Holding her by the hips, he savored her warmth, her generous curves, her lush scent, and pulled her closer. Remembering his own rules, he said, “Do you want my hands on you, Ivy?” She blinked up at him—a lost lamb stumbling into a hungry wolf. “Do… are you…” She cleared her throat. “Did you need to feed?” His lips twitched. “That’s not what I’m asking for. Do you want my hands on you?” Ivy glanced down at where he gripped her, the swell of her hips filling his palms so beautifully. “I like it,” she said softly. Silas waited for her to complete her answer. “So… yes,” she finished. “I do.”
