The Amalfi villa was drenched in golden morning light, its shutters flung open to a breeze thick with salt, citrus, and flowers, but inside the master suite, the only scent filling the room was them, their sweat-slick skin, musky arousal, and the unmistakable heat of lovers refusing to come up for air.
Grace arched beneath Jullian with a gasp, her hands gripping the sheets while his mouth dragged a path along her inner thigh, slow, languid, deliberate.
“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered, breathless.
He looked up from between her legs with a grin that was pure sin. “Not yet, but I do plan to ruin you a few more times before breakfast.”
She rolled her eyes, but it dissolved into a moan as his tongue slid back over her folds, teasing, tasting. One of her legs draped over his shoulde
