Olivia Westview
I couldn’t speak.
All I could do was feel—his hands, his lips, his presence. His every touch was like a spark, igniting something deep inside me. The world outside faded, and all that remained was him, the way he touched me and made me feel.
I reached up, pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He chuckled softly, but it was a sound filled with heat and something more. Without a word, he helped me, his hands steady and sure as he peeled the fabric from his body. And I did the same for him, my hands trembling slightly as I worked the buttons of his shirt open, exposing the sculpted planes of his chest.
When his shirt hit the floor, I was left breathless, his body a perfect match for the intensity of the moment. But it wasn’t just his body that dre
