The only clothes they had left were their bottoms. The fine wool of his trousers and the silk of his boxers were torn away with the desperation of a man who believed the world might end before he finished. He stripped himself with the urgency of someone fleeing a burning building, his movements a blur of muscle and shadow.
He was a sculpture of dark, coiled energy above her, and he lowered his hips, pressing his hard length against the swollen, aching core of her desire covered by her soaked lacy underwear. The heat was shocking, overwhelming. He groaned, a sound of pure male need, and shifted, grinding against the slick, wet fabric that remained.
Then he stopped, a sharp intake of breath freezing his movement. He reached down, his finger went inside her lace panties and his fingers sink
