Page 93 of Own

One second, I was perched on the arm of the chair. The next, I was in his lap with my damp hair clinging to his skin, towel somehow still in place.

The sudden shift made me laugh under my breath. I glanced down, then met his eyes again. “Very smooth.”

He didn’t even blink. “I liked it.”

“Me too.” The words barely made it past my lips, more breath than sound, as he pressed his forehead to mine.

Then his mouth found mine—soft at first. A promise more than a kiss. A tease.

The second was bolder. Deeper. Heat curled low in my belly as he gathered me closer, arms tightening, his body folding around mine like he needed me under his skin.

I let him. Leaned in until there was no space left between us. My fingers dove into that riotous mass of wild hair, twisting tight, anchoring me to the moment.

His tongue swept against mine—slow, deliberate—igniting a fire that roared through my system and burned the weariness to ash.

Then came the scrape of his teeth over my lower lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make me gasp. The rasp of his stubble across my skin dragged me back to the edge even as the passion beneath my skin spiraled higher.

“I don’t know how to be soft with you,” he murmured, lips brushing mine, his breath a furnace of want.

Then he kissed me—deep, possessive, devastating.

My thoughts scattered like embers in a storm.

When I moved to shift, he caught me—hands locking around my waist—and lifted me without hesitation. Like he couldn’t stand the space, not even an inch. I found myself straddling him, chest to chest, heat to heat.

“You don’t have to be soft,” I assured him in between gasps of air “You just have to be here with me.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he promised, kissing me again before finding the knot where I’d tucked the towel ends between my breasts. “Are you cold?” The heated question against my lips made me laugh.

“Actually,” I admitted. “Quite the opposite. I’m suddenly very warm.”

“Let’s see about helping you out with that.”

He tugged the towel wide, not that it did more than fall to my waist since I was currently straddling him. He settled his hands just above the towel.

“You’re so damn tiny.”

The way he exhaled the words had goosebumps racing over my skin. His grin grew a tad more wicked as he lifted me again. It let the towel slip further, so I tugged it out from between us and let it fall.

“So tiny,” he repeated, gaze stroking over me until even my nipples went taut just from the heat in them. “You don’t ever seem so tiny until I’m touching you.”

“I like it when you touch me.” Probably didn’t need saying but I wanted him to know regardless. “I like touching you even more.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” he said before he tugged me forward and locked his lips around one nipple. The man wasdetermined to send me up in flames. The contact between his mouth and my skin sizzled. In my mind, it was a brand but instead of pain, he seared me with pleasure.

He took his time, laving one nipple then moving to the other. Each slow pass of his cheek dragged that deliciously rough stubble over my skin, the rasp sending tiny shocks through me—just enough sting to sharpen the haze, a bite to anchor the melt.

Cradling his head, I raked my nails through his hair, drawing out a low sound from deep in his chest. I guided that sinful mouth to keep exploring, feeding the slow burn between us as his hands slipped lower.

Every brush of his fingers sent jolts of heat racing under my skin, tingles sparking into something darker, needier—until I was burning everywhere, thighs trembling, breath catching, desperate for his hands to keep going. When he cupped my ass, squeezing and pulling me in tighter, I vibrated with the moan that escaped.

With a wet pop, he pulled his head back to stare up at me. Rousing from the cocoon of pleasure, I drank in the expressions chasing across his face like a fast-moving storm—anger, hunger, frustration, joy, a fierce, almost primal intensity. Each one flared and faded until only one remained: the look he wore wheneverythingin him was locked on me. As if the world had narrowed to this moment, tous, and nothing beyond existed.

I had never felt so bare—stripped open, seen down to the marrow—yet somehow powerful, untouchable. Exposed and vulnerable, yes… but wrapped in the kind of protection that didn’t cage, only worshipped.

“AB,” I pushed his name past the choking emotion wrapped around me. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the faint scar left from where O’Rourke had torn the skin. Then he moved up to kiss a bruise I hadn’t noticed. There were a few of them over my arms and then down my torso.

One by one, he mouthed kisses to each and every mark until I trembled from the affection he showered on me. The singular caress of his lips on my skin turned me inside out. I wanted him and wanted to wrap around him until the rest of the world faded to just us.

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