Whatever she’d bottled up had come loose. Her appetite met her need, which should have scared him. But for the first time, he wanted her to need him. He could fill he up. She was starving for it.
And so was he.
She was sleeping, and he fell into her rhythm, inhaling when she did, exhaling also in tandem, feeling her soft sex crowning his thigh. He thought of all the lovely things he wanted to say to her, but knew he shouldn’t. He knew the speaking part would mess up what he now felt, something he rarely felt.
He tried to breathe without making a sound, hoping that this time together, which was as precious to him as the love making part, was prolonged for as long as possible. She was fire and ice. The salt and the caramel. She tucked inside the hard exterior of his soul and shivered, rested there under his protection.
He must have twitched or done something, because she startled and rose up quickly, rolling to the side and covering herself up. He could almost feel her heavy thoughts tossing about the room as he viewed her light pink spine glowing in the near moonlight as she sat on the edge of the bed away from him. An inch of her butt crack was in shadow, but the alabaster surface of her skin was flawless and made her look like a statue.
He inhaled without a sound, and let his index finger trace down the middle of her back, traveling over the ridges of her vertebra. She stiffened at first, then rolled her head to the side and killed him with the blue gaze that showed him she was still hungry.
“Come here, Megan,” he said, worried he’d been a little too loud.
She touched her shoulder with her ear in a shy move that belied her real feelings for him. He could see it in the coral shaded corners of her lips, how they quirked up at the ends.