Page 32 of Desperate Actions

And just like that, the world vanishes.

I’m somewhere between heaven and disbelief.

Is this real?

Is this actually happening?

I can’t process it.

Can’t think past the heat of his lips, the rough scrape of his stubble, the way his hands tilt my face just right, holding me steady as he devours me.

Then—he groans, and the sound wrecks me.

His fingers tighten, anchoring me to him.

“You taste so damn good, Pixie.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, like he’s been starving for this.

Like he’s been waiting just as long as I have.

My pussy reacts. I feel moisture pooling between my legs and an ache starts to build.

His lips move to my jaw, to my neck, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along my heated skin.

“Just like I knew you would. Watermelon and sugar.”

What? I do?

I barely have time to process that before one of his hands moves lower, dragging down my body, palm lingering over my curves.

I go rigid.

Not because I don’t want it.

Because I do.

God, I do.

But in this position, I’m hunched slightly forward, and I know what that means.

I know I have rolls, soft bits, extra things other girls don’t normally have.

I try to brace myself, to keep from pressing too much against him.

And just like that, he knows.

His kisses slow, but they don’t stop.

Thank fuck.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs against my skin.

I blink. “Do what?”

His lips brush my ear, his voice nothing but gravel and heat.

“You don’t have to hold yourself so stiff, Pixie. I love your body. I wanna feel it on mine.”

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