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Tyler's POV
I couldn't breathe.
His finger still lingered on my lips, wet from my mouth, and my body was no longer mine. My skin was burning under the robe, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.
And Han?
He was looking at me like he could eat me alive—and I think I wanted him to.
He didn't say anything as his hand slid further down, trailing over the dip of my chest, the curve of my ribs. His thumb brushed my nipple—light, teasing—and I gasped.
"Shit," I whispered, as the jolt shot straight to my core.
My back arched instinctively, chasing the touch, betraying every logical thought still clinging to me.
He smirked. He knew what he was doing.
The bastard knew.
"You're sensitive," he said, voice low, rough, like he hadn't used it in hours.
Then he leaned in and bit my lower lip—gently, wickedly—before kissing me full.
I lost it.
I kissed him back, hard. Desperate.
