Page 23 of The Professor's Wife

It wasn’t sloppy.

It was desperate.

Hungry.

Like he needed to taste every inch of me to believe I was real.

I kissed him back, unable to hold anything in reserve. I was enveloped in him. In the intoxicating taste of his tongue as it moved against mine with such needy intent.

I clung to him, my fingers digging into his muscled shoulders, my body melting against his. The heat between us was unbearable. Even when my knees weakened, he held me tighter, grounding me.

He was a furious kisser.

And I was drowning in it.

In his taste.

In his demanding touch.

And yet, behind that yearning, I felt his tenderness. He kissed me, and it didn’t feel self-serving. He was careful because he thought I was fragile. But not fragile like I might break in his hold, but fragile like I was a treasure he had found and wanted to care for.

My hands traveled up his hard chest of their own volition. I couldn’t contain the ravenous urges spreading like wildfire through my body.

I wanted this more than I could breathe.

The urgency and heat. The wild passion that came with wanting to strip myself bare—not just of the clothes on my back, but of the mask I wore for the world.

Gone.

I wanted to discard it and drown in this wall of a man with the broad shoulders and large hands.

I kissed him so hard I wanted his lips to bruise. For him to remembermetomorrow and next week and whenever he opened his mouth to speak.

I wanted them raw and numb and stained by my touch.

In response, Tristan’s hands wrapped around my hips. He pulled me flush against him and let out a gruff groan.

I swallowed the sound, moaning when I felt his hardness against my stomach.

The second I made that noise, his grip tightened.

Then he was lifting me.

His fingers dug into my thighs as he kissed me deeply. I breathed raggedly into his mouth, whimpering as another wave of pleasure raced through me. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently—far too gently in comparison to his hard grip and soul-consuming kiss. There was nothing gentle about his mouth as it journeyed from mine to my throat, sucking and tasting as I panted for air.

“Why do you taste so fucking good?” he grumbled against my skin. “Why do I want every bit of you?”

My lips curved into a smile as my hands roamed over his back. I squeezed needily at his broad shoulders, aware that he was making his way down my body.

My skin was hypersensitive, my legs trembling as he parted them and settled between them, his mouth nipping at my collarbone.

His touch was shaky. He gripped my hip, his voice tight.

“Can I?”

I knew what he meant.

My own voice quivered. “Please.”