I caught Sasha's chin, tilting her face up. Her eyes weren't just hungry; they were wild, dilated with a need that bordered on pain. I could smell her—a heady mix of heat, strawberry gloss, and the musk of a woman who'd been winding herself tight for hours.
She lunged for a kiss, her mouth desperate, but I caught her shoulders and held her back. I wanted her to simmer. I wanted to see her boil over.
She flashed a grin, but it was jagged, full of a furious, impatient hunger.
I wrapped a hand around the column of her throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who was directing this scene.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers, a whisper of a touch that made her gasp, before I pulled back just out of reach.
My free hand moved lower, catching one of her breasts and squeezing firmly. She winced, a sharp, needy sound catching in her throat as her back arched off the silk.
