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Before I have time to get lost in that question, Hale wraps his arms more tightly around me, deepening the kiss and stealing every thought from my head. His tongue sweeps the seam of my lips, then he nips at my bottom lip gently, as if he’ll try both requesting entry and demanding it.
The moment I open my mouth, his tongue slides in, tasting me, plunging deeper. His strong grip keeps me pinned to his body as we lose ourselves in the sparring of our tongues and the bruising pressure of our lips.
He’s never kissed me before. He’s made me come twice, he’s thrown me over the edge of ecstasy, but he’s never, ever done this.
It’s better than everything else.
It lights up my body in a way even the toe-curling orgasms didn’t, flooding my veins with a flush of warmth that makes me feel like I’m on fire.
“Fuck, Grace,” he mutters into my mouth, barely pulling back from the kiss enough to form the words. “You taste so fucking good.”
So does he. He tastes like whiskey and pain, like conflict and desire, and I let my tongue war with his as I try to absorb more of him.
When he finally pulls his lips away from mine, my mouth feels swollen and tingly. He trails his tongue over the line of my jaw and down my neck, biting and nipping at my skin occasionally, sending shocks of pleasure shooting through me.
I’m wearing one of the simple t-shirts and pairs of jeans the men provided for me, and Hale fumbles with the hem of my tee as he pulls it up and over my breasts. I let go of him long enough to lift my arms over my head, and when the basic white bra I’m wearing comes into view, Hale freezes for a moment.
He seems lost. Transfixed.
His breath picks up, and I watch his chest rise and fall faster, conscious that my own lungs are working faster to match his.
When he unclasps my bra and tugs it off my arms, something about the sight of me topless seems to flip a switch inside him. He shifts his focus to my pants and panties, unzipping them and pulling them down in fast, jerky motions as I shift my weight to help him.
As soon as he has them free of my legs, he steps back and looks at me, biting his lip as he stares at me sitting naked on his desk.
Still staring, still devouring me with his gaze, he reaches out and skates his palm over the curve of my waist. Goose bumps rise up in the wake of his touch, and my nipples pull into tight buds as my breath hitches.
Hale pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the smooth expanse of muscle hidden underneath, and I grip the desk to keep from reaching for him. I want to explore his body the way he’s exploring mine. To touch him everywhere. To map the planes of his solid form and memorize this version of Hale.
The one who doesn’t seem to hate me at all.
I want to do all of that, but before I can give in and extend a hand toward him, he crouches in front of me.
His large hands grasp my hips, tugging me closer to the edge of the desk as his broad shoulders spread my legs wider apart.
Then he pauses for a moment, his upper body between my thighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of my lower half.
And he just… looks.
With no hint of embarrassment, he stares at the most intimate part of me, something beyond hunger in his gaze.
It’s something almost like ownership, and it makes a sharp jolt of fear cut through the haze of desire inside me.
It’s too much.
I can’t let him look at me like that.
I can’t let him see me like that.
So I stop him from looking.
My fingers thread through his hair, and I drag him closer until his face is buried between my thighs. His body jerks in surprise, but then his hands wrap around my thighs, spreading me even more as he follows my silent urging and attacks my clit with his mouth.
Lips. Teeth. Tongue. They all work together, ramping me up higher and higher as fierce pleasure edges on pain. I throw my head back, my back arching as my legs dangle from his grip, palms flat on the desk behind me as I try to keep from collapsing in a writhing heap.
“Fuck, Grace.” His words are slightly slurred, muffled by my skin as he laps at my clit. “I knew you’d be like this. I knew it.”
I don’t ask him what that means, or how many times he’s thought about this. I don’t think I could handle the answers to either of those questions right now. But my fingernails claw at the desk as a fresh wave of sensation barrels through me, my pussy clenching and convulsing around nothing as I come apart.
