I catch his face in my hands and lean down. Remember to breathe, I remind myself, and then I kiss him. All jokes about ravishing aside, that is not my goal here. I want to go slowly—not ask for or take too much too fast. But if he keeps making noises like that, my control isn’t going to last long. Zeke moans, low in the back of his throat, and slides his hands up my sides until every inch of his hands are touching me. My skin zings at the contact, and if I wasn’t enjoying the way holding his face feels, I might do a little exploring of my own.
