Darwin sample
“Touch me.” When the words leave my lips they’re equal parts command and prayer, answered and obeyed in an instant. His hands are uncallused, the fingers bone thin, and he traces patterns on my skin with something akin to worship.
I cup his face, surprised by how smooth it is. He must have just shaved. As he leans into my touch, his eyes slide closed to hide the brilliant blue behind dark lashes. My hand moves from his cheek to his chin and I selfishly brush my finger against his lips.
The sigh that follows is warm against my skin.
“Must have taken a while, that. The ink. Was it worth it?”
The laugh that leaves my throat is too breathy. “You tell me. You’re the one who paid for it.”
His touch stills for a moment before continuing, firmer this time. “Cheeky.”
“You like that about me.”
“Not the only thing I like.” His eyes are assessing. Challenging.
“Want to see the rest?” The implication is not lost on either of us, and I feel more than see the rush of blood to his face.
He swallows against my hand, palms grasping the sleeves of my shirt. Both of us are breathing harder than we should be. When had my hand moved to grip his hips? When had I pulled him in, leaving us with only fractions of inches between us?
When had his eyes left mine, now fixed on my lips?
I rub my thumb along his mouth again before moving my hand to grasp the nape of his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair. He waits for me to move. For me to move him. For something, anything. I imagine he could wait forever, watching me.
I don’t have his self-control, I guess.
I tug, pulling him down, pulling him to me, and he bends easily. He bends and I lift myself up onto my toes and my lips press against his.
His lips are soft, as is his breath against my cheek—all sharp exhales and intakes. His hands move to cradle my face, far more gently than I would have thought. I can sense the desperation from the tremble of his touch as he holds me.
As I pull away, his lips try to follow mine. I kiss him again, tugging his bottom lip with my teeth. Not enough to hurt, but he groans low in his throat anyway.
“${name}…” He gasps my name more than he says it.
“I should have done that sooner,” I say.
“If you had waited any longer, I would have kissed you myself.” That’s probably true.
“You still can.” I lean into him as I say it.
He throws his head back, a laugh rumbling in his chest. The way he runs a hand through his hair makes my heart skip a beat, but the way he presses our foreheads together after nearly stops it altogether. “God, you drive me crazy, ${name}.”
“Want me to stop?”
“Never.”