Isaac lifted a hand and cradled my jaw, slid his long, calloused fingers into the hair behind my ear. His palm was warm, the pads of his fingers textured, and he smelled fantastic. I couldn’t have stopped the small sigh that escaped my lips if I’d had ten years to prepare for this moment. One side of his mouth tugged upward again as his eyes glittered down at me. “You should touch me,” he said, using that soft, low voice of his. “And get used to me touching you.”
