EMBER’S POV
Not when I press closer and roll my hips against him in a slow, filthy grind, rubbing the bare heat of my p***y against the thick, hard line of his c**k through his trousers.
Not when his hands slide down to grip my waist tighter. Not when I take one of his wrists and guide his palm under the hem of the slip, higher and higher, until his fingers brush bare skin.
He goes still for half a second.
Then his fingers slide between my legs and find nothing but slick, bare heat.
A low, rough groan rips out of his chest and straight into my mouth when I kiss him again.
His fingers stroke through my folds once, slow and possessive, gathering the wetness there like he can’t believe how soaked I am.
I grind forward against his hand and against his c**k at the same time, and he makes
