I don't answer, too busy fisting his shirt and yanking it apart, sending buttons scattering across the floor.
He lets out a rough laugh, then I'm kissing him again. His mouth, his jaw, the hollow of his throat, and he groans.
His hands are under my shirt, sliding higher, under my sports bra. His thumbs drag over my nipples, and it's so good, too good, and I never want it to stop.
My skin is on fire, my core tight, aching, desperate for him.
Desperate for more.
For everything.
"Ben."
His name is a plea.
A desperate sound, and his fingers tighten in my hair.
His teeth rake the skin below my ear, his thumb rubbing a slow circle around my nipple.
I grip the hem of my shirt and yank it above my head, pulling the bra off at the same time.
The cool air of the room feels shockingly good against my hot skin.
His hand closes around the bare skin of my breast, and I groan, arching into his touch.
"Jesus, you're fucking beautiful." His lips brush my collarbone, his fingers kneading my breasts, and I roll my hips against him.
His free hand grips the outside of my thigh, and I lean in to catch his earlobe between my teeth.
He groans, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
God, this is too much.
This is everything.
His lips close around my nipple, his tongue flicking against the taut peak, and my head drops back, cracking against the wall.
Yes. Yes.
His mouth.
His fingers.
God, I want this.
I want him.
Inside me.
My fingers fumble with the fly of his jeans, and he swears, the word muffled against my skin.
He releases my nipple, the night air cold against the wet skin, and I whimper, my fingers working his button and fly.
His mouth finds mine again, and we kiss, frantic and deep. He sets me on my feet only long enough to yank my pants down in one quick motion before he hikes me up again.
"Hold onto me," he says, his voice low, gruff.
I loop an arm around his neck, gripping his hair, and the other tightens on his shoulder.
