And then I have it, the crush of his kiss. So potent, I feel it hot and pulsing, straight through my center. Opening further, I moan around the taste of him filling my mouth and stroking firm against my tongue. One hand slides up my waist, my ribs, and then to the underside of my breast. He kneads it with a rough touch that sends spasms between my legs. “More,” I gasp, trembling as I squirm, trying to get to the buttons of his shirt, then trying to pull it free of his suit pants as we rock together, frantic for more of the sweet friction that’s making me insane. Oh God, the contact.
