Page 144 of A Million To Fall

Her breath hitches when I dip my head toward hers, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes flutter closed just as my mouth brushes hers—soft, slow, savoring.

Everything about her is warm and right and… home.

Her hand disentangles from mine, and for a split second I think she’ll pull away, but instead, her fingertips glide to the hem of my shirt, then slip underneath it, grazing bare skin. My control cracks, but I continue to kiss her softly, giving her a chance to retreat if my touch isn’t what she wants.

But the opposite happens.

Skye’s lips part with mine, granting my tongue entrance. I taste her—strawberry lip balm and heat—and move a hand to her low back, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper.

Her lips move with mine, hungry now, breath shallow, hectic against my lips.

Suddenly her hand is on my chest, urging me onto my back. Before I can even think of stopping what’s happening, she climbs onto my lap, straddling me. I feel her pressed against me, the heat of her seeping through both our jeans, setting fire to every nerve ending. I go hard in a matter of seconds.

I decide right then and there to surrender.

To the moment.

To Skye.

Whatever this is—whatever comes after—I won’t force it.

But I won’t stop it either.

I’ll deal with the consequences later.

I shift us, swift and sure, easing her onto her back before settling over her, my weight braced on my forearms.

Her hands glide down my back, her fingertips slipping beneath the hem of my T-shirt, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. I kiss her again as my hands drift to her waist, brushing over warm skin before slowly lifting her shirt.

She doesn’t hesitate. She simply raises her arms, trusting me, and I ease the fabric over her head before letting it fall to the floor.

I drink her in—white lace stretched over her breasts, flushed, freckled skin rising and falling with every breath.

Fuck. She’s unreal.

I crash my mouth to hers again, unable to hold back, tasting the quiet desperation there, the heat simmering beneath her skin. She moans softly into the kiss—one of those sounds that shoots straight down my spine, to the ache already pulsing between my legs.

Her hands explore my back, nails dragging lightly down my skin, leaving behind a trail of fire, and I’m gone.

Completely fucking gone.

I kiss her harder, deeper, letting myself drown in her.

“Boss,” she whispers, her voice soft, aching. She arches her back, and I reach behind her, my fingers fumbling a little with how badly I want this, how badly I want her. I unhook the clasp and ease the straps down her shoulders, slow enough to savor the moment. When her bra falls away, my breath catches.

Her breasts are perfect—soft, full, her nipples already peaked, waiting. And I’m so fucking hungry for her. But still, I warn myself not to lose my head.

I return to her mouth, slower now, my lips trailing a path from her mouth to her jaw, her neck, then down to her collarbone.

“I don’t understand why you touch me like you do,” she breathes, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips parted in that way that makes me forget how to breathe.

“Because you deserve to be loved right, Skye,” I murmur, kissing across the top of her breast. “You’re so damn soft. You should be touched softly,” I whisper, inching lower. “Your body should be worshiped.”

When I reach her nipple, I kiss it like I need it to survive. Lick and suck like it’s my penance. “I’d never want to hurt you,” I groan, savoring the way her chest lifts to meet my mouth.

I’ll take my damn time. Hours. Days, if she'd let me. I want her wrung out with pleasure, completely undone, because I know—deep in my gut—that Archer doesn’t touch her like this.

I can’t make her leave him. I wouldn’t even try. I can’t offer her the things he can—not the cars or the dinners or the stable life. But I would love her better. Hell, I already do.