Page 175 of The Wright Man

A whimper escaped me before I could stop it. I was burning. Melting.

His kisses found the sensitive spot just below my ear, and my thighs clenched involuntarily.

Every inch of my body was screaming for more.

And yet... he hadn't even touched me—really touched me—yet.

Just his mouth.

Just his mouth, and I was already aching. I was on fire.

Every nerve ending, every inch of skin, every cell in my body was lit up—buzzing, burning, begging. Maleek hadn't even touched me below my collarbone, and yet he'd already reached parts of me Gavin never could. Places so deep inside me I didn't even know they were still alive. Still hungry. Still waiting for him.

The way he kissed me—I could feel it everywhere. Between my legs, in my chest, in the marrow of my bones.

And I wanted more.

"Touch me, Maleek."

I barely recognized my own voice. It was low. Ragged. Pleading.

He stilled. Just for a second. And then he growled—a sound so guttural and raw it sent a shiver down my spine and straight between my thighs.

"Angel..." he rasped, his breath hot against my cheek. "You're killing me."

His voice was deeper than I'd ever heard it. Hot and hungry and trembling with restraint. Every word coated in sex and reverence. I felt him everywhere, even where he hadn't dared go yet.

"If I start..." he whispered, like it physically pained him to say it, "I'm not gon' be able to st—"

"I don't want you to stop."

And I meant it.

I didn't care if the world burned around us. I didn't care what came tomorrow. I didn't care if I cried or screamed or completely came undone.

I needed this. Him.

I needed to feel alive again.

Before he could say another word, I sat up slowly—my skin tingling from the sudden shift of air against it—and pulled his shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor.

I didn't hesitate.

Didn't flinch.

I bared myself to him with a quiet kind of boldness, only my panties left between me and complete nakedness.

His breath caught. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared.

The heat in his eyes hit me like a physical thing. His jaw clenched. His throat worked. He looked like a man dying of thirst who'd just found a fountain but didn't know if he was worthy to drink.

"Touch me, Maleek."

I said it again. Not begging. Not pleading. Just true.

That was all it took.

I didn't even have time to think. One second I was sitting there, bare from the waist up, offering myself to him—and the next, I was flat on my back, drowning in the heat of Maleek's body above mine.