“I hate it when you wear your hair up,” I tell her, leaning my head down even closer. “Not feminine enough for you?” She sounds surprisingly defensive, even while I watch goosebumps erupt on her skin as my breath caresses her. “No . . . ” I say, trailing my finger from the edge of her collarbone up the side of her neck and stopping right behind her ear. I’m counting on my large frame blocking the view if anyone passes in the hallway behind me. “I hate it when you wear your hair up because all I can think of is what it would be like to taste your exposed skin.”
