The sound she made was not dignified. Her head dropped forward and found his shoulder.
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered. She genuinely wanted to know.
"What I should have done a long time ago," Marco replied.
"Ah…" Unable to stop herself, she pressed her palm against him, face still buried in the warm crook of his neck, feeling him grow thick and heavy beneath her touch. The realization of what she was doing — what she wanted to do — sent heat pooling low in her belly.
Marco exhaled slowly, the only sign that she was unraveling him. His hands found her arms, stroking up and down in long, unhurried sweeps, coaxing her, steadying her. There was no rush in his touch, no demand — only the message that this was hers. He was hers. Every hard, wanting inch of him.
