Leaning over me, he nuzzles into my neck, his hands smoothing over my chest. His fingers find my nipples and pluck them erect. He leaves a ring of tiny bite marks across my collarbone and grinds his hips against mine.
I arch into him, wanting more. “Jesus,” I hiss as our erections rub together with a heady ache. He knows exactly where to touch me, and his every caress sends me into a blinding fury of lust and desire and need.
“You like that?” he whispers into the hollow of my throat. His breath is cool on my skin.
I grasp his loosened hair in both fists to hold him close. “Yes.”
Sitting, he straddles my hips and stroked me until I’m hard beneath his touch. I close my eyes and let my hands learn the landscape of his body—firm stomach, muscular thighs, downy hair standing beneath my touch. “Tell me what else you’d like,” he says to me, his voice so low, it’s almost a whisper. “Tell me what you want me to do.”