ALMA’S POV
The kiss with her stole the air from my lungs, but then another touch—different, rougher, urgent—ignited fresh fire. A hand gripped my breast hard, squeezing with the kind of hunger that bordered on pain. I gasped against her mouth, breaking the kiss just as hot lips closed around my n****e through the lace.
It wasn’t Drake.
I tilted my head and caught sight of him—another man, taller, broader, his face buried against my chest, sucking greedily, fiercely, like he was starving. His stubble scraped my skin raw, his teeth tugged at the lace until it burned with every pull. He groaned as though feeding on me was as much his pleasure as it was mine.
My cry broke into the woman’s mouth as she reclaimed my lips, her kiss rougher now, almost violent in its need. I was drowning—Drake
