Not carefully. Not gently. I kiss her like the desperate man that I am. My hand finds her jaw and I tilt her head back and her mouth opens under mine. My lips seal over hers, pressing and demanding. She opens for me and I invade her mouth with my tongue, her taste filling my brain with the fog of lust.
She tastes sweet and vaguely floral like her herbal tea as her tongue battles with mine. My other arm goes around her waist and pulls her in, flattening her flush against me. She moves willingly, molding her soft curves to my hardness. My cock instantly responds, painfully hard inside my jeans.
Her hands curl into the fabric of my shirt and she moans in my mouth as she presses her hips against me, clouding my brain with the kind of hunger that can never be satisfied.
I break the kiss just far enough to breathe and she makes a small, wounded sound of protest. I press my lips to the line ofher jaw, the soft skin just below her ear, and she tips her head back to give me room.
"Demetrius." My name in her mouth, like she's run out of anything else to say. "Don't stop kissing me. Please, please don't stop."
My hand at her waist finds the hem of the nightgown and her skin is warm under my palm. I press my lips to the hollow of her throat and she arches into it and her fingers find my hair and I am completely and entirely finished being a rational man.
Nothing could have prevented what comes next.
Chapter Eleven
Maddie
Thekissisrelentless.
That's the thing about Demetrius Thornwood. He doesn't do anything halfway. The man runs on the principle that thingseither get done completely or they don't get done at all, and apparently this includes kissing.
My hands find his chest. The fabric of his t-shirt is soft under my palms and beneath it his muscles are hard and absolutely unfair. I'm falling into this without a single functioning brain cell to my name.
And you know what? My brain cells are currently out of office. Gone fishing. Left the building. Do not call.
My fingers close in the fabric at his stomach and I push the hem up. He breaks the kiss long enough for me to strip the t-shirt over his head, and then I stand there with the t-shirt in my fist and take stock of what I've just uncovered.
He's gorgeous. Short jet-black fur covers his chest everywhere except around his nipples, which are a soft, warm pink against all that dark, and his stomach is a geography of muscle.
He watches me stare.
"You done looking?" he says.
"Almost." I drop his t-shirt. "Give me another second."
The corner of his mouth ticks up.
My fingers move down to his belt and his expression shifts. Not much. Just enough. He goes completely still, the way big predators freeze when prey enters their field of vision. Only I'm well past entering his orbit. I'm knee deep in trouble and I have no intention of stopping.
His hands close over mine.
"I've been dreaming about this for a decade," he says, "and I have no intention of rushing it. I'm going to savor every second of this, starting with feasting on your sweet pussy."
My brain malfunctions.
He says it quietly, and his eyes are dark and steady on mine. My knees go weak and I have no idea how I'm still standing. A rush of heat spreads between my thighs, immediately soaking my panties.
"That is," I say, and my voice comes out low and hoarse, "a very effective line."
"It's not a line."
No. I know it's not. Still effective though.
He reaches for the hem of my nightgown and I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head and off, and then I'm standing in just my white cotton underwear as his gaze moves over me. My nipples are rock hard from both my arousal and the cool air and his gaze locks on my breasts.
"You're perfect," he murmurs, eyes moving over every inch of me with a reverence that makes my skin prickle. "Absolutely perfect."
His large hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and the contact sends a bolt of heat straight down my center. I make a choked sound and he does it again, more deliberate this time, watching my face with dark, intent eyes, and then he ducks his head and closes his mouth over one nipple. His tongue circles it, slow and warm, and my fingers find his hair and grip. He works it until my knees tremble, then crosses to the other side and does the same, unhurried and thorough. By the time he lifts his head, I'm already half-undone.
