Harper
The kiss didn't start slow.
It started like a man who'd been holding his breath for five years and somebody had finally told him he could stop.
His mouth found mine and the sound he made against my lips was the first truly uncontrolled thing I'd ever heard from him. Something broken open and poured out.
Then his mouth moved from mine to my jaw, then lower, open and deliberate against the frantic pulse in my throat.
The sound that tore out of me was raw, broken. Nothing I'd ever heard myself make.
He lingered there, lips and tongue and hot breath worshiping the flutter of my heartbeat, learning it like a language only he could read.
His hand traced down the center of my body, slow and possessive. Knuckles grazed between my breasts, over my ribs, mapping every inch like territ
