“I’m not done talking to you,” he says against my mouth, dragging his lips to my throat, tracing down to my collarbone. I thread my fingers in his hair, holding him to me. “Can we do the talking later? Maybe tomorrow? We kind of talk a lot as is.” I press my mouth to his temple, nibble at his earlobe. He lets out a hungry moan, burrowing his face against my chest. His hands curl around my hips, fingertips digging in. I hope he leaves a mark.
