TWENTY-EIGHT
He tastes like spices and wine and something indefinable that’s all him, that mysterious, masculine drug his tongue is laced with. Off balance, I stumble back a step. My butt jostles the dresser and the fork clatters off the plate, but his mouth demands all my attention. As I cling to his biceps, he sinks his hands into my hair.
This kiss is harder than the one last night. More s****l. It’s a kiss that says clearly I want to do bad things to you, and my body responds as if he’s said it out loud.
My n*****s harden. My breasts feel heavy and begin to ache. That restless burn starts between my legs, made hotter by Matteo flexing his hips against mine so his hardness is trapped between us, nudging so close to where I need him most.
I break away, worried about the open door and
