Her fingers curl against my back, clutching at my skin like she doesn’t know what to hold on to. I shift above her, bracing myself with one hand while the other skims down her side before moving down her body ... kissing her stomach ... the skin above her waistband ...
She’s not wearing underwear.
My dick twitches as my hand slides up her thigh, thumb brushing her pussy ... stroking the nub between her legs ...
Wanting these shorts gone.
I want to taste her.I want to drive her wild.
“Annabelle,” I rasp, dragging my mouth along her stomach, pausing to press a kiss just above the waistband of those teasing satin shorts. “You’re gonna kill me.”
She huffs out a breath that’s half laugh, half moan. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Another laugh escapes her—low and breathy—and her fingers tangle in my hair as I press one more kiss to her stomach, and even in the darkness, I swear I can feel the heat coming off her like fire.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper, even though I don’t want her to. Not even a little.
“Don’t be stupid.” Her words are a breathy challenge, daring me to keep going. Daring me to make good on everything we’ve been teasing since the moment the lights went out.
So I do.
I hook my thumbs beneath the waistband of her shorts, pausing for just a second—giving her the chance to change her mind. She doesn’t. She lifts her hips instead, and that’s all the permission I need.
The satin slides down her legs, a whisper of sound in the dark. I don’t need to see her. I can feel her. I can hear the way her breath stutters when my hands slide up the inside of her thighs. I can sense the way her body reacts to every slow, deliberate touch.
I lower my mouth to her hip, kiss a slow trail toward the center of her heat,savoring every shiver, every shift of her legs as she parts them just a little wider, silently inviting me in.
No panties, just pussy.
Beautiful, wet pussy . . .
Chapter 11
Annabelle
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit ...
He’s not doing anything yet. Just ... lingering. Kissing. Nuzzling. Breathing like he has all the time in the world and I’m some kind of dessert he wants to savor slowly, one spoonful at a time.
Oh God. Is he smirking? I think he’s smirking.
Here I am—flat on my back, legs spread like a sacrificial offering to the gods of incredibly poor judgment. What if I make a weird sound? What if Idon’tmake any sound and he thinks I hate it?
What if he—holy shit, did he justgroan?
Yup. That was a groan. That was a “this is so good I’m losing my mind” groan, and it came fromhim. My knees twitch involuntarily, and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep myself from making any sounds.
Maverick.Callum.
I don’t know what to call him right now, but I want ...
I want . . .
He spreads me with his fingers, shouldering my knees apart as he settles in. There’s a beat of silence. Tension? That agonizing pause like the moment before a roller coaster drops, which is why I hate them in the first place.
And then—
He puts his mouth on me. Lips, tongue. A slow, deliberate kiss that makes my hips jump. His tongue follows, a languid stroke that melts my spine and sends every coherent thought scrambling for cover.
