As we stare at each other, our breathing frantic, the energy between us launching into full nuclear meltdown, he can’t hold back anymore. His grip in my hair draws me to him aggressively, but not painfully. Just enough to make me moan before his lips crash against mine.
It’s hard and hungry at first, all teeth, tongue, and months of tension igniting in a single, reckless spark. His mouth slants over mine, again and again, deeper each time, as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. My hands grip tightly to his shirt, dragging him impossibly closer, needing more, needinghim.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, biting his bottom lip before he groans and captures mine in return, punishing and perfect. There’s no rhythm, no patience. Just chaos, craving, and lips that won’t stop finding each other. It’s as though we’re making up for every second we spent fighting this.
When our lips touch, it’s as if it’s the first time all over again—electric, desperate, and so fucking needy in a way that should probably scare me more than it does.
We can’t stop.
Wedon’twant to.
His hands start to move, slow at first, exploratory, as if he’s mapping my body by memory. One slides beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers trailing across bare skin, dragging goose bumps intheir wake. The other glides down the curve of my waist to the swell of my hip, gripping tight like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
My breath catches when his thumb brushes just beneath my bra line, teasing but not taking. Testing my limits. My body arches into his touch like it’s not mine anymore—as if it belongs to him.
And maybe it does.
“Clover,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice hoarse, like it’s being dragged from somewhere deep and wrecked inside him. “If I start something here, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”
I meet his eyes, and what he sees in mine must answer him, because his restraint shatters completely. His mouth returns to mine with renewed fire, but this time, everything is slower, more deliberate. His tongue teases mine, coaxing and claiming in equal measure, while his hand continues its maddening journey, skimming up my ribs, fingertips ghosting over the edge of lace.
A whimper escapes me, and he smiles against my lips, cocky and dangerous and so goddamn sure he’s unraveling me.
He is.
But I’m unraveling him too.
Because when I trail one hand down, just low enough to graze the waistband of his jeans, his whole body shudders. His grip on me tightens, and the sound that escapes him, half groan, half curse, is all desire.
We’re playing with fire.
And neither of us wants to put it out.
Then his hand dips lower.
Past my waistband.
Fingers brushing over my panties, then slipping beneath.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
His calloused fingers graze over my clit. Just the lightest pressure at first, but my hips jerk at the contact, a moan escaping before I can bite it back.
Heat bursts behind my eyes. Pleasure sparks through my nerves like an electrical surge, short-circuiting my entire body. I clutch his shoulders, grounding myself while his fingers explore with aching precision, learning what makes me gasp, what makes my thighs tremble.
Because he is the first man to touch me like this.
“Fuck,” I whisper, breathless and stunned by how fast I’m coming undone. “Don’t stop. Don’teverstop.”
His mouth finds the pulse point on my throat. “Not planning on it.”
Another stroke, this time firmer, more confident. My knees go weak. My head tips back. I’m on the brink, right there, the world fading around the edges as the pressure builds, builds, builds.Oh shit. It’s too much.My body begins to tremble. Every inch of me feels as though I am in the middle of an earthquake.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The heart monitor on my wrist explodes into a frenzy, its shrill alarm resembling a slap of cold water. My entire body jolts, the spell between us shattering as my first orgasm is ripped from my body in an instant.
