“Dacre,” I whispered, his name a demand, a breaking. His hand slid up, fingertips grazing the underside of my breast, and I shuddered. “You have no idea,” he broke off, his lips hovering over mine, his voice a wrecked rasp. “No idea what you do to me.” I did because I felt it. His need. His devotion. His magic, tangled with mine, curling through my body, twining around my spine.
