“I’m sure,” I whispered.
The words barely made it out before his mouth was on mine again. Hunter kissed me like the whole day had finally caught up to him. Like every filthy text, every stolen look, every second in that towel closet had been building pressure under his skin until this was the only way to let it out. His body covered mine, heavy and warm, but he kept enough of his weight off me that I could still move beneath him. I hooked one leg around his hip, pulling him closer.
He groaned into my mouth. “Catherine.”
“What?”
“That’s not helping me take this slow,” he said, sucking on my lower lip. It sent need shooting between my thighs.
“I don’t want slow.”
His forehead dropped to mine. “I know.”
“And last time, you didn’t let me touch you,” I reminded him.
His entire body went still. I slid my hands down his chest, over the hard ridges of his stomach, stopping at the button of hisjeans. His breath changed. That was all. Just one rough inhale, but it made heat coil low in my belly.
“I let you touch me,” he said
“No.” I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You let me watch.”
His jaw flexed. I smiled because the memory of him in the shower was still branded into my brain. His hand wrapped around himself. His eyes on mine. The way he’d come apart while still somehow making me feel like I was the one being worshipped.
“That was hot,” I whispered. “But tonight, I want my hands on you.”
His eyes closed for half a second. “You’re killing me.”
“That’s the point,” I said, grinning because I knew I had won this argument. His self-control was snapping. I saw the lusty heat in his eyes. I popped the button on his jeans. Hunter caught my wrist, but he didn’t pull me away. His fingers wrapped around me like he was giving himself one last chance to do the noble thing.
“Catherine.”
“Don’t tell me no.” I licked my lips.
His eyes opened, darker now. “I’m not saying no.”
My pulse jumped.
“I’m saying if you touch me, I’m going to lose whatever restraint I have left,” he warned.
I leaned up and kissed him slowly. “Then lose it.”
His lips came back to mine, rougher, deeper, our tongues entwined, and this time when my hand slid between us, he let me. I lowered his zipper, my fingers brushing over him through the fabric, and his hips jerked once against my palm. The sound he made was low and broken. It went straight through me.
“Hunter,” I breathed.
He kissed my jaw, my throat, the spot beneath my ear that made my toes curl. “You wanted to touch me,” he said, voice rough against my skin. “Touch me.”
My hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers. He was hot and hard and so much bigger than anything my brain could handle. My fingers wrapped around him, and he went still above me like he was trying not to shatter in my hand. For one terrifying second, I wondered if I was doing it wrong. Then he groaned my name.
“Catherine Celia.”
Like he was praying and cursing at the same time. The sound shot straight through my chest. I tightened my grip, learning the weight of him, the feel of him, the way his breath hitched when I moved my hand. His forehead dropped to my shoulder, and one of his hands fisted in the comforter beside my head.
“Like this?” I whispered.
His laugh was strained. “Yes.”
“You sure?” I paused, and then I lowered his jeans and boxers.
