When he kisses me again, it’s nothing like before. It’s deeper, fire along his lips. He lingers, drags it out, pulling back just enough to breathe me in before coming back harder, like he’s testing how much I can take. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers spreading there, firm and possessive, tipping my head just the way he wants it. The control in it sends a rush straight through me.
My hands roam, helpless and greedy, over his shoulders, down his arms, fingers tracing muscle and heat. I clutch at him, press closer, my leg hooking over his hip without thinking, he pulls my leg up, my body open and flush against him, anchoring himself there. The contact draws a low sound from him, barely contained, his breath breaking against my mouth. Suddenly I’m very aware of how even the smallest amount of fabric separating us feels like too much.
His chest rises fast against my palms, then his hand moves again, tracing my spine, my side, then the trail leads higher, fingers lingering on everything along the way. Finally, he slips under my camisole as he grazes my nipple so lightly I’m not sure if he really did, then cups my breast, gently at first then harder until I arch into him without meaning to, my body answering his touch before my mind can catch up.
I rise up into him, hand sliding into his hair, fingers tightening at the base of his skull. The change is subtle but immediate, the way his breath stutters, the way his body stills for half a second like he’s recalibrating. I feel the heat in him, the barely leashed want, and instead of backing away, I press closer. I pull back just enough to look at him, to let him see my mouth, my eyes, the way I’m not done. My thumb brushes his lower lip, and his gaze drops there like he’s fighting himself.
“I want you,” he says, the words bare and unguarded. “Fuck, I want you so much it scares me sometimes. I don’t know how to hold it all and stay gentle.”
I kiss him before he can take it back, then break it to trail my mouth along his neck, then a tiny nibble of his ear lobe. His breath catches. My hands move with purpose now, sliding over his shoulders, guiding him back until I’m the one above him, straddling his hips, controlling the closeness. His head tips back without thinking. I love that part. The surrender he doesn’t announce.
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” I say softly, “I just needyou.”
He swallows hard, eyes dark and fixed on me. His fingers dig into my thighs, and he pushes up just enough that I feel the full press of him, the contact sends something molten straight through me, and a moan slips out of my throat. I cling to him as he rolls his hips into me and I know then, I’ll never stop chasing this feeling. The pleasureof us,of him.The pressure builds, deep and urgent, heat spreading. I press closer without meaning to, seeking relief I don’t know how to ask for.
My body arches into him on instinct, the sensation cresting, overwhelming and unexpectedly sudden. I bury my face in his shoulder, a broken sound torn out of me as the pressure finally breaks, rippling through me in a way that leaves me breathless and weak all at once.
“Rafe—Oh G—” I don’t even finish the sound. I can’t.
He holds me tighter, one hand firm at my back, the other cradling my head against his neck. I feel him inhale weakly, feel the way he stills himself completely so I can come apart without falling himself.
“That’s it, don’t hold back. Feel it.” he whispers. “I feel everything you’re doing to me and you’re not even trying.”
My legs feel unsteady. My heart is racing so hard it’s pounding in my ears. I cling to him, breathing him in, a little embarrassed but glowing. When I finally lift my head and sit up, his eyes seem to sparkle in some ridiculous awe of me.
“Engaged,” he murmurs. “To thedeadliestwoman I’ve ever met.” He grins and raises an eyebrow, but his eyes are still heavy with lust, hands gripping my thighs again like he’ll explode into a million pieces any second now.
Something bold sparks through me, extra confidence blooming in the aftermath. I press against him with my hips, until I can feel the tension there, proof of how badly he wants me. I rock against him, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. Before I can move again, before I can return evena fractionof what he’s given me—his phone vibrates.
We both freeze.
He groans, then a startled laugh follows. “You havegotto be kidding me. That iscriminaltiming.”
He fumbles for the phone on the bedside table, still breathless, holding me with one hand like if he lets go now he won’t get me back.
“Yes?” he answers, distracted, voice rough. Then he stills. “Mum?”
I hear her immediately, even without the speaker phone on, her brisk and affectionate voice carries easily. Her determination is unstoppable when she’s on a mission and from the look on Rafe’s face, sheclearlyis.
“No, I know,I know,” he says, smiling despite himself. “You said—”
I press my mouth to his neck. He sucks in a breath.
“Yes,Mum. I’m listening.”
I kiss the hollow beneath his jaw, feel his pulse jump. My hands slide along his chest, just enough to feel warmth and skin, to remind him exactly where he is.
“You didn’t visit for Christmas,” his mother says, louder now.
Rafe laughs. “Yes,I remember.It wasn't that long ago.”
I bite his shoulder, playful and not at all subtle. He drops the phone onto his chest trying to muffle the sound.
“Doctor Sawadzka, I am on the phone with my mum,” he hisses, barely holding it together.
From the phone, loud and clear: “Tae-il!Do not ignore me!” She switches languages mid-sentence, bold and commanding. “Tae-il-ah!”
We both jolt. I burst out laughing, pulling back.
