“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” she asked, desperately trying for sane and practical. “Make sure we know what we’re doing?”
“Babe, I promise you, I know what I’m doing.”
Whether to prove it, or to shut her up, he shifted again, his fingers strong, firm against the back of her head as he held her face up for his lips. His tongue tangled with hers, demanding a response, pulling passion out of its worried hiding places and daring it to dance. Cassandra’s fingers dug into his shoulders as her mind gave up the fight to be rational and dived into the delights he offered. To hell with discussing it. Who needed a clear understanding of what the parameters of this exchange were when the communication between their bodies was coming through loud and clear.
Sexual nirvana, his body promised.
Hers
