“I wanna touch you, Cora,” he murmured against my lips, his voice so dangerously low and raspy that I could practically feel myself dampening the mattress beneath me. The sound alone was enough to make my breath hitch, to send my heart into a frenzy. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” I practically whimpered, my voice breathless, need laced into every syllable as I pressed myself even closer, closing the already minimal space between us. I kissed him again, unable to help myself—just needing to feel him, to feel connected, to feel consumed.
He let me kiss him, let me taste him, let me devour him like I had been starving for years. But then, slowly and deliberately, he pulled back. Sitting up on his knees, he stared down at me, his gaze never leaving mine, not even for a second. There was a certai
