Her hands were all over me, desperate, starved, impatient. She grabbed my turtleneck and yanked it upwards with this unfiltered urgency, dragging it over my head like she was peeling away armor.
My mouth didn't leave hers for more than a breath. And when it did, I was back again, biting at her lower lip, catching the moan that slipped out.
Her hands found the buckle of my trousers, working fast, shaky, urgent. God, she was shaking. Not from fear, but from need. From that same burn I felt clawing up my chest, licking up my spine like wildfire.
I reached for her shirt, fumbling at the buttons, trying to keep kissing her, trying not to lose myself in the way her skin felt under my touch. But it wasn't fast enough. Not fucking fast enough.
So I ripped it.
