He pauses, his thumb running slow circles over the back of my hand. The touch makes my pulse quicken.
"Sometimes nothing," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Sometimes how beautiful you are. Other times," his thumb presses harder, dragging across my knuckles, "feeling your warm body against my skin."
Heat floods my face. "Do you now?"
He leans in, his lips inches from mine, his breath warm and wine-sweet. "Sometimes, it's about how I want to lick every inch of your body," he says, kissing me gently, a feather-light press that makes me ache. "Worship you." Another kiss. "Be inside you."
I lick my lips and kiss him back, tasting the wine on his mouth, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my skin. "Would you like that right now?"
He nods, his breath hot against my lips. "More than anything."
"Me too." I stand, pulling him up with me.
The sky outside was beginning to gray. Sunrise was coming, and I hadn't slept in nearly 24 hours. But I didn't want sleep, I wanted him.
His hand stays locked around mine as I lead him out of the kitchen, down the hallway, into my bedroom.
The room is dark, the curtains drawn against the pre-dawn light. I don't turn on the lamp. I don't need to see him clearly. I need to feel him.
I turn to face him, and his hands are already on me, sliding up my sides, pushing the sweater up and over my head. Thefabric drags against my skin, leaving me bare except for my leggings and the bandage on my arm. His eyes drop to the white wrapping, and his jaw tightens.
"I'm okay," I whisper.
He shakes his head. "You're not. But you will be."
His hands cup my face, tilting my head up, and he kisses me. Slow. Deep. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me, tasting me, and I melt into him. My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I push it up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.
His chest is warm, and I press my palms flat against his skin, feeling the hard planes of muscle, the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.
"Keira," he breathes, and the way he says my name, like a prayer, like I'm the only thing keeping him alive, makes my knees weak.
I step back, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my leggings, and pull them down. His eyes follow the movement, dark and hungry, and when I stand before him in nothing but my underwear, he groans.
"You're perfect."
"I'm not."
"You're right. You're better than perfect. A goddess. My angel."
He closes the distance between us, his hands sliding down my sides, over the curve of my hips, gripping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I feel the hard length of him pressing against my stomach, and heat pools low in my belly.
I reach between us, stroking him through his pants, and he moans, his hips jerking forward.
"Bed," I whisper.
He nods, and we move together, stumbling backward until my legs hit the mattress. I sit, and he follows, his hands already shoving his pants down along with his boxers. He's hard, thick, and I can't stop staring.
He kneels on the bed, his hands sliding up my thighs, spreading them. His fingers hook into the sides of my underwear, and he pulls them down slowly, his eyes locked on mine.
"I love you," he says, and the words are rough and raw.
"I love you too."
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, then another, higher, and I shiver. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, and then his mouth is on me.
I gasp, my head falling back, my fingers tangling in his hair. He licks me slowly, deliberately, his tongue making patterns that make my thighs shake. He finds my clit and sucks, and I cry out, my hips bucking against his mouth.
"Octavian," I moan, and he groans against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure crashing through me.
