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We were on the wooden floor, lying over a knitted rug with Wolfe on top of me.
He growled into my mouth and slid his hand into the hem of my panties under my dress, his fingers teasing my opening, and any trace of logic flew out the window.
I found myself bucking my groin toward his hand, asking for more as he devoured my neck.
Bracing himself on his knees, he opened the front buttons of my dress with his free hand while he still played with my arousal.
When he got to the last button, he slid the dress off me, his eyes raking over my body, stripping me from my inhibitions.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Worthy of every single compliment and flattery I’ve heard about you before the masquerade. I said I wanted to see for myself, but I never mentioned—you smashed every single fucking expectation I’ve ever had.”
I blinked away the tears, touching his face everywhere, claiming him somehow by doing so. “Please make love to me.”
Not sex.
Not fuck.
Not screw.
Love, love, love.
Make love to me, my heart silently begged.
He kissed my lips, moving his mouth to my nipples and suckling on one of them, applying gradual pressure with his teeth and tongue.
He teased and sucked on my tits, then traced my folds with his fingers, borrowing my wetness and using it to circle my nub in delicious rounds of pleasure.
“Just, please, do it already,” I whimpered, my fingers running through his dark hair as he kissed and leisurely licked the inside of my thighs and the sensitive place between them. “I need you inside me.”
“Why?”
“I can’t explain.”
“Yes, you can. You’re just afraid to.”
Wolfe Keaton was a kiss thief, but it wasn’t only a kiss that he stole. He stole my heart, too. Ripped it from my chest and put it in his pocket.
I did what he promised me I would do, and willingly—I spread my legs and begged him, once again, this time meaning every word.
“Because you were right. You said I’d come to your bed willingly—and I am. So, take me.”
He kissed me dirty, biting down on my tender lower lip, that was still sore from the accident. “Still not the entire truth, but this’ll do.”
He rose on his forearms, reaching for his wallet and taking out a condom. I swallowed down my disappointment.
He pulled back, scanning my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He was about to chuck my chin, before thinking the better of it and running his thumb along my jawline. “We’re past the point of lying to each other. Spill.”
My eyes drifted to the condom. “I just…I thought the first time—our real first time—would be more personal.”
My face heated as I said that because I realized that I berated him for suggesting the exact same thing mere hours ago.
“Can you…?”
