Page 103 of Revenge Puck
A soft glide.
Aaron pinches the tip of it lightly between two fingers, pleasure enough to make my back arch before I can stop myself.
His gaze finds my face, watching my every reaction.
“You like that?” he asks calmly.
“Yes.”
He pulls me in, leans down, and brushes his lips over the curve of my collarbone before trailing lower. His mouth roams, grazing the top swell of my breasts, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses over my flesh while his fingers skim lightly under the edge of the bra.
Then, with unhurried precision, he draws the thin straps down over my shoulders, inch by inch, until they fall slack at my sides. The bra loosens, no longer holding its place.
More kisses on my newly bared skin as he pulls back to look at me—like he’s savoring the reveal before taking the final step to remove it completely.
His gaze lingers on my breasts before his hands move again.
One slides around my back, fingers finding the clasp with practiced ease. He doesn’t break eye contact as he works it loose—a quiet snap, and it falls from my body.
He doesn’t rush to touch me.
It’s as if he’s deciding where to put his hands first. The intensity of his dark eyes makes heat crawl up my neck.
It’s torture.
“I haven’t been able to properly look at you before.”
No. He hasn’t.
We’ve been in the dark the two times we’ve been intimate.
“These are beautiful,” he finally says, voice deep and raspy. Rough with arousal. Anticipation coils in my stomach, every nerve waiting for the moment he stops looking and finally starts touching me.
A kiss below my jaw.
Another at the slope where my neck meets my shoulder…
When his mouth moves, it’s down the curve of my neck, across my collarbone, pressing above my breasts without quite touching. I can feel the restraint in him—feel the way he’schoosingnot to rush.
The space between contact and expectation stretches unbearably thin.
He lets it be.
He lets me tremble.
He wants me wanting.
And god, do I want him.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my throat, tongue wetting my skin.
“Obviously,” I complain. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
A soft exhale of amusement ghosts over my skin.
His mouth finally lowers.
His lips close around my nipple, warm and firm, and the sound of him sucking is embarrassingly intimate. His tongue moves slowly at first, dragging, testing, before he draws me deeper into his mouth.
