HANNAH
Jace’s hands were everywhere, my face, my lips, my hair. Sliding down my back, gripping my thighs, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my gown.
My n*****s tightened into sharp points at his touch.
The bathroom door slammed shut. Either Jace or I had closed it, I didn’t know and didn’t care.
All I cared about was dousing this desire raging inside me.
I was already wet, dripping. He hadn’t even taken my clothes off yet, but I wanted him. On me, inside me.
Jace flicked his tongue along the neckline of my dress.
“Jace—” I gasped, clutching him tighter. And my fingers tangled in his hair, tugging.
Then his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. He tasted like beer, mint, and the faintest trace of bubblegum.
Somewhere in my hazy awareness, I realized we were moving. The
