Page 85 of Press Play

“You’re helping me feel better, and I want this. . . Iwantyou.”

“You’re not well?—”

“This is helping.” The sound of our kissing echoes around the room. “Please, Theo.”

He runs his thumb slowly along my jaw, his eyes darkening as they trace every inch of my face. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that makes my pulse skip.

I’m acutely aware of every breath, every tiny movement, as he moves his hand from my cheek, trailing his thumb down the column of my neck, lingering at the hollow of my throat. The heat of his touch spreads through me, and I let out a shaky breath as his thumb grazes over my racing pulse.

“Tell me, Wren,” he murmurs, his lips a breath from mine. “What do you want right now?” He slides his hand lower, stopping just at the edge of my shirt, waiting for me to close the gap, to let him know I want this just as much.

The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess. “I want you, Theo. All of you.”

“I won’t make you beg.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that’s slow, almost agonizing in its intensity. Every slide of his mouth against mine sets me on fire, and I lean into him as he deepens the kiss. He slips his hands into my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp, and he swallows the sound, trailing his lips to my jaw and down to the sensitive spot just below my ear.

“You taste incredible,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.

He trails his fingers down my spine, leaving goose bumps in their wake as he pulls me closer, flush against him. Every inch of him is hard and unyielding, pressed against my body, making my skin hum with anticipation.

He rolls me onto my back, his body hovering above mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. Caressing my thighs, he coaxes them apart and settles between them, his mouth claiming mine again, fiercer this time, as if he’s losing his last bit of restraint. “You’re all I can think about.”

His muscles shift as he moves, each kiss, each touch igniting me further. He dips his head to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin as his fingers finally,finallyslip lower, inching closer to where I need him. I gasp, arching into his touch, and he lets out a low, satisfied groan.

His fingers drop into my panties at an agonizingly slow rate. “The sounds you make, how you kiss me, how your body reacts to my touch. You’re so ready for me,” he murmurs.

He strokes my clit, gentle at first, then with a rhythm that’s slow and relentless, building the pressure until I’m a trembling mess beneath him.

“I want to feel every part of you,” he growls, his voice rough, unsteady.

He moves his hands back to beneath my shirt, dragging his fingers along my bare skin with torturous slowness. His thumbs circle my waist, skimming just shy of the places I want him to touch most. I lean toward him, my breaths coming faster as he takes his time, mapping every inch of my skin, like he’s enjoying the anticipation.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. “You’re trembling, Wren.”

His hand moves higher, fingertips grazing the undersides of my breasts, and I shudder, gripping his shoulders as I try to press closer, desperate for more.

He presses two fingers against my clit and slides down to my entrance, then back up. The simple motion is enough to leave me withering.

“That’s it, baby girl.” He praises me as I tilt my hips closer to his fingers.

Everything is tingling: my legs, clit, core. A few glides, and I’m a puddle. I would go to hell and back to have his fingers, lips. . . cock.

“Theo,” I moan.

He tugs my shirt higher, his eyes tracing over my exposed skin as if he’s studying art. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

I can barely think straight, my body burning under his gaze. “Don’t make me wait,” I whisper, my voice needy, almost pleading.

He chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to my collarbone. “Oh, I plan to take my time,” he murmurs against my skin. “I want to hear every sound you make, Wren. I want you to savor every second of this.” With a final kiss, he trails his lips down to my neck and licks my pulse point while dragging his finger up my slit. “You’re so wet.”

All I can do is nod. He’s stolen my words and any ability to formulate them.

“What do you want?” he asks.

My chest rises and falls as I gasp for air. The desire that builds trickles through my veins, and it’s not long before I’m begging for “More.”

“More?”

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