« Tell me to stop. Push me away.
She exhaled. “Go on,” she repeated. Finish the story.
The barest movement and his lips brushed her skin — warm, smooth, beaded with moisture. Desire courses through him, a thousand images he’d hoarded, barely let himself imagine — the fall of her dark hair freed from its braid, his hand fitted to the little curve of her waist, her lips parted, whispering his name. »














