“You owe me a shirt, Garden Witch.”
“Add it to my tab.”
He growled against her skin. Lifted her, hands cupping her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist with a flexibility that made his brain short-circuit. Her back arched as he carried her toward the stairs, and the noise she made—halfway between a moan and a demand—nearly sent him to his knees.
“Bedroom.” She bit his ear.
He took the stairs two at a time.
The bedroom was small, lit only by starlight through the skylight. The bed was unmade, quilts tangled, and he dumped her onto the mattress without ceremony. She bounced once, laughing, then went silent as he stood over her and stripped off what remained of his clothes.
Her eyes tracked every movement. Darkened with want.
“Your turn.”
She sat up, reached for the hem of her shirt—and he stopped her.
“No.” Rough. Almost unrecognizable. “Let me.”
He knelt on the bed. Took the fabric in his hands and lifted it slowly, revealing inch after inch of brown skin, the soft curve of her stomach, the lace edge of her bra. She raised her arms, let him pull the shirt over her head, and he tossed it somewhere behind him without looking.
“Beautiful.” The word was inadequate. She was starlight made flesh, constellations mapped across her body in freckles and birthmarks. “How are you so damn beautiful?”
“Genetics and good lighting.” But her voice shook slightly. “Hux?—”
He kissed her collarbone. Traced his tongue along the line of her shoulder. Found the clasp of her bra and undid it with hands that trembled, and when the fabric fell away?—
Perfect.She was perfect. Full breasts tipped with dark nipples, rising and falling with her quickening breath. He cupped one in his palm, felt the way she arched into his touch, and primal satisfaction purred through him.
“You like that.”
“Don’t get smug.” But she was panting, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Just because I—oh.”
He’d taken her nipple into his mouth. Sucked gently, then harder when she gasped. Her hips bucked against him, seeking friction, and he pressed her back down with one hand splayed across her stomach.
“Patience.”
“Screw patience.” She grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. “I’ve been patient. We’ve both been patient. I want you inside me now.”
The beast roared its approval. But Hux held on to his control by his fingernails—barely.
“When I get there,” he promised against her skin, “you’ll be ready. You’ll be so ready you can’t think about anything except how badly you need it.”
“I’m already?—”
He slid his hand into her pants and found her slick and hot anddripping.
“Not yet.” His thumb found her clit, circled slowly, and her whole body shuddered. “Not quite yet.”
He stripped her remaining clothes with efficient hands. Tossed them aside and took a moment to just look—the long line of her legs, the curve of her hips, the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. She was sprawled across her bed like an offering, breathing hard, watching him with eyes that burned.
“Hux.” His name was a plea. “Please.”
He lowered himself between her thighs and put his mouth on her.
She cried out. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his short hair, holding him in place. He licked into her, tasting salt and honey, and the noises she made—desperate, incoherent, beautiful—drove him higher than any drug ever could.
“There—right there—don’t you dare stop?—”
