“Okay,” I said, but it was muffled by his tongue when he angled my head, fingers threading into my hair as his tongue slid against mine. He really shouldn’t have given me permission. My hands became detectives, roaming and searching every inch of his back, slipping under his sweatshirt to discover there was no T-shirt beneath. I moaned my approval, fingers following the muscular curves on either side of his spine. Letting his mouth do as it wished, I just held on and enjoyed the stomach-dipping, heart-thrashing ride.
