“I want you,” he said roughly, his lips finding the hollow at the base of her throat. “I want you right now. I want you here.” “Benedict—” “I want you in my bed,” he growled. “I want you tomorrow. And I want you the next day.” She was wicked, and she was weak, and she gave in to the moment, arching her neck to allow him greater access. His lips felt so good against her skin, sending shivers and tingles to the very center of her being. He made her long for him, long for all the things she couldn’t have, and curse the things she could.
