He swiped his arm across my desk, effectively knocking down anything on the edge and lifted me up.
I couldn’t help but react to him, to his kiss, to his words. I allowed him entrance into my mouth and whimpered as his tongue met and caressed mine.
His hands were rough against my body, but his lips and tongue were gentle. His hands represented a man starved, his lips represented a man ready and willing to make amends.
I hated to admit it, but I missed him so much. I missed spontaneously kissing him anywhere, I missed him pushing me against any surface and showing me how he felt without the use or need for words.
My arms were behind me as my hands were planted on the desk to hold me up. I pulled away from the kiss for a lungful of breath, but his lips never left my skin. They traveled do
