Page 170 of Love Me Stalk Me
"My hands," I murmur, the words thick with restraint. "They're yours tonight."
Her breath hitches.
"You choose where they go," I continue. "In the future, I'll take every ounce of control you want to give me."
I slide my thumb along her cheekbone, watching as her lips part slightly.
"But for tonight?" I murmur, dipping my head closer, my lips brushing against hers. "You decide."
She shudders, but nods. I go back to kissing her.
Deep. Slow. Possessive.
And then, after a moment, she reaches down to grab one of my hands and moves it up her body.
She keeps my hand over her clothes at first.
I don't care.
Even through layers of soft fabric, I can feel her. Feel the heat of her body, the intoxicating softness beneath my hands. Her curves yield to my touch, perfect and feminine. My fingers skim along the curve of her waist, tracing the dip where her body narrows before flaring into the plush swell of her hips. I exhale hard, my breath mingling with hers, hot and uneven.
Her stomach is soft, smooth beneath my fingertips, and I palm it, feeling the slight tremor in her muscles, the way her breath stutters when she moves my hands lower. My hands slide along her hips, gripping them, feeling the full, luscious shape of her, the body she keeps trying to diminish, to downplay.
She doesn't even know how fucking perfect she is. I groan into her mouth, deep and rough, letting myself touch, letting myself explore, and when she whimpers against my lips, when her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me in like she needs me just as badly, I know I'm never letting her go.
Then she does something that completely unravels me.
She pulls her top off.
Just like that.
And—fuck.
She's not wearing a bra. Her breasts spill free, perfect and lush, round and soft. She grabs both my hands and places them there.
Ohfuck.
I might just come right here.
But I hold myself back.
I don't break the kiss.
I can't.
Her mouth is addictive. She kisses me like she needs it, like she’s starving for it—and I kiss her like I’m not giving it back. Her tongue tangles with mine, and I take over, deepening it, demanding more.
I memorize her.
The sweetness of her breath, the way her lips part so perfectly for me, like she was made to be kissed like this.
And all the while, my hands are full of her. Her tits spill into my palms, flushed and aching, her nipples stiff as I pinch and tease them just to hear her moan. She arches into me like she’s desperate for it—mine to touch, mine to ruin.
She whimpers, arches into me, her head tilting back slightly, offering herself up to me.
And I take.
I drag my thumbs over her nipples, swallowing the way her breath stutters, how she moans into my mouth like she's coming undone just from this.
