He crossed his legs—tight, as if that was the only thing stopping him from yanking me closer.
I could feel his control slipping.
His fingers clenched the sofa cushion like he needed an anchor.
Damn, he was fighting hard.
I could see it all over him.
Then, suddenly, he snapped.
Not in a wild, throw-me-down way.
No, he slammed his palm into his other hand, as if he was physically trying to shake himself out of whatever trance I'd pulled him into.
He pushed up to stand, but my arms stayed locked around his neck, not ready to let go.
He swore under his breath.
Then he kissed me again, fast, hard, breathless.
"Don't look at me like that," he muttered against my lips. "Or I'll..."
His words barely registered in my mind.
I was already drunk on the taste of
