“C’mere,” he mumbles against the hollow of my throat, a half thought, his thumb edging up the back of my sweater. The rest of his fingers follow, his hand like a brand against my bare skin. I smile into the top of his head. There’s nowhere to go. “Where?” “Here,” he says, mouth preoccupied with the line of my collarbone. He tugs at me again, trying to get me to move. “Like this.”
