His mouth finds mine and I open for him, and the taste of him — flatland dust, copper, salt — is the best thing I've ever had. His hands are everywhere, stripping my shirt from my shoulders, and when his palm lands on the crescent the mark flares so bright I see white behind my eyes. "Say it," he rasps against my throat. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours." The words come out wrecked. "Adrian. I'm yours."
He makes a sound like a man drowning and comes down on me, the breadth of his chest pressing me into the sheets, and the heat of him is a wall I want to climb. His mouth finds my breast, tongue circling my n****e before his teeth close on it, and I arch into him, the ache between my legs turning liquid and urgent. His hand slides down my belly, works my jeans off my hips with a patience that
