Kennedy’s POV
I didn’t know how we got upstairs.
One minute I was in the kitchen, his mouth on my neck, his hands sliding under my shirt — and the next, I was wrapped around him, clinging to him like my life depended on it. I could still feel the heat of his body pressing into mine as he carried me, the way his lips never left mine, the taste of him making my head spin. It was hunger and want and something so much deeper I couldn’t even name it.
His hands gripped my thighs like he couldn’t get enough of touching me, and honestly? I didn’t want him to stop.
By the time we reached his bedroom, my heart was racing. My skin burned under every place he touched me. I couldn’t stop kissing him — didn't want to. My fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, grounding myself in him,
