Eli
I don’t know where I end and he begins.
I’m all sweat and slick skin and the rough drag of wool against my back. My breath punches out of me in shaky little bursts, and my body won’t stop arching toward him, like gravity isn’t working right anymore.
He’s still wearing pants.
That’s the worst part.
I’m naked, raw, trembling, and he’s still dressed in trousers straining over thighs that keep shifting between man and beast. His fingers never stop moving over me. Mapping. Testing. Claiming.
I’m sprawled across the bed, knees parted, chest flushed red, n*****s so tight and hard they ache.
And all he’s done so far is kiss me.
I mean really kiss me.
Like he wants to crawl down my throat and live inside me.
Like I’m a thing he’s earned.
A thing he owns.
“Open your eyes,” he growls,
