A low groan escapes me as she deepens the kiss, her hips grinding down against me in a slow, deliberate rhythm that burns through every nerve. Finally, I lift my hands and find her hips. Squeezing them hard, I guide her hips where I’m hardest.
We groan in unison.
I want this woman. Not just her body, not just the heat of her mouth on mine—all of her. Her heart is at the top of my list to put my name on.
Every second that slips by without her being mine is a slow unraveling, a knife twisting deeper.
Josie pulls back, breath ragged, her cheeks flushed the same sinful pink as her kiss-swollen lips. That look on her face—like she’s surprised by her own hunger, by what we’ve just unleashed—it steals the air from my lungs.
Her grip on me isn’t just in her hands anymore; it’s in my ribs, my pulse, the fucking core of me.
“Is it my turn?”
The question comes out rough, unrecognizable, like my voice has been dragged over gravel and hunger. I don’t sound like myself—and maybe I’m not. I don’t do reckless things like this. Don’t consider marrying a woman who’d already been claimed.
The other guy doesn’t stand a chance. I can already feel the demand to make sure whoever he is, he doesn’t get near her again.
I won’t let him take her back.
She’s mine.
Josie sucks in a breath when my palms slide down to her knees. Her muscles twitch as I hook the hem of the shirt with my thumbs.
The intent is clear. She explored my lips as she pleased. Now, I want to do the same in my own way, if she’ll let me.
When I don’t continue, waiting for permission, she lets out a shaky breath like she’s nervous.
Just as she’s ready to answer, darkness swallows us whole. The power goes out, and she gasps. My grip on her doesn’t lessen, only grows.
“Josie.” Rasping her name, my fingers squeeze her plump limbs. “Is it?”
The firelight flickers across her face, painting her surprise in gold and shadow. Does she not understand? The storm howling outside means nothing—not when the one raging inside me is so much louder.
Her lips part, breath uneven. Is she confused? Does she really think I’d let thunder and wind keep me from keeping this game of ours going?
I’m a man who finishes what he starts.
This isn’t something I’ll walk away from. Not when hunger gnaws at my ribs like a starved thing, not when the taste of her still burns on my tongue. Stopping now would leave an ache deeper than regret.
She jerks her chin in a nod, and I don’t hesitate. My hands push her shirt up her thighs, and…Fuck.
No bottoms. Just slick, silky lace and the heat of her pressed against me. My thumb strokes the delicate fabric, finding the little bow at the top like some goddamn present. Meant to be unwrapped.
My jaw locks. She picked these for someone else. Some other man’s hands were supposed to be here, peeling them off her, but the way she’s gasping, the way her hips roll against my palm like she’s already begging—she wants it to be me.
That’s the only thing that matters.
I push her underwear to the side, and my fingers meet heat, slickness,her. A rough sound tears from my throat—half curse, half groan—as I drag my fingertips through her folds, parting her just to feel how ready she is.
My thumb finds her clit, swollen and begging, and I circle it slowly. Too slow. Just to watch her unravel.
Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails biting into muscle as her head falls back. A moan spills from her lips—low and broken—and it damn near kills me. My cock aches, throbbing against my zipper like it’s jealous of my fingers, but I ignore it.
Not yet.
I want her to come first. Want her gasping, shaking, crying out my name before I even consider taking something for myself.
Just as I slide my fingers inside her wet heat, she lets out the sexiest whine I’ve ever heard.
