CAINE
Grace whimpers, and I glide the washcloth over her breast, pinching her nipple with the rough fabric. She sucks in a deep breath, her body arching into my touch despite herself, and it takes everything in me not to just throw her to the floor like a wild man.
I'm civilized. Perfectly capable of holding back.
Even if every little shuddering breath of hers wants to rip my control to pieces.
"Where else are you hot, Grace? Here?" I slide the washcloth lower, over the soft plane of her belly.
My cock hardens painfully as she rises on her tiptoes, her body instinctively seeking more. Her legs part in wanton invitation, but I stop at her lower abdomen, hovering just above where she needs me the most.
"Here?" I whisper, my voice rough and breathing heavy.
She nods frantically, her pulse jumping visibly at her throat. The scent of her arousal is better than anything I've ever smelled before, and I want it on me every damn minute, every hour, every day of the rest of my life.
