The smooth heat of his hand makes me shiver. I’m only wearing the oversized sleep shirt—no underwear, no bra. I can tell the second his hands pass over my peaked nipples, realizing I’m bare underneath the shirt. A quiet, almost imperceptible inhale leaves him—sharp, restrained—like he’s breathing me in, like he’s memorizing the way I feel beneath his touch. When his fingers finally press into my waist, his grip tightens, just for a second, like he can’t help himself. A low sound rumbles in his chest—not quite a groan, not quite a sigh—but something in between, something primal.
