Then his mouth crushed against hers, hard and unrelenting, and whatever powerful feeling she’d had evaporated on the spot. Incinerated completely. She didn’t even have time to think about how she didn’t know how to do this. His hands were in her hair, her hair, tangling and moving her head whichever darn way he pleased.
She grabbed for purchase, a little afraid her knees were wobbly, holding on for dear life. Letting his lips and tongue lead hers, guide hers.
It was fire and it was shock and it was good. It was good to be hollowed out and feel as though she was filled with liquid gold. Shimmering and lazy. To be pressed up against nothing but hard muscle and skilled mouth and know not a thing could touch her here.
Not a thing but him.
“Christ, we can’t do this,” he muttered, but it was against her mouth, his arms banded around her so that whether they could or not, they certainly were.
She wanted to keep doing it. Experiencing it. Participate instead of just letting it happen and soak it up—which was good, oh it was good, but she wanted more.
So she didn’t stop. She pressed her mouth right back to his, wrapping her arms around his neck, and jumped headlong into that heat she would have never guessed existed.