His stubble and teeth scrape down the side, leaving behind what I’m sure will be a wicked beard burn. “Mine,” he says against my skin. I’m lost in Dex in a way I’ve never experienced before. I hiss with every nip of his teeth then moan with every soothing lave of his tongue that follows in its wake. “You’re mine, Tink.” God! Why are those three words so hot?
