dog tags rested against his sternum. I stared at his biceps as I lay against him, the curve of the muscle so defined I wanted to trace it with my fingers.
Ryker was still kissing me when he laid me on the bed. He sat down and I straddled his thighs. It wasn’t elegant; we were both too desperate for that. His tongue slid against mine as he deepened the kiss. I held on to his shoulders, solid and massive underneath my palms. His lips were soft, a contrast to his jaw, roughened with whiskers. The abrasion against my skin wasn’t unwelcome. It was masculine—a reminder of the differences between our bodies—the hard planes of his chest against the soft curves of mine.
I moaned as his hands curved around my rib cage, his thumbs brushing against my nipples with delicious friction.
Ryker’s mouth moved down my throat, stopping to suck lightly underneath my jaw, and again at my collarbone. I gasped as his hands skimmed down to my hips and his mouth settled over one breast. His tongue flicked at the sensitive point; then he sucked and I felt it all the way to my core.
His hands locked around my waist, pushing me onto my back against the pillows. My thighs fell open and he settled between them, his mouth moving to my other breast. My fingers combed through his hair, the strands soft, and my nails scraped lightly at his scalp. I felt a shiver go through him.
The denim of his jeans was rough against my inner thighs, but I didn’t care. He alone filled my senses—the feel of his skin against mine, the wet heat of his mouth on me, the grip of his hands on my hips.
I felt him tugging at my shorts and I lifted slightly so he could slide them down my legs. He sat back on his haunches, allowing me to bend my knees enough for him to pull the fabric off.
I reached for him but he caught my hands in his, raised them over my head, and wrapped my palms around the bars of the headboard, like I was supposed to keep them there. He was looking at me—at my body—and I saw his Adam’s apple move in his throat when he swallowed. My legs rested atop his thighs, waiting for him to settle between them again, but he didn’t. Unsure, I opened my mouth to say something, I didn’t know what, but then he touched me and the words died on my tongue.
Ryker’s palms rested on my inner thighs, skating slowly up to my hips. His hands curved, fitting my flesh to his palms, then drifted farther up my sides to my breasts. His touch was electric, making my breath hitch in my chest. His gaze lifted to mine, the blue of his eyes silvery in the darkness, and I couldn’t look away.
His fingers drifted lightly over my breasts, barely brushing the nipples. I gasped at the touch, a mere shadow of what I wanted. And still he watched me.
He leaned over me, his weight resting on his knees and one hand, leaving the other free to keep touching me.
Lowering his head, his lips and tongue traced my breast, while his hand slowly moved down between my thighs. I was wet, my body aching for him, and when his fingers slid between my folds, we both groaned.
“God, Sage,” he rasped. “You feel like hot, wet silk.”
I hoped he wasn’t waiting for a response because (a) what exactly do you say to that? Thank you? And (b) I was beyond the ability to form coherent sentences at this point.
He was good, really good, and sooner than I would have believed possible, I was coming, my nails digging in to his shoulders as I gasped out his name and reiterated my fervent belief in a deity. Several times.
Ryker kissed me, a long finger still moving inside me, and my skin felt like it was on fire. I wanted him more than it seemed I’d ever wanted anything. Ripping my mouth from his, I sucked in a lungful of air, my hands going to his jeans and tugging impatiently at the zipper.
“Wait, Sage,” he said, grasping my hands and stilling them. “Are you sure?” His voice was a low rasp, tight with need and desire.
“I’m sure.”
Brushing my hands away, Ryker quickly rid himself of his jeans. I whimpered at the sight of him. Ryker fully clothed was a sight to see. Unclothed…he made my mouth water.
His thighs