She sighed at his touch, and his pulse picked up. Of course he knew she would like it, but knowing and hearing were so very different. He watched her sweet mouth reach for him, touch his neck and chase a breathless sigh from his lips.
"Perhaps I am," she told him in a voice so damn seductive, a voice that drew him in closer to sweep soft kisses over her skin. His skin was getting hot, he was getting breathless. He wasn't going to do so well at control. She'd made him wait too damn long, and his body damn well needed this ages ago.
God, and the way she stared back at him.
She moved away, dodging his touch and stopping at the opening of the cave they bunkered in. He followed, trailing after her almost obediently, the slowest chase for what he wanted. What he'd wanted for too damn long. She was such a wicked temptress.
"I shouldn't have to let you do anything," she told him, that damn voice again making his blood run hotter. Did she have any idea how fucking hot she was? Yeah, she had to. He traced his lips over her hip, tasting her skin. "You should just be good to me."
She was so wrong this time.
"Good to you," he repeated evenly, spreading more slow kisses over the blue of her spine. "Good at you." And another step closer, his chest nearer to her flank. But she should know by now, know him better than that. "Not good for you." Not good for anyone. Ever. But he had to remind her. Just to be sure.
And he rose up, propped himself on her hips and teased against her. He'd make her ache for it, at least half as bad as he ached for her. And damn, he ached. Throbbed. He settled, watching her under him, watching her face. Then growled, and thrust roughly inside her, pinning her waist between his hips and burying deep, holding there as her body fought to accept the sudden difference.
His dark eyes were wild with need, studying her hungrily, almost coldly, and feeding on her every slightest reaction to him. To them together.
we're slaves to any semblance of touch
Lord, we should quit but we love it too much
