I lift my arms to help, breaking the kiss for a moment as he drags the shirt off completely, tossing it aside.
Bare from the waist up, my skin prickles in the room's air, nipples hardening under his stare.
But he doesn't stop—his lips return to my throat, sucking harder, one hand cupping my breast, fingers rolling the peak until I moan into his hair.
The bed looms inches away, sheets rumpled, promising more as his other hand dips toward my jeans.
I’ve wanted this for so long that my body doesn't know how to receive it.
I'm shaking under his hands.
He notices and he stops.
"Hey."
"I'm not scared."
"I know."
"I'm just?—"
"I know, Dakota."
His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans, popping the button with a flick of his thumb.
The zipper rasps down, and he shoves the denim over my hips, yanking it along with my panties in one rough pull.
Cool air hits my exposed pussy, already slick and throbbing from his touch.
I kick the jeans free, legs bare now except for my socks, and he steps between my thighs, pressing them wider against the wall.
"Hey," he murmurs, voice gravelly, eyes locked on mine as his hand flattens low on my belly.
The heel of his palm grinds against my hip bone, possessive, while his fingers dip lower, parting my folds.
One thick finger circles my clit, slow and teasing, before sliding inside me.
I clench around it, hips bucking up.
His mouth claims mine again, unhurried, tongue delving deep as he adds a second finger, stretching me, pumping in a steady rhythm that builds heat low in my core.
He kisses along my jaw, down my throat, sucking the tender spot under my ear until I melt against him, shakes fading into trembles of need.
His thumb presses my clit in firm circles, and I grind against his hand, chasing the edge.
He scoops me up effortlessly, carrying me to the bed.
My ass hits the quilt first—thick and worn, saturated with his scent: sweat, leather, earth.
It envelops me as he lays me down, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of my hips.
He straightens, gripping the hem of his shirt and peeling it over his head in one fluid motion.
For the first time, I drink him in fully.
The jagged femur scar snaking down the outside of his left thigh, pale against tanned skin.
Older marks crisscrossing his ribs and abdomen, badges from a hard life.
