Page 116 of Come to Me

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze.

There's always something sincere about him, but it's heightened today. It's like he's desperate to prove we really can make this work.

Or I'm projecting.

My chest tightens. I'm getting ahead of myself. The two of us are in a gorgeous hotel room in the middle of paradise. We can discuss these kinds of awful matters later, when we're free from aching heads.

"I have a few ideas," I murmur, pushing everything else away.

He smirks, swinging his knees around my hips so he's straddling me. I arch into him, pressing my crotch against his.

"You're dreaming," he says.

But he places his arms alongside my body, leans down, and presses his lips into mine.

His kiss is hot and sweet, a wonderful spark igniting everything inside me. A gentle warmth floods my body.

We've barely touched in the last two weeks. God, we need to touch.

I dig my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. The sweetness slips away, his kiss becoming hungry and desperate. I'm pouring need into him, just like I have a million times before.

He breaks our kiss. "This isn't what I meant by a hangover cure." His voice is heavy and strained.

And he's hard. He wants this as much as I do.

"You couldn't have meant anything better than this."

He leans closer, his fingertips on my shoulders. "Not better. Just different." He runs his fingers over my skin, until they're on my neck, my chin, my cheek.

"What was it?" I turn my head away from the window, my eyes fluttering closed.

His breath is on my ear, his hands back on my shoulders. "I can show you."

The whisper sends shivers all the way to my fingers and toes. He brings his mouth closer to my ear, sliding his tongue over the lobe.

I dig my hands into the cotton sheets, shifting my body into his. He sucks on my ear lobe with the gentlest pressure.

"Was this your plan?" I ask again. I swear I had a sassy follow-up, but it's impossible to think with his mouth on me.

He runs his finger along the neckline of my t-shirt, pressing the fabric against my skin. He traces from one shoulder to the other and back again.

"Luke..." I groan. That always gets a response.

He releases my ear and presses his lips into my neck. They're so soft and sweet and wet. It's only a hint of pressure, as soft as it could possibly be. I dig my hands into his thick hair, tugging at the roots.

He scrapes his teeth against my neck. It's harder, sharp even. The tiniest hint of pain.

My sex clenches, my body filling with pleasure. I need more, harder, rougher. I need him to mark me, to use me, to lose himself in me.

He nibbles on my neck again, a little harder, a little sharper. I groan, tugging at his hair, bucking into him.

His hands slip under my shirt, skimming my bra. Dammit, they're so close but so far away. I need him to touch me properly. I need those expert fingers on my chest, playing with my nipples until I’m so fucking wet I can't take it anymore.

Luke sinks his teeth into my neck. It's a proper bite--hard, desperate, needy.

His fingertips are on my skin, sliding over my breasts but not quite touching my nipples.

My sex clenches. My body is on fire. Every place he touches is electric, amazing, perfect.