Page 104 of Silver Fox Puck

His hands catch my waist, firm and sure, fingers flexing like he’s testing his grip.

Then he tightens it.

Yanks me closer.

Not rough. Not careless.

Just need. Just want. Just him finally having what he’s been waiting for.

A shudder rolls through me as his hands slide lower, over my hips, over the curve of my ass, pulling me flush against him.

And holy hell—

He’s hard.

Thick and heavy against my stomach, his body a furnace against mine.

I gasp, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

His jaw tightens, his breath hot against my temple.

"You feel that?" he murmurs.

A slow, devastating rasp that slides straight down my spine.

"That’s what happens when you drive a man insane for weeks, Flight."

I barely have time to process that before his mouth crashes onto mine.

It’s not slow.

It’s not tentative.

It’s hunger. It’s desperation.

It’s every minute of tension snapping in an instant.

His tongue parts my lips, sweeps inside, deep and claiming, like he’s trying to devour every damn part of me.

I moan, hips arching, thighs clenching.

And Grant?

He groans.

A deep, rough, completely wrecked sound.

His fingers dig into my skin, his mouth tilting over mine, consuming me, pulling me deeper, until I’m not sure where he ends and I begin.

I don’t know how we start moving.

All I know is suddenly, my back hits the wall.

His hands are everywhere—spreading my thighs, gripping my hips, sliding under my shirt, dragging over my bare skin.

And my hands?

They can’t stop touching him.

---