Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek, #2)

by Melanie Harlow

didn’t want to know it. If I was going to be sorry on the other side of this kiss, I didn’t fucking care. I wanted this. I needed this. I needed her. I let go of her wrist and took her head in my hands as my tongue searched for hers. Her wet hands found their way up my chest, and she clutched my shirt, her fists curling inside the material. I moved my fingers into her hair and kneaded them against her scalp, loosening the bun so that pins clattered to the kitchen’s wood floor. I changed the angle of my head, deepening the kiss, a sound of frustration tearing from somewhere in my chest. I ran my palms down her shoulder blades and lower back, pulling her in tighter against me. She looped her arms around my neck until her chest was crushed to mine, and I couldn’t resist sliding my hands lower, grabbing her ass. Now our lower bodies were pressed together as well, my erection trapped between us, pushing against her pelvic bone. Without thinking, I turned her back to the counter and rocked my hips, grinding against her. My mouth moved down her throat, eliciting a tiny moan from her that ratcheted my blood pressure up even higher. She reached for my belt. I yanked up her dress. She jumped up onto the counter. At the sound of the splintering crash, we both gasped. “Oh, fuck.” I stared at the shattered plate on the floor and then looked at Cheyenne. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.” “Shit!” she shrieked, sliding off the counter and dropping to her knees next to the shards. “Shit, shit, shit.”