I kissed Chloe like a starving man, desperate for her after the taste I’d gotten at the ice cream shack. Two years of pent-up hunger made my mouth rough, but I kept my hands gentle. It would be so easy to leave my mark on her skin—a claim made though pleasure instead of pain. She opened for me, and I swept my tongue inside as her hands fisted on my dress shirt. I wanted the shirt gone. The dress gone. I wanted to plunge into her heat—take the easy release she was offering—but I caught the jagged edge of restraint, pulling myself back from the brink.
