Page 18 of The Best Shot

“Out loud, darlin’.”

“Yes,” I breathed. “Don’t stop.”

Then he kissed me again, nothing careful about it now. I climbed into his lap without thinking, needing to be closer.

He groaned low in his throat.

I was grinding down on the hard ridge of his dick before I’d thought it through, his hands shoving up under my shirt. We were all heat and hunger and a desperation that had shown up out of nowhere and taken over.

“Hale,” I breathed.

He kissed along my jaw, down my neck. “Don’t say stop.”

“No. More.”

“Hallelujah.”

I laughed, then gasped as his teeth grazed my collarbone.

We shifted, or maybe fell, until I was on my back on the rug and he was over me, braced on one arm, his other hand still under my shirt.

He cupped me through my bra and I arched into him. He made that low sound again.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“You’re—We should go upstairs.”

“Too far.”

“Annie’s right there.”

I glanced over. She hadn’t moved an inch, still dead to the world under the blanket. “She’s out cold.”

“Living dangerously,” he muttered.

“Hale.” I pulled him back down. “I spent three months in a tent. I’m not picky about location.”

He chuckled. “Fair.” Then his hands were dragging my shirt up and I was helping, lifting my arms so he could toss it aside. My bra followed.

He stopped. Stared.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just… look at you.” His fingers traced down my sternum. “You’re something up close.”

I swallowed, reached for his shirt. “Your turn.”

He sat back and pulled it over his head.

I’d seen Hale shirtless before. Pool parties. Hot summer days, him jogging down the pavement. But this was different. This was mine to touch. So I did. I ran my hands over his chest, his shoulders, the muscles in his arms that came from years of work. He let me explore, breathing heavier.

“Yasmine,” he said, voice rough.

“Yeah?”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Nothing.” Then he kissed me again.