Rooster was solid and warm. Cinnamon sugar. He smelled like cinnamon sugar. I held on tight. And the way he melted against me had my heart racing and my toes curling in my boots. I’d never been so viscerally affected by someone else’s touch. Never felt sick with need, desperate and grateful—like the innocent brush of his lashes against my skin or his soft as sin lips against my throat was enough to make me burst into flames. No sparks. My. Ass. Goddamn fireworks were going off inside me.
