“This is what you do to us, peach,” he growled against my ear. “I’ve felt like I want to burst, and this is all from your moaning.”
My fingers curled around him through the fabric before I could stop myself.
He hissed and rewarded me by dragging his tongue along my collarbone, then lower, nipping the upper swell of my breast through my blouse.
Mathias finally touched me.
He stepped in close and slid one hand up the front of my thigh, under the pleated skirt, until his fingertips grazed the damp cotton between my legs.
I jerked, a broken whimper escaping.
“So wet already,” he purred against my temple. “I wonder if I lick you, will it taste like peaches?”
His fingers pressed—just enough to make me arch—and then circled slowly, teasingly, over the soaked fabric.
I moaned again and fe
