Leila forgot how to breathe.
She forgot how to be herself.
Her husband was kissing her. His lips pressed to hers, his tongue demanding entry. She moaned, and his tongue slid into her mouth.
A sound barreled out of her lips when he lifted her onto his lap. He swallowed that sound, too, and continued kissing her. His groan snapped her out of her trance. She palmed his face and kissed him back with a foreign urgency. Her fingers slid into his hair, and she tugged on it from the roots, loving and loving the sound of approval he made. He tasted like wine, steak, and chocolate. She loved it. His lips were officially her favorite part of him.
They broke apart for air, and his hand lowered to her back. The pad of his fingers brushed her open skin, and she leaned into him. Her body ached for
