She sits back, pulls it over her arms, and it slides off the table.
“And this,” I say, tugging at her sweater. She pulls it off and I get my own shirt over my head just as she reveals a long-sleeved shirt.
“That too,” I say, planting my hands on the wooden table, her thighs between my hips and forearms. “Anything else you’ve got on, get it off. You’re done teasing me for today.”
“It was cold,” she says, revealing a tank top, pulling that over her head.
“But it’s warm now, and I like it when you’re wearing nothing,” I tell her.
She unhooks her bra and I practically rip it off her body, pull her to me, kiss her feverishly. Her skin against mine is molten, electric, and I think I growl as I run my hands up her stomach, let her breasts fill my hands, pinch her dark nipples between my fingers.
Thalia groans into my mouth, her legs tightening around my hips and I press myself against her, cock throbbing like I might explode.
She opens her mouth under mine, and I find her tongue with mine, tangle them together as I roll her nipples again between my fingers, feel the tremor move through her body and into mine.
I do it again, feel the tremble, the aftershock and I record every motion, every noise, a seismograph to her earth. She makes me believe in magic, it’s true, but I still want to map her bit by bit, know precisely what causes which reaction.
It’s by far the most fascinating data I’ve ever compiled, and I pinch her nipples again, harder and this time she gasps, bites my lower lip.
“I did miss you,” she murmurs, her mouth on mine, and I take her nipples between my fingers, brush my thumbs over the pads.
“Tell me again,” I say, and I feel her smile against me.
“I missed you,” she says, and she sits forward. “When I couldn’t find you I went to your house and laid in your bed.”
I move my hand, run them down her back, along her spine, feel the way she arches. I grab her ass, pull her into me, imagining her naked and spread on my bed, one hand between her legs as her eyes drift closed.
“And what did you do?” I ask, my voice rough.
“What do you think?” she murmurs.
I pull open the button on her jeans, practically rip the zipper open, splay them open around her hips. She leans back, on her elbows, and she lifts her hips and I pull her jeans off, throw them on the floor behind myself, drop to my knees.
“I think I should probably be concerned that you went to my house when I wasn’t there and got yourself off on my bed,” I tell her, pushing her legs apart.
I press my mouth against the inside of one thigh, then suck her soft skin into my mouth, just hard enough to leave a welt for the next day or so. She makes a soft noise that’s half gasp, half moan, and I breathe in her scent: heady and musky and so, so sweet.
“I have a key,” she says, her breath coming faster, teasing. “I didn’t break in.”
I laugh softly and mark her again, harder this time, leaving a bruise that’ll last a few days on the inside of her golden thigh. I like thinking of her finding these later, in the shower, when she’s getting dressed, and blushes as she remembers what left them.
I look up at her. She’s propped herself up on one elbow, her eyelids low, and as she watches me she slides a hand through my hair, one knee thrown over my shoulder, her other foot on a chair.
“Are you marking me?” she asks, and I run a thumb over two small splotches on the inside of her golden thigh, my heart beating so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.
“Yes,” I admit. “It’s so I can come back here tomorrow and remember right now.”
“Good,” she says. “I like the reminder.”
“Good,” I say, and finally slide my hand up the inside of one now-marked thigh until my fingers reach her wetness, skimming across her lips, and her hips jerk. “I like giving you something to think about.”
Thalia makes a noise in her throat that’s partly a strangled groan, partly a sharp gasp, and her fingers tighten in my hair, then instantly release, like she’s afraid of hurting me.
She can’t. Not when she’s so wet for me that my fingers are soaked from a single touch. Not when her lips are swollen with desire, not when her hips move ever so slightly toward me.
I’m lost, giddy. I want to fall into her and never come out. I want to possess her. I want her to never say another name that isn’t mine. I want to be the last person to ever spread her legs and find out just how wet she is, the last person to feel her shudder at the first lick, the last person to feel her come.