head tipped back, one hand braced on the counter so hard her knuckles are white. Every sound out of her grows less controlled after that. Less polished and more honest.
Fuck.
I drive two fingers into her and curl them, her whole body convulsing.
Her thighs tighten around me, and she tries to hold still, tries to ride it out without giving me more than she wants to, and I feel how close she is in the way her body fights itself.
