Eleanor
My eyes fluttered shut, savoring the heat of his skin under my lips.
He smelled like something sinful—clean linen laced with spice and musk, like fresh rain on hot asphalt and the kind of cologne that clung to skin, not clothes.
It curled around my senses, warm and heady, wrapping me in a fog I didn't want to escape. My lips lingered at the curve of his neck, soft and searching, like they already knew their place.
I knew I shouldn't be doing this—I wasn't supposed to. But I couldn't seem to stop, and his body was right there, solid and still beneath mine, like he was letting me. Like he wanted me to.
His breath hitched—a single sound that sent a shiver down my spine, made my stomach flutter, and my thighs clench with anticipation at the same damn time.
Before I knew it, my hand was reaching up, fingers brushing along his jaw, tilting his face toward mine. My heart thudded against my ribs, wild and loud, and for a second, I thought maybe he could hear it too.
