Page 91 of Their Arrangement
And my body betrayed me.
I pulsed.
Wetness spilled out of me like confession. Like offering.
“Look at you,” he said softly. “Ruined without a single touch.”
A sound escaped me. A whimper. Half-broken. Half-devoted.
He leaned closer. His nose brushed the inside of my thigh. I arched. Gasped. My hands clenched the sheets beside me so hard I thought the fibers might give way.
His lips were close enough to feel, not close enough to taste.
And then he breathed again.
A sharp exhale. Right against me.
I choked on a moan.
“Wolfe—”
“No.”
The word lashed across me like a belt.
“You don’t get to speak. Not until I take the words from your mouth myself.”
I trembled.
Every nerve ending lit up like holy fire.
He pressed one palm to my inner thigh. The heat of it. Theclaimof it. I sobbed without sound.
He didn’t go lower.
Didn’t touch the place thatbegged.
He held me open.
Made me feel the distance.
Made me live in the absence.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I did.
He didn’t touch me.
But I felt him.
Every second he hovered above me, I imagined his mouth.
His tongue.
His fingers.
The growl I knew lived in his throat if he ever let himself go.
